And in her blog you see nothing July 1, 2021 > Blogs allow us to present our best selves, give a picture
> of ourselves and our lives that has maybe middling bearing
> on reality. We don’t see the author’s failures except
> as instances of overcoming and growth, and so ultimately
> positive. We never get to see with each other’s mistakes.
Selves are sufficiently finicky about – if not obsessed with – their appearance to find a form of righteousness in relegating those revealing other than “100% positive, all the time” to an unacknowledged silent treatment penalty box from which there is no escape until enough of the holier-than-thou's somewhat simultaneously find self-beneficial reasons to seemingly repent.
But, of course, by then the possibility of trust is long gone.
> Meanwhile I’m just here, desperate for a sense of
> identity that doesn’t involve my country of origin or
> what sports team I follow.
What mostly comes to mind on this end includes notions like “thoughtful”, “well-written”, “worth reading”.
But I'm open to learning about your faintly-alleged horrible side as well. ;–)
> > The popularity of the confessional mode [of writing]
> > testifies, of course, to the new narcissism…but
> > the best work in this vein attempts, precisely through
> > self-disclosure, to achieve a critical distance from the
> > self and to gain insight into the historical forces…that
> > have made the very concept of selfhood increasingly
> > problematic. […] Even the best of the confessional
> > writers walk a fine line between self-analysis and
> > self-indulgence.
Sobering.
> All of this is just a weird dance where we're just watching
> the changes in ourselves all within the present moment,
> with time itself being a total illusion. And all of it
> is entirely pointless and purposeless beyond just the
> experience of life itself. We're just being, and flowing,
> like through a beautiful song.
Sometimes with tangerine trees and marmalade skies, even.