The Great Warring Armies of My Personality

One of the great struggles of my life is shaping up. I started out typing THE great struggle, but an attack of humility and fear of the future (as well as a healthy dose of “don't be over dramatic”) let me downgrade it from the status of "pinnacle". This particular struggle is framed by the close sides of my skull. The roots of the struggle are mental, and they spread from that point out to other emotions, the physical world, interpersonal decisions, and a whole host of other "key to my whole life" areas.

This struggle is between the respect of other people's privacy and my own aspiration for knowledge.

I like knowing things. Contrary to what other people may attribute to me, this is not out of a need to feel important, nor a need to disparage people around me. I learn things because it makes me calm. It relaxes me to know how chlorophyll works. I am comforted by the explanation for why lightening strikes certain spots and not others. It is reassuring to understand and examine that which is real.

It also allows me to play to the strengths of my memory. I have an excellent memory, but it tends to accumulate like small scraps of paper. “My uncle has a fondness for automobiles.” “My sister feels that everyone around her doesn't appreciate the freedom of speech as she does.” These scraps of paper tend to accumulate (as scraps of paper do) into great hulking piles of completely unconnected information. By learning new things, it allows me to sift through the pile and find other related facts and figures, and then gather all the like pieces together, sticking them to the main idea like some sort of bizarre paper-mache figurine.

So most of my life is spent in search of knowledge. I treasure anything I can find that helps give me a different viewpoint on any subject. Some of it comes from my own experience, but other people are usually helpful, too. When people communicate why they feel certain ways, it helps me abandon my own perspective and assume another person's outlook. It is this reason why I find interest in a wide variety of books and websites. I don't have any hope of understanding why Fred Phelps says what he says on my own; his perspective, reasoning, and methods are completely foreign to me. Even sites in opposition to him don't always make me understand. It is only by visiting him in his “home court” that I begin to piece together the “why” and the “how” of Phelps. In his own writings, a place of safety from competing opinions or ideology, I can start to approach the method behind the ... well, you know.

This is all fine and dandy, but it gets a lot trickier with friends. Some friends are very open, telling their feelings and motivations to anyone. Other remain closed, intent on keeping to themselves. When I was going through grade school, I can remember how some people would talk about anything and anyone. Small groups of people would be spectacularly well-informed on the activities (or theorized activities) of the entire school. Other groups would be insular and secretive, passing only notes and not speaking openly. Some people may have written their deepest, darkest secrets somewhere, but they had only to keep the letter in the hands of their trustworthy friends and the information would not be released.

But now we live in the Information Age. The internet and the individualization of content have allowed every person with access to a computer the ability to place information onto the global stage. Much is made of the supposed anonymity of the internet, but the fact remains: there are few dark corners to hide in. When people put their thoughts and feelings online, they're contributing to the “global data pile”. Blogs, and the internet in general, give us the illusion of privacy. We start a brand new blog that no one on Earth knows about, and it lures us in to airing our darkest secrets. After all, nobody knows how to find it, right? It's private.

And that's the trap. The instant you publish something to the internet, it's no longer private. Sure, people may not know about it, but the information will sit quietly until someone stumbles on it (thanks to Google's massive web crawlers) or you link certain people to it (who then may pass on the link). The illusion of privacy makes it SEEM like no one will ever see the information, but it is only an illusion.

Last year, I unintentionally arrived at the “secret” blog of an acquaintance. She linked back to an entry of mine and I was able to follow the return trail to her blog. The blog was completely anonymous, with no mention made of name, place of residence, occupation, etc. It was a completely different side than she had ever presented to me. She had always seemed studious, withdrawn, and self-deprecating. Her uncovered blog showed entries about sex, malicious comments other teachers and friends, and photos of her in various states of undress. A serious disconnect between the two! I followed it for a while, more out of curiosity than titillation or actual interest in the thoughts of this acquaintance, before dismissing it as someone who needs to spend time either reconciling her personalities, or doing a better job of obscuring her wild side. To this day, she still remains unaware of my discovery. Her outward behavior has not changed, but who knows how many other people think of the nasty things she said when they see her asking for help on library research.

I have friends who have multiple blogs, concerning vastly different topics. Some of these topics may not be suitable for public conversation (such as those concerning alcohol addiction or spousal abuse). Shouldn't I be able to look at these blogs, even if I wasn't “invited”? After all, they're out there! Anyone with the link can visit them. Isn't that my philosophy, after all? I don't write anything that would be disastrous should it fall into the “wrong hands”.

Yet, when I invariably find these blogs the first time, I'm uncomfortable. It's not that I think the authors want total privacy. It's that these blogs are written for specific audiences and more often than not, I'm not a member of the target group. The metaphorical front doors of these houses might be unlocked and open, but that doesn't mean I'm going to feel comfortable walking in and sitting on the sofa. I'm simply not invited.

As a result, even though I'm interested to hear what people I know have to say about all manner of subjects, I stay away. I let my fairly conservative sense of “would people be comfortable if they knew I was reading this?” help me to make the proper decision. If I blogged about complicated personal issues and wanted the support and non-judgmental opinions and experiences of a group of friends without having to worry about poisonous concern or raised eyebrows of the general masses, I'd want people to respect that, too.