It was a familiarity that came without conversation, a tenderness that lacked back and forth, an intimacy that was unearned.
One of my friends has started a blog, and I feel obligated to read it. But I also am honored to read it. She writes with honesty and insight about the good and the bad things in her life. I feel like I'm getting to know her better than I have in a while, even though we haven't been as close since she got married.
But I've never been willing to give her the name of my blog. She knows I have one (and is one of the only people that even knows, as I figure the best-kept secret is the one that no one knows exists). But I couldn't be as open if people I knew could read this. (And, even worse, if people I knew might or might not be reading it.)
I try to make sense of my life here. I love the idea of somebody reading it (I hope!), but the anonymity makes it so much safer. I'd be terrified if people I love (or people I don't love and have to work with) had that level of intimacy.
At the same time, I'm realizing I do want more intimacy in my life. But I want earned intimacy, with conversation and back and forth. I don't know how to bridge this all-or-nothing intimacy, but I'm working on it.
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