I am natively a cynic.
I don’t necessarily enjoy this point, but it’s true, and I can’t help it, and I’ve no motivation to deny it. I always have been, and I’m quite sure that I always will be.
Also, to digress briefly, I’d say that I’m a cynic rather than a pessimist. Some might say that this is a moo point, something of semantics. But it ain’t. According to dictionary.com – an authority on the topic – a cynic believes that all human behaviour is motivated by selfishness, or self-interest. And this, I believe, all the way through to the very core of me. But almost contradictorily, this is, to me, neither good, nor bad, it just is – meaning, I’m not necessarily a pessimist.
Anyway, where was I? Oh, yes, right, my cynical nature.
So, like I was saying, I’m a cynic. A big, fat, hairy cynic. And on top of this point, I also have trust issues. (Of course, my parents are to blame for this. Bastards – ruined me. (Just kidding, mum, if you’re reading this. Even though it is kind of true… we’re cool, we’re cool)).
So yeah, I’m an untrusting cynic. This means that naturally, I find it hard to open up to people. Hang on. Wait. Woops. Actually, that’s not true, it’s not true at all. I’m an open book. But I did, past tense, while growing up, in mi younger years, mate, find it extremely difficult to open up to people.
I hated exposing myself to strangers; family and friends included. No, you pervert, not the Here, take a look under my trench coat – I just bought a sequined jock strap, sort of exposing. Rather, I mean, I lived inside of myself. I kept my self, to my self. I functioned from a cacoon woven of the sediment of my imagination, which was sealed and locked to the outside world.
I don’t know when I reached this turning point, but there came a time when a switch inside of me clicked. I stopped trying to contain myself, to myself, and decided – rather, something inside of me unconsciously decided – that I’d let it all hang loose, and let my natural weird shine its nutty glow.
For me, in this respect, this blog has been marvellous.
The nice thing about a blog is that it ‘s a way to put yourself forward, your most sincere and authentic self, without scaring people. It’s a very passive way to represent the crazy swirling around inside of you, without being too intrusive or overbearing. Which is especially nice in my case, considering that, admittedly, I can be, for some, a bit much – sometimes.
Nevertheless, despite how awesome blogging is for sharing the weird, despite how easy it is to proliferate the crazy and aerate the discordant, the connections that blogging surfaces are divided by the wedge of an entire world – a cyber world.
In my mind, the relationships developed through the interwebs, and contained within the interwebs – that is to say, not explored outside of the interwebs – are, at best, superficially splendid, and at worst, a horror movie in the making. In my mind, in order to establish something real and authentic and tangible and beautiful, a meeting of flesh is required. A meeting that doesn’t involve laptops and glowing screens and pecking fingertips, but rather, something that involves lips and tongues and breath and voice.
If I can’t see someone, if I can’t experience them in the physical flesh, then I can’t trust them. I can’t believe them. I can’t buy into them.
But am I missing out?
I ruminate over this point quite often. (And by often I mean that I thought about it briefly the other day, but it has now got me to thinking).
I’ve now beguiled over 2,000 people into “following” my verbose, stream of consciousness styled rants. I read blogs that I like, and leave comments on (or in?) those blogs when I feel that I’ve something interesting to share. And I respond to 99% of my commenters. But I’ve never, not really, gone that extra step, to either reach out to my readers, or reach out to those whom I read.
And why is that? Of course – because I’m an untrusting, cynical, hobbit creature.
Rarasaur – whose blog you should definitely perve on, cause it smells like roses and cause she serves cake, in a post I wrote last week – explained that many of her friends, real friends, started off as online relationships. Apparently, though you should ask her yourself, she welcomes (and encourages) all forms of communications – emails, snail mails, and even pigeon mails, with her cyber friends.
I’ve never thought to do this. I mean, I do have a contact page, and do not make my personal email a secret. But nonetheless, I’ve never ever really, truly considered actively reaching out to you, my blogging friends.
So here’s me, welcoming any such banter that may consequently follow.
Leave a comment. Send me an email. Send me thought vibes or whatever else it is that you wanna do. I know that the Loony, a blogger whose held my intrigue from when I first started this weird business, met her now fiancé right here on WordPress: A beautiful love story that blossomed from the bed of Cyber Land.
Anyway, what will spring from this little escapade? Probably nothing. But hey, whatever. Even if you just wanna relay a story of how you found love, of some sort, regardless of whether it involved the exchange of lustful fluids, shoot it at me.
Reach in. Reach out. Explore the weird. I’ll answer any of your questions. I’ll respond to your emails. (Unless I forget to; I don’t have the Internet right now so times are tough). If I get enough, and if people are actually that interested in my weird life (which surely won’t be the case), I’ll write up a post about it.
Again, whatever. Weird it at me.
Humans-are-weird. Doesn’t trust the Internet, or cyber people. But he’s a reachin’ out anyway.