lxxix

“It isn’t just what you know and it isn’t just who you know now. It’s actually who you know, who knows you, and what you do for a living.”

-Bob Burg

            I am back at the movies again, another Friday night lightly void of the stereotypical college parties that I just haven’t been able to find (not that I have been actively seeking them out.) But this time the screen is playing out a half-truthful version of my life, complete with flickering images of tongue-in-cheek business cards and computer adeptness, framed by a very-appropriate sense of awkwardness. The words, the lines of code are shot as a way out of the oppression, of the private loneliness.

            But how much is public? What is left sacred after I finished typing a final period, capping off three paragraphs of my most personal thoughts? The fact that I crave this kind of outlet is slightly off-putting, a projection of my advanced, slightly humorous, sense of egotism. Above all else, I need to have someone that cares about the inner thoughts that I’m having, that I’m typing, that I’m spilling out onto the perpetually dusty enter bar.

            And if that means giving up any sense of privacy, then so be it. I have nothing to hide. And everything to share.