I was out with a new friend last night. He’s a nerd (his word, not mine). He’s a tech guy, very savvy. I am not. The point was made clearly when he referenced something from this blog. This blog with its three readers. This blog that is really much more of a diary than anything else. This blog….that I suck at writing.
I can’t remember exactly how it came up but he said something about me having been diagnosed with cancer and a brain tumor. My mind immediately starts racing around, figuring out how he could know that. I didn’t talk about it. I don’t talk about it often but people who know me and people who were in my life when I couldn’t speak properly, couldn’t hold my own children and couldn’t walk without tripping certainly knew. We have one connection (a neighbor of mine is a co-worker of his) but that guy wouldn’t talk about that – there’s much more recent and juicy gossip to discuss. How did he know?
I’m fairly certain that the look of panic flashed across my face. I know it doesn’t make a lot of sense but I’m an intensely private person. I don’t like people knowing things about me until I want them to know. So what does an intensely private person do? She writes a blog, of course. It’s my own dumb fault. And it’s easily found if you google me. Who knew? Apparently the rest of the modern world, that’s who.
I was rendered speechless briefly – not an easy feat. I stumbled and stammered and looked like a moron. Then I figured okay, he knows this about me and still showed up to meet me. Not bad. He said something nice about it – like I’m glad you’re okay. Good recovery. And then we moved on.
Lesson learned. If I write it, it’s not private. If it’s written about me, it’s not private. I’m not nearly as smart as I thought I was. I’m working on that last one.
Oh, in case you’re wondering. Yeah, last night was fun, stumbling, stammering and all J.