I’ve linked this blog to several social media sites I rarely use (except for messaging), but it still means that if someone who knows me searches for me, they might find it.
They might read this.
Over a decade ago, I worked a closing shift at Starbucks, surrounded by faces that felt like family. One of my coworkers found my old LiveJournal account, and the others huddled around his phone, reading my posts while I took drive-thru orders.
At the time the content seemed ancient—but it wasn’t. It was 2013, and my last LiveJournal post had only been from 2011. I was one of the few still churning out content for no one. It was nonsense, like this is. But I still clicked “post.”
I remember one of the closers kind of laughing at me. Not cruelly, but maybe with the implication of “gosh, this is corny.” The funny thing is, I didn’t care. I felt confident in my writing back then. I suppose I had doubts that it was any good. I felt shame over my topic choices, sometimes my earnestness, sometimes my divulgence.
But I rarely felt shame about the choice to share.
(daily writing 003)
Thoughts?