the surreal life

I find myself not knowing quite what to say, but knowing all the same that something should probably be said, so please bear with me and allow me grace as I just lay out some thoughts buzzing around in my brain tonight. If you're new, just skip this and come another day; if you have no idea what I'm talking about, just nod and smile; if you know what I'm talking about, well, please read sentence one again.

I first discovered this whole blogging phenomenon about six months ago... and have been about as avid a participant as you can be. It's been a good place to share my thoughts and feelings - an amazing outlet - and I owe a lot of my growth as a writer to this little space in which I type.

And I've found community here. There's a certain kind of person that enjoys looking at their life in a deeper way, that enjoys trying to make sense of the everyday moments - large and small - that make up their existence. A lot of these people, seemingly normal enough, end up sucked into the blogging world and find themselves writing on a regular basis. (I am always a little defensive... YES, I have a blog, but I'm STILL NORMAL and only a little bit of a nerd...) I have met some people I now consider friends -- one, I met this weekend as she and Julie and I goofed off in Seattle. Another seems to have a really hard time remembering the time difference, but is actually a (usually) welcomed wake-up call. Some just happen to drop little emails here and there, who brighten my day out of nowhere. There's a kindredness about this whole thing; it's easy to feel close. For the most part, I fully enjoy the comeraderie. It's no substitute for time with friends and my bro, but it's still a welcome addition to my life.

But, as with many of the forms of communication we so often rely on in our technologically driven lives... there are limits. Feeling close and being close are very different things. For some reason, it's so much easier to type things than to say them. Anyone who's ever sent an email they regretted in an emotional moment, or who shared something more personal than they meant to in an IM, knows exactly what I'm talking about. We type things we'd never say to a person face to face.

Here's the deal, as honestly as I can spell it out: I don't want anyone feeling closer to me than they are. The whole reason for this not-so-elegant post is just to make sure that doesn't happen. It's not to be prideful; but simply to be careful.

Guys have joked about me being their online crush. (It's fine; no one has done anything wrong. I can't emphasize that enough. This is not rebuke, simply caution). I typically laugh it off, much the way I did a few years back when one of my brother's friends used to propose to me on a regular basis. I'd laugh, pat him on the head, be flattered for half a second, and wouldn't think another second about it. Because it wasn't real.

The thing is, I try to be as honest about my life as I know how to be on this thing. I don't toss all my laundry out for the world to see -- there is plenty that remains unsaid and that's as it should be -- but I try to be me, questions and insecurities and all. No matter how authentic I tried to be, however, a person will never know me - the real me - simply by my words. It just doesn' t happen. My life is much more messy (and much more full) that that. I am more than that. (God! that my life would be as simple as it tends to be here. Where you can just craft all the chaos into pretty sentences and pretty words and wrap it up neatly in a nice ending line!).

Most importantly, I am more human than that. In real life I don't get hit on very often, and when I do, it's typically more creepy than anything. In real life, I get dumped. I get my heart broken sometimes. Not because life is unfair or because guys in the NW are jerks. It's because I'm human. Faulted. Just me. (And, because I just haven't met the right person yet). Here's me: I talk too much. I'm still a lot less secure than I'd like to be, still not wholly comfortable in my own skin. Sometimes when I get mad, I get really loud. (Just ask Kevo). If I'm really ticked, I clean like a maniac. (Kevin likes this aspect). I yell mean stuff at people while driving, because I know they can't hear me and I feel better (ask Julie). And that's just the stuff I feel comfortable sharing because it's a little bad, but not the deep dark variety.

Maybe knowing the yucky stuff would help paint a better picture, but does anyone really want to read about the mold that I had in my coffee pot last week because I forgot to dump the leftover coffee in it?

(Don't worry. My self esteem is fine. I'm not worried that I'll never find me a man, and I have great friends who love me even though (because?) I'm me).

A friend and I were joking a while back that I have much better luck with admiration from the guys here than in real life. I had several theories: perhaps I have a completely awful personality offline; maybe the real-life lens adds 10 or 15 pounds; maybe it's easy to toss something out there, knowing I'm far away. The first, I hope is untrue; the second, I suspect is true; and the third I know is true. These dudes, sweet as they are and well-intentioned as they may be, would never say the things they do if I lived in their apartment complex or if I went to their church or if I worked in the same building. I am far away; I am safe.

But still -- I am not real.

So please... let's all be friends, let's share our thoughts and the moments that make life beautiful. But let's make sure we keep aware of the limits inherent in this crazy little place we choose to meet.