Being Found

I'm still skeptical of blogging. It's an odd medium, really. I remember going to great lengths to hide my thoughts in my yellow,velvet book, appropriately titled, "My Diary". It had that great little lock and key--which was no hindrance to an ornery older brother with a bobby pin snatched from my bathroom! Hiding it proved ineffective as well. Two reasons: 1. It leaves a lump under the pillow 2. User memory deficits.

I worked so hard to hide the realities of my 8 year old world. There was the utter humiliation of hearing my poetry recited down the hallway, "Roses are red. Violets are blue. Cameron Schetter, I love you." Each post thereafter, carefully embedded in unsuspecting sentences were his special greetings, "Scott stinks." "Scott is a PIG!!!!!!!" My favorite, "Scott bites his toenails!!!!!!!" Whether my ninja defensive tactics were successful, or he quit out of sheer boredom, who can ever tell? Because, by the time I actually wrote anything of substance worthy of amateur extortion, both he and my sister, who didn't cop to her habits until adulthood, had quit reading my spiral notebook journals. Carol Hudgins is MEAN and wears glasses!!!!! that are ugly!!!!!!!

Justice is important to me.

So, why in the world, would anyone be marginally interested in my thoughts now? Isn't blogging just a publishing of my journal? I get that my mother would want to finally have full permission to read and discuss my issues openly now. Did anyone else figure out that when you were setting the table for dinner and your mom sheepishly asked,  "Sweetie, is there anything you want to talk about? " It wasn't because she was clairvoyant? I understand why my friends from out of town might want to see what color my hair isn't or is-depending on perspective. But why would I even want a stranger to read my thoughts and mock or interrogate me? And so I had no real plans of joining the bandwagon.

What I did discover was that my handwriting, abysmal, even in the graded years is no longer discernible, especially by me. I began using the computer several years ago to journal. I found that keeping the files readily available, organized, and accessible was a challenge. Not enough to lose sleep over; yet, I do go back and read my thoughts, my bad poems. The stones of  my life. Markers of where I've been and where I want to be.

Late to the party, I had started reading a few blogs and noticed that the format was logical and easy to follow. "I will use this format for my writing/journaling ideas." Feeling quite pleased with myself, I set up my blogspot. Ignorant about most settings, and with no need or desire to explore the parameters, I simply started. It was liberating to know that when I couldn't figure out how in the ham sandwich to fix the font back after I'd pasted in another one from Biblegateway, it didn't really matter. This was for me alone. I've learned to be more comfortable with my limitations and the realities of learning--mistakes are part of learning. I am not anonymous about being a recovering perfectionist.

As is always my pattern, I had a couple of weeks of jotting and scratching on paper/phone and nothing on the blog. Who cares? It's mine alone.

My dear friends Ryan and Lindy are here from Houston to see Next to Normal. (scratch to self...blog about N2N) We were all comfortably doing our own thing on our laptops in the coziness of Ebby. (my apartment..worth a post as well.) The soundtrack was playing on Lindy's laptop. Ryan was watching a movie at the dining room table with his headphones on. In my ritual spot on the peeling, leather loveseat, I had just hung up the phone with Gay. I'd called her to appropriately scold her for asking a complicated question in her post and not providing an answer. I decided to open up my blog and think out loud about the question she posed. "How do we guard our hearts?"

Whatever the landing spot is called popped up on my screen and I was confused to see that it looked different.
                                    And how in the world did Lindy get her picture on my blog?
Wait.
           She's following me.???
                         I haven't told Lindy I had a blog.
                                                                           Screeeeech moment.
And in a flash, my old tapes started running. "Was there bad poetry?"
          "Was my punctuation correct?"
"Blast! I wish I'd fixed that font problem."
"Why didn't I research and follow through with hiding it from others???!"

I'd been found.

"Lindy, how in the world did you find my blog?" L-"You posted a comment on Gay's blog and there is a link to your blog on your comment. I have quietly been reading your posts while sitting across from you. I tried to comment, but it never would allow that. You must have set it up that way?" Me- cackling first, "Who knows what I did, I just started filling in boxes and started!!"

I'm smiling now because in the conversation that followed, I realized that being found by my thoughtful, intelligent, loving friend was not frightening or threatening. Her blog, a highlight in my day now when I get the message there is a new one, is a favorite. Why? It's a reflection from the mind and soul of a person whom I treasure. We share life in a consistent and intimate way through keystrokes anyway. Her reading this was simply a more organized way of telling her what I'd say to her anyway.

I could figure out how to change the setting for privacy. I'll leave it as is. Being found by a beloved confidante and affirmed is a mingling of our lives in another way that helps her know me and I her. Keys are gone. Hiding isn't necessary. And ninja techniques aren't required. Lindy, I love and I adore you. Thank you for finding me.

Safety is a new frontier for me.

How odd. Maybe I learned something about guarding my heart without setting out to do so in this post?