A One-sided Conversation

An interesting corollary to writing on this site has been the growing difference between what my friends who read the site know about me, and what I know about them. By no means do I have an extensive readership, nor do I desire one–I’ve often wondered how much I would have to censor myself if lots of people read this; I already do to some extent. I also do not often write about things personal to myself, like emotions or personal relationships, instead using this place as a brainstorming forum and a design playground.

But just as Bryan Boyer’s Global ID Card defines a person by where they have been and want to be, knowing someone’s thoughts is much more identifying than their age, location, height, weight, or any “personal” fact. It’s like having one of those “deep” late-night talks in a freshman dorm–except that because so few of my real-world friends do the same, this conversation is one-sided.

Of course I don’t expect everyone to write down their thoughts and make them available publicly. That’s a choice I’ve made to aid my memory and allow others to comment and help shape my thinking. If others don’t need the same help, kudos to them. And there is still the non-trivial technical hurdles to get over, something I’m working on in several projects, and that is getting better by the day, but that is still unduly difficult.

But while I acknowledge these things, it is still frustrating that I have lost touch with close friends who have moved away, and exciting that I can know and follow the story of people I don’t know well from the real world, but who write online. The potential is impressive, and the “wasted social capital” of both missing new friends and losing old ones is tragic.

An article in the Guardian tells a story that reflects the situation of everyone knowing about you and you not knowing about them:

She asked if I wrote poetry, so I then explained to her about the blog and I gave her the address, which perhaps wasn’t the best career move, and she started reading. I found out one day that she’s been online and read through the whole archive. And so when I saw her after that I felt very strange, because she knew everything about me and I knew virtually nothing about her.

“Strange” is a good word–I can’t expect this of everyone, and I’m not angry about the discrepancy, but it’s strange to see an old friend who knows exactly where you’ve been intellectually and not know the same about them. Strange and disappointing.