These are two lessons I have learned since beginning this blog: First, I am more private a person than I realized. Second, you can never tell your whole story – even if you did happen to want to. Not in a blog, not in a poem, not in an essay or a memoir. Each time we write, each time we speak, each time we introduce ourselves to someone new, we are employing only a portion of ourselves – a persona appropriate to the situation. Genuine, yes – hopefully. Entire? Whole? No. We cannot possibly be everything that we are at all times. Read any one of my dozens of essays, hundreds of poems, thousands of letters or e-mails – and you may, but more likely may not, be able to tell that they were indeed composed by the same individual. To be sure, there are certain elements and characteristics of my writing easily identified as “my style” – a love of the dash and of parentheses, a sparse use of dialogue, a distinct rhythm and variety of sentence structure. But the voice, the tone, are dependent on the piece. So, certainly, our full individuality cannot breathe within the confines of a single blog – however comprehensive. Nor can we fully convey ourselves on a Facebook page – regardless of how many thousands of pictures we post, how many hundreds of virtual friends we have, how many times a day we update our statuses to reflect each fleeting thought or circumstance.
We pick and choose which part of ourselves we portray for each venue in which we perform. Here, I am Professional. Here, I am Wife. Here, I am Daughter or Friend or Sister. And I will act accordingly, to the best of my understanding of the role. And each of us has a different understanding of what it means to be Wife, Father, Employee, Neighbor. Not one of us will interpret the role in the same way.
Just as we pick and choose which part of ourselves we will express for each circumstance we encounter, we have also, however unconsciously, adopted specific personas for each of our digital modes of expression. We have constructed a certain voice for the recording on our voicemail. I have recorded and re-recorded my voicemail message multiple times, each time listening intently to my own voice to decide whether I approve or disapprove of the way I sound – the impression I might give to anyone who calls (silly, really – most people that call me know me already, anyway), thus determining whether to save or re-record the message. Generally, I do this until I feel embarrassed for doing it and settle for the most recent recording – probably not too different from the original. Similarly, we have constructed a persona for our Facebook page or our MySpace page (I never got into MySpace). We decide which pictures to post – and which never to post. We try to portray ourselves as witty or intellectual or spiritual or deep or fun.
We have a perpetual need to express ourselves, to assert our individuality. We do it through bumper stickers, through flags waving from front porches, through hair-dos and clothing and T-shirts with messages scrawled across the fronts.
We hunger for recognition, attention, acknowledgement. I am interesting! we scream. I am different! I am here!
And yet – there is much we choose not to expose. Much we keep hidden. Even those who know us best don’t know it all. Some may know most – may know everything we are willing to reveal. But even the most extroverted among us has a quiet side, a peaceful side – a side just for herself. Who we are when we are alone – is that our most genuine self? I don’t know.
What I do know – what I think I know (because what do I know, really?) is this: None of us ever tells our whole story. I’m not sure anyone really wants to.
Even though that would be the perfect conclusion to this posting – I want to add one more thing. The people I love best to be around are the people who best know me – and somehow still want to be around me. Let me say this: The people who know me best are the people who love me best. And that’s a pretty amazing, comforting thing. They are my mom, my dad, my sisters and my brother. My husband and my best friends. They know the good parts of me – and they know most of the parts I would probably hide if I could. And they love me anyway. I do not have to put on a show. I do not have to decide which persona to put on. They love me no matter which one I am wearing.
And by the way, if the concept of creating personas and identities to present to the world interests you – go watch Catfish. And read some Vivian Gornick. Take a class on memoir or personal essay or creative nonfiction. Meet someone you first saw from afar. Look at the Facebook profile of someone you thought was respectable, and find out how she portrays herself on-line. Challenge your perception of someone. Challenge your first impression.
