Intimacy Publishing
Lately, there’s been some terrifyingly, gut-wrenchingly honest pieces posted by folks I follow closely online. Some samples:
- Struggling With Time & Attention by Ian Hines
- Tuesday, 12pm by Pat Dryburgh
- Cranking by Merlin Mann
- What’s in a Name? by Patrick Rhone (and its companion, My Mother)
Not all of the stories I’m talking about are even put down in text. For instance, there’s the episode of Enough where Patrick Rhone frankly discusses his battle with bipolar disorder, or Merlin’s tear-laced intimations on fear at WebStock.
I’m frankly awed every time I find someone else has put down and populated to RSS feeds such very intimate accounts of their memories, emotions and struggles. And more than awed, I’m humbled nearly to the point of shame because I haven’t had the courage to more openly share my struggles, my stories, my mistakes.
Hoping for the Death of the Whitestrip Avatar Smile
Perhaps the reason posts of this sort are so refreshing to us is that they contain that vital element that “social media” has largely lacked: raw honesty in both the highs and lows of our lives.
It’s natural to construct shiny, polished windows into our lives, to cover the cracks and caulk up the faults. And we’ve truly entertained and impressed one another, I’m sure. But at some point, the appeal of that smiling veneer starts to cheapen. The quippy sunshine, the meticulous personal branding, the glowing breakfast reviews — they have to be balanced with something real and substantial.
Not that I think the whole of Twitter is going to go off and start crafting life-story confessionals in place of the linkbait and cat photos currently favoured by bots and gurus everywhere, but if they did, it just might be the salve that saves their social souls.
So, for you brave souls who share both the good and the bad of your lives, who make the effort to project your complete person amid a social sea of one-dimensional Crest-whitened avatar smiles: thank you.
