I was lying in the bath this morning. Thinking about the blog. Again. And wondering why it is that I’m happy to share stuff here that I haven’t even mentioned to people I actually know. Wondering why the anonymity of Dolce is so appealing?
Is it because I can consider what I say and craft my words with slightly more precision than I might manage face-to-face. Is it because, essentially, I don’t really have to take responsibility for what I say; that there are no consequences to my words, except in this space. Maybe I like the fact that I can mold the truth just that little bit more; that I suspect you will use your imagination to colour my story better than I might myself. That I can say things I might not have the courage, or wit, to say out loud.
Why do I choose a pseudonym instead of owning my virtual self? I wonder if someone who knows me might stumble on this place. I wonder how transparent I would be, behind Dolce’s words. There is definitely a frisson of something behind the thought of being unmasked. I wonder if they’d blow my cover, call me on comments I’ve made, share things here that belong in my physical life. I wonder if it even matters. If this scribbling into the ether isn’t really just a narcissistic, or worse, pitiable search for approval. Audience. Absolution.
Like others here, I wonder at the extraordinary power of words. That such strong personalities can exist behind just a couple of well strung sentences. That almost everyone here chooses anonymity. That those who don’t somehow feel more real, more connected, less mysterious, less furtive. That, already, in a couple of short weeks, I can recognize each distinct style. Can sense if a post or a comment will prompt banter or debate. And from whom. Inevitably, I’m also beginning to imagine what everyone looks like.
And I wonder, if we met each other, unknown and unaware, if we’d recognize each other. If behind the layers of blog and body, we’d see a kernel of authentic self. Or if we’d just make small talk and then get ourselves another drink.