A friend of mine has started writing a beautiful blog, something very personal and brave. He's written about his childhood, his fatherhood, his sorrows and joys, his transition female-to-male. Alone with my computer, I read and feel close to him, as we do when something is written with personal openness and elegance.
Yesterday, we got on an elevator together, he with his cart of books, me with mine. I wanted to say, thank you for what you put out there. I wanted to say, how brave and lovely. Instead, I said, "Ooh, can I see your new tattoo?"
In my own blog, in my novel and the essays I write, I'm not afraid to go very deep, to talk about the fool I so often feel I am, to confess about the baby blanket I held onto for too long. [Way too long.] In person, where words are spoken, not read, is this as close as I can
get to someone? To peer down at the words written on his skin?
Ladies on sofas - six paintings... also, three dogs
18 hours ago
I know - exactly - what you mean. I keep having the same thoughts. Especially about the same person, our co-worker. There's this strange thing about publicly writing out our thoughts and feelings, reading those of others, that makes us all feel so incredibly close to each other - online, in some sort of alternate universe - and then, in the real world, we're shy and awkward. And it's difficult to even know what the limits of the relationship are; "I sort of love you, but are we even friends....?"
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