Everything I came here to write is depressing and too personal, and I’m really afraid that I’m going to write this and get hate mail. And then I feel self-centered for thinking that someone would actually be bored enough to write little old me hate mail. But since it’s happened before (here’s to the lady who read a blog post I wrote and stalked me all over the web to tell me that she thinks I’m a traitor to my race) – hate mail as a result of being honest has always been my fear.

Being honest on the Internet is a struggle when you know what’s truly at stake. Before, back when AOL was real-life spamming all of us with those stupid CD-ROMS, the web felt safe in its vastness. My cousin and I would sneak onto pre-teen/teen chat rooms, and flirt with “boys” (who knows who they really were), make e-friends, and spend hours answering the same questions.

“A/S/L?”
“What kind of music do you like?”
“Do you have a boyfriend?”

We were droplets in a bucket, hiding behind screen names with our zodiac signs in them and logging off whenever we felt unsafe. It ended there. That was before I fully realized that there were people on the other side of the computer screen. I made stupid jokes, over-shared and probably said things that I would consider wildly offensive today. But honestly, God wasn’t (and still isn’t) through with me yet. Tee hee.

There was a time when I could whine about my love life, school and work and about a hundred of my insecurities without worrying that it would be taken the wrong way. Without really caring. But now, there is too much at stake – things real and imagined. I’m scared I’ll screw up opportunities with one tweet or reblog or whatever. Being reamed out via email and tweet by people who are swinging wildly, searching for words that will hit the hardest, even if their outrage is lazy or manufactured. Relationships I’m always afraid are hanging in the balance. People I’m afraid of hurting accidentally.

Deep down, I think accidentally hurting others is the worst thing that you can do. At least, it feels the worst. Like you just can’t help but screw up, and you’ll never be right.

I wasn’t always this way. Hell, around my sophomore year of college I stopped caring what IRL people thought of me, let alone a few faceless folks on the web. That’s the year I pine after. The one that I wish I could relive. Even though I was royally screwing up in school (well, at least by my Type A standards) and I sold myself short more than once, I was free. If a person’s opinion of me wouldn’t matter in a year, I didn’t care what they thought.

I started trimming the fat from my life.

Letting go of relationships, in which, I was being treated unfairly and not apologizing for it either. I think that’s the balance that I’m lacking. Being able to be cutthroat about safeguarding my own happiness and peace of mind, but still remaining kind. Kindness is what I strive for now – never niceness. Nice is surface. It’s perfunctory and limiting. Kindness is deeper. It’s compassion and empathy and selflessness. It’s knowing how to apologize, even when you think you’ve just been misunderstood. It’s not caring what others think of you to keep up appearances or because it’s the “right thing to do.” It’s caring because you can’t help but to do so.

Lauren
Pitched Entry

image source: ‘selfie absorbed’ by emma summerton for w magazine, march 2014