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Who I am is on my sleeve.

(expanded from a comment elsewhere)
My friend wrote: "You are all aware that what you read of me (and indeed, anyone else on LJ or other public blog) is what I choose to show you. ... My question to you... is what you write in your journal really who you are or do you hold your cards closer to hand?"

LJ is quite often a touchstone for me. If I can't see myself posting about it, not to myself, not to my friends, and certainly not to the world ... is that who I want to be?

Sometimes, yes. There are some very personal and secret things that ... well, I can talk to myself about them, but that's about it. Goodness knows I have a lot of friends with things that we talk about, and while I obviously have a lot of things to talk about with them, these things should not become part of the public eye. I have a lot of things that are boiling around inside me that are too raw to take public. I take confessions from time to time, and those do not become public. I can talk about how these things have changed me, and people may see their shape on my skin, but the things themselves stay private. I've been experimenting with the sacrament of keeping some of my hopes to myself, and I'll see where that takes me.

But a lot of the time, if I wouldn't see myself posting about it, specifically, if I'd be ashamed to tell Darkside about it and I know I'd take a lot of crap from my LJ people if I posted it, I'll not do it and see where I went wrong and try to fix myself.

I did this a lot more dramatically when I met Darkside. I realized that I liked the person I was around him better than the person I was without his presence, and determined that I would become that person all the time. It seems to have done well for me.

So LJ is a touchstone. Y'all keep me honest.
Gone away, gone ahead,
Echoes roll unanswered.
Empty, open, dusty, dead.
Why have all the Weyrfolk fled?

Where have dragons gone together
Leaving weyrs to wind and weather,
Setting herdbeasts free of tether;
Gone, our safeguards, gone, but whither?

Have they flown to some new weyr
Where cruel Threads some others fear?
Are they worlds away from here?
Why, oh why the empty weyr?

-- "The Question Song", Anne McCaffrey
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