fourth wall

who the hell are you anyway and does it even matter?

Last night, when I was snuggling Freddy to sleep, I let my mind ribbon out into a long narrative rant about all of my gripes regarding the social media introduction. You know the ones. “Hey! So I see there’s a lot of new folks in this space, so I figured it was time for an introduction!” Blah blah blah. As quasi tempting as these occasionally are for me, I have a line here and I will not cross it. For so many reasons.

The first seems obvious, but worth remembering that a new follower on a page already went through the process of choosing that for themselves. The vetted you. They saw enough that they enjoyed or that resonated with them that they hit that button and they are in. At least for now. You are under no obligation to try to keep them. In their process of seeing if they wanted to make the follow, they began learning about you either through a deep or even shallow dive of your page. The method of getting to know you is already underway. Why rush things?

Second, and maybe this is me in all of my naivety, but my socials are primarily for me. They are less me talking to an audience and more me talking to myself through a process. Even writing this right now, more for me. It is one of my creative spaces. There is zero way that I would have kept it going for this long if it were not one. As such, the fourth wall is a little tricky. Is it up? Are followers (watchers) looking in on something? Or are they meeting something open to some sort of conversation and ongoing dialogue? I don’t have an answer but I do have a sense that it is a little more boundaried than it might appear. Especially for a public account that has no barrier to entry.

Lastly, within this line of thought is the strange reality of how so many folks have been following along for so much time now that they really do feel like (and maybe they do) know me, and know my family. I am repeatedly surprised by how frequently the recognition of this happens. Especially from individuals whose presence I have zero sense of in these spaces. Every year in Maine, I am astounded by how many of the people that I know very peripherally there have been keeping up with me all year, while I am left trying to get their name correct. This summer, Chris had a long conversation with someone he hadn’t spoken to in nearly two decades. They said to him that I do such a good job writing our lives that even though they haven’t spoken in forever, this person felt very caught up with us. We have zero notion of them and their lives.

This is so strange. Is it not? I kind of love it, but it also rattles me a bit. I can’t imagine not writing and sharing. I cannot imagine not having this particular process for myself. In long form here and in shorter snips on the gram. Writing outwardly has been essential for me in terms of weeding through what is real, where my attention lives, and how to make sense of where I’ve been, where I am, and where I hope to head. There is a certain element of this ongoing conversation being had. Me with me, me with my family, me with friends, and even me with you -whoever you are- in this strange but specific way. I let you in. But not all the way. Just enough to connect and relate if that is on the table.

I do deliberate with some regularity over whether to privatize these spaces. Make a request necessary and put this behind a (small) paywall. I would like to. But I am not sure how to go about it logistically, and I worry that I may lose some of the conversational reward that I derive from the practice. What I really want the most is for everyone who watches, everyone who reads what I write, to make themselves known, to chat back at me. I want to be seen. But I want to see you too. How strange to go so long in this relationship and still be relatively blind to you. Perhaps that is the point of the intros after all. To request the solidity of your presence with a bit more clarity and direction.

Even so. I won’t do it. Ha ha. Alas.

That’s the ramble for today. Sort of. The gears at work inside my brain. The real story is that it is the last week of summer vacation. I am driving Maple back to Portland on Saturday, and Eider starts school on Monday. Freddy has a little longer before his homeschool rhythm begins in earnest, but we are certainly moving in a direction. I am excited for them. Mostly. I am very excited for Maple, but I begged Eider a dozen times yesterday not to go back. It is such misery. Fun for the first few weeks of hanging with his friends and diving into new academic content, but once the days get short and the darkness settles in, that place becomes an institutional hell realm, and I hate to think of him navigating that all day, all year long. What shit. My apologies to all public high school teachers, but you know what I mean.

I was like hey buddy, why don’t you just homeschool for 11th and 12th grade? Knowing that it is mostly a joke for him to consider at this point. Not that it cannot be done, and done well, but it is not for him and where he wants to head right now. And that is ok. But damn, summer is way too short and way too fast, and I am never ready for this transition. There is a cool front blowing in and pushing the deep heat of summer away this week and I am not here for it. Fall can wait. Winter will have us no matter what and I cannot become that person yet. Not yet.

That is it for now. Cliffnotes: say hi! I love you, whoever you are, and I am so glad that we keep doing this together. Whatever this is.

xxx