Hello. I've been hiding.
Three posts in and I’m already anxious about sharing. I guess I didn’t realize how psyched out I’d be by all the strangers reading my mundane thoughts. And it’s not even that many people—I’m just freaked out by the intimacy of it all. Textbook avoidant.
Well, if you didn’t want people to read it, why did you post your blog posts to Twitter in the first place?
My life is so compartmentalized: design work, engineer friends, internet persona. My digital friendships rarely cross over to my physical life. Hardly anyone I spend time with in meatspace brings up the stuff I say online, and I rarely share details of my personal life on the internet, so to some extent I still don’t think of Twitter as… real.
It feels like a game, where I post lukewarm self-deprecating jokes to get internet points and dopamine hits. I used to use Twitter to express myself in ways that I felt I couldn’t in real life—I could be funnier, meaner, dumber. Twitter was a way to try on bolder identities, in the safety of obscurity. It didn’t matter.
So when I shared my first couple of posts on Twitter, I figured the upside would be more accountability, with minimal downside. The stakes were so low. What was there to lose?
Well, turns out I can find anxiety in anything. Posts will probably be more impersonal until I get the hang of opening up.
Post 3/100 for 2020. Learn more