Despite alarmingly candid blog posts on here, I’m not a person who accepts my own vulnerability with ease. Not at least since adulthood when I knew the weight of the consequences that it brings upon itself: vulnerability when it means something, when it is brave – not unknowingly, naively vulnerable ( that’s the easy crap you do without second thought.)
After life happens you have to react. Some people use their life as a platform to begin dialogues and build relationships. That isn’t exactly what I’ve done. I’ve put up walls and buried parts of myself within other parts. Layers. I’m not sure I have even reached the innermost layer. I’m not sure that I’m alone in that.
While these may seem shockingly bold, they aren’t. They’re ruminated posts. I don’t write on a whim. They’re things I’ve already thought, or am thinking about, and have decided to speak on. I used to write more on a whim, or more openly, but you run the risk of exposing parts of yourself unknowingly and allowing others to come to see you in a way that perhaps that you don’t even see yourself, because you aren’t objective enough, and that’s terrifying.
It doesn’t terrify me as much as it used to. There’s some progress.
I’ll always be who I am. I have always been who I am. Despite “clever” attempts at trying to deny that with relationships, alcohol, drugs, I was always Logan – intense, a bit clumsy, too earnest.
But I fucking hate being vulnerable. I moved to Fort Wayne thinking it was a pit stop. I was always leaving places and starting over new places, and I think that my first reaction to the city was with that mentality. So when I met people I did not think all that much about it – I was going to be gone. Have fun, share a pint, move along.
A few years later with some fresh new scars, and I’m still here and have no immediate plans to leave yet and I realize that of all the people that I have met I have only let 1 inside that inner core. Unsuspectingly it happened also with very little effort- it just felt kind of easy. Someone I have argued with, screamed with actually, and found the friendship of value enough to apologize. Normally I’d say “fuck it you’re small town and I’m outta here soon anyway” and be on with it.
That’s one person I can be vulnerable with and I’m lucky for it.
Because vulnerability isn’t a blog post like this. It isn’t talking about my feelings to a faceless crowd. This is not brave, it’s the cheapest form of self-expression one could hope for. You write on here to a crowd and lest anyone dare to disagree or challenge you their comments are also up for public speculation thus allowing them the vulnerable position of being subjected to ridicule or interrogation – it is kind of a manipulative and cheap platform to share expression with people in hopes to connect and I see that. The risk of outright hearing the criticism of your thoughts is pretty minimal despite it being SUCH a public outlet. (interesting, isn’t it?) Yet, I participate.
(Note: I do want to express that for some people these internet relationships are very much real and alive for them and are very intimate and vulnerable, and I respect that this is not a total rejection of this societal phenomenon, just like a 80/20 rejection.)
But it isn’t. Nothing I write is shockingly brave.
Bravery would be calling up one of my mates right now and hanging out and truly talking about this shit with. It would be talking to my mom when I have strange feelings about the trajectory of my life rather than just pretend that everything is fine for her approval. Bravery would saying to someone, “Hey, this makes me feel X when Y happens.” rather than posting some meme about it online in a passive aggressive attempt at gaining validation or solidarity from folks I do not see or interact with in the tangible world.
It is odd to me how often technology only allows us to think that we’re connected, but often allows us more outlets to lie to ourselves, trick ourselves, reward ourselves when real work hasn’t yet been truly done. It also elicits more feelings of disconnections the more we’re connected. I try to stay aware of this before allowing myself. To see things as they are, not as I want to believe they are. I fail often, but it’s an effort.
I think about it like this, I’m always going to be lonely because I am a human being. And because I do have those layers.
I have been surrounded in a room with my whole family – my divorced parents, their spouses and children, their kids spouses and my brother and niece – more love than a person could even imagine. Music and laughter and this profound feeling of pride and gratitude for love and what parents do for love was so enrouted in my heart that I just had to sit back and observe it and yet, surrounded by nearly everyone that means anything to me at all I had this overwhelming feeling to share that feeling with someone else. Who? Who could I have possibly wanted to express that with? And I realized that there was nobody else to share that with. That there are emotions and feelings that we just carry inside and within ourselves. You share a cup of coffee with those emotions, share your vulnerability with it, and with such intense feelings will probably come a feeling of profound loneliness because you’re the only one who can truly experience it, know it, observe it, live it.
I don’t mean to sound dire, but in some instances we are all alone. And I’m okay with that. It is a very popular thought to say ‘you’re not alone’ and as long as empathetic humans exist and we share thoughts you’re not. Someone will listen and offer advice. Hell, I will. But, it’s on you to decide how you feel at the end of the day.
Oh when I write “You” I really me “I” but, I dont’ want this to sound too “Dear Diary…” ish