I've always been a little reserved online; hesitant to express
and reflect my true self through my writing and the content I
produce -- or at least, the self I could absolutely let others
appreciate but have always concealed.
At some point in time in my life, I was oblivious to
self-expression. (Well, my memories at this point are murky at
best and can only make this conclusion as I could make little
recollections of significant ponderings of this kind.)
Then, certain events in my life molded me and shaped me into
someone who finds comfort in wearing a shell around them in
estranged situations. A shell that makes one hide behind
formality and professionalism in writing, behind sticking to
steoreotypes and deterring from stepping outside the box of
expectations. Needless to say, I shrank my comfort zone and
fitted it as membrane around which I consider my maximum
boundaries.
I was afraid of confrontation. Afraid of being considered
"outside the cult", misinformed, unknowledgeable, behind on the
latest updates on what the Cool Kids consider Good or Bad these
days. That, of course, was after I discovered certain information
that led to my enlightenment with the current state of the
world. It appeared as though anyone could have an opinion on
anything anytime. Surely there was a common denominator that
could wrap it all up nicely and carry it all with me each day, to
fit in during social gatherings and not be called out for a
misinformed opinion?
Alas, it wasn't long before I gradually found that, no actually,
opinions molded by each of our unique experiences are, in fact,
what sets us apart, what makes us unique -- the meat of our
conversations, exchange of ideas, sharing our deepest passions
and worries. One who seeks to remain in the dead-center in the
Overton window is one who seeks to remain hidden, inconspicuous.
Our minds -- complex, fascinating, capable of infinite
possibilities -- though evolved from the same DNA codes, are
bound to draw each its own conclusions based on past experiences,
current emotions, inherited and randomly mutated genes. It's
inevitable. To interact with society is to participate in the war
of ideologies. (Or it may be productive not to call it a war --
but words fail me as I try to find the perfect phrase to
articulate this idea as an alternative.) Noble branches of arts
and humanities try to draw the lines, form the classes and
categories and put labels on people. At best it can only be a
huge, inter-weaving venn diagram. To think, and to draw our own
conclusions? That's simply human. The way someone might go about
expressing it or choosing to participate in that war without
assuming good faith? That's their choice.
* * *
In my attempts (as an introvert and overthinker) to be more
likeable -- as a human, I tend to like those who are likeable,
and only naturally wish to be more like those I am drawn towards
-- I have started to dissect my social interactions both offline
and online, particularly with regards to self-expression:
personality, writing style, and sharing of idealogies.
In a space such as that of today's internet where our forms of
presentation are devoid of signals that could please the natural
senses and induce our most primitive forms of body-language
deduction, we can only make abundant use of the tools available
to us in crafting our publicity. The medium of which we exchange
ideas consolidated into standard boxes of language, represented
through text -- the most prominent of those tools. A tool, that
unfortunately, constantly proves to be an annoyingly emotionless
platform of communication.
When we communicate online, throwing our thoughts out there into
the unknown, there is no intonation, reproducible pauses, pace,
or rhythm of speech. At best one can only pick a few emoji to
decorate a sentence, or informalise the tone to make certain
parts more approachable like a conversation or stand-up
speech. Though all that can only be used sparingly -- overindulge
and... well we all know how that comes across.
I've never had much issues writing for academic and professional
settings; personal text conversations have also become second
nature. Online interactions and personal blogging, though? I've
never really been too confident in the ways I end up articulating
my ideas.
The best way to find that sweet spot for our own writing is to
keep reading and writing. Throughout my attempts at making myself
write more upon realization of these issues, I have went through
great lengths of exploring different kinds of solutions such as
lowering the friction to begin drafts, to edit, and publish. None
had worked too well. For my most recent attempt, I decided to take
on writing challenges and to simply "start writing and see where
it goes". I started a dedicated writing vault (project) in
Obsidian, gathered resources for motivation and inspiration, and
got myself to first prioritize quantity over quality -- I
realized that had been overthinking the quality way too much in
the past and the only way to keep going forward was to set down
my standards, set measurable goals, and Just Write.
"Start writing and see where it goes," my former self said. It
did end up going somewhere. My "style" eventually settled into a
form bound by my shell. A shell I never really thought it was
worth growing out of. "You want to be informal, you say?" my
newer self responded mockingly, "informal it shall be, but it remains
reserved."
* * *
Something that needed to change had not changed. I successfully
got myself to writing more, but I've since hit a plateau where
motivation has waned again. I continued to write myself short
notes in my personal journals to record key events, but ever
since reaching suicide ideation some time ago due to unrelated
circumstances, I have refrained from making long-form entries on
my physical notebooks which I've always enjoyed. I debated on
whether to record the thought-process of that suicide ideation
episode while it was occurring, and never ended up writing a
single word that day.
In the days that followed when I recovered from these events, I
lacked motivation to write because I thought my journal was
supposed to be my closest companion in the recording this period
of my life. Something significant had happened and it had missed
out in recording that. The story ends up disjointed for my future
self to read. It was no longer an accurate representation of the
daily events of my life and it felt as though the journal was a
lover and we grew apart. Eventually, another significant event
occurred and I had to write it down -- by first briefly
mentioning the events it had missed out on the days prior. You
could say we resolved our quarrel and got back together.
* * *
I encountered someone highly "likeable" again, recently. I
believe I have found some of the key reasons why I was drawn
towards them. They are open, their writing style is inviting,
personal. They make themselves vulnerable to criticism, but
precisely that same vulnerability shields them from certain
haters -- anyone with a right mind who begins to write a negative
response will stop themself and question its ethicality based on
common sense.
I've noticed that the way I write is highly dependent on the
environment I write in and the audience and intentions I keep at
the back of my mind while I write. I can write freely and
creatively when I put myself first. By appreciating what my
former selves have done and been through, and by being supportive
and encouraging to what my future self will be capable of
achieving, I can write love letters to my future self. Writing to
impress myself is the easiest way for me to write well --
obviously, I would consider a piece of writing "good" precisely
because I have crafted it to be so!
And my environment? I work best at night, that 30 minutes to 1
hour before I sleep -- either in Emacs on my laptop or the blank
pages of my favorite physical journal laying open on my lap --
that low, warm lighting, quietness and stillness of the night,
when the city finally takes a break from the frenzy and hectic rush
at money-making during the day -- the perfect time to sit down
and reflect on the day.
The minute I start thinking "I know I'm writing this for myself,
but this could fit very well on my public blog," I start
spiraling down the pit of overthinking what my readers (other
than myself) might *want* or *expect* to see.
Remember the war of opinions I mentioned earlier? I need to
remind myself to not worry about expectations, and to pull myself
back into the comforting environment that had previously worked
so well.
