Subjective

 I've been writing a lot lately, just not here. Not that I haven't tried. I wrote a mini-novel yesterday for this journal and upon completion, and without a second consideration clicked on the little red box of deletion. Normal behavior for a reclusive behaviorist like myself.

       Some habits are hard to break. This journal being public has it's pluses and certainly it's distractions of privacy in a personal journey. Sometimes I wish I could pretend I'm simply in a room by myself, composing my thoughts without the knowledge that others are looking through the two way mirror. That would keep it simpler, not so putting yourself out there risky. Writing in a personal <private> journal keeps it safe, the illusion I've created for myself personally, is that I'm taking a giant leap of bravado going public here. The 'why' I do it, is still my mystery question I still grapple with...........connection is the best I have come up with. Simple terms for a reclusive like Moi~

       I read a lot of peoples journals yesterday. Like a voyeur, not leaving a whisper that I was there because I'm feeling quiet, I peeked into world after world. For the natural people observer that I am, online journals is like a gold mine of information, study, understanding and utterly perplexing questions of 'huh' and 'whoa' to be found. It's also a world of compassion and finding meanings that unless you read between a persons words you can miss an incredible amount of humanity.

       I've come to both admire and find myself completely perplexed by the diversification of information people are willing to put in public journals. I wandered through the world of AOL journals, link jumping from page to page, and then into the blogshere of journals out there beyond the AOL borders, strangers, all of them to me, yet, still a thread of connection to be found via open words.

       I admire how some people can just write and write with details and open honesty. Some don't hide behind carefully crafted metaphors and word screens such as I do. I wonder, do those people who can accomplish that type of openness ever worry about their words being discovered by someone they know in real life? Especially when it comes to worries and difficulties a person has with say, a husband, or boyfriend, or family member. Writing about such detailed specifics in an open public journal, isn't that a bit risky business?

       I came across a high number, more then I expected, of journals that detailed rather moral and illegal issues. Physical abuse that they are still participating in, detailing drug abuse and child abuse <talking about their own children in awful ways> in great detail for all the world to see. Those are the journals that I do a bit of 'whoa' and 'wow' when reading. To each their own, I can certainly respect that and won't question that why's, I just have to wonder about the hows.......

       When coming across such journals, now and in the past, I have to admit, I'm just not sure what to say or do with them. They are both hard to participate in, ignore, or even digest and process. It's tough to come across a journal where a 20 year is explaining in great detail her latest horrid physical assault by a boyfriend, yet, that they just love him to pieces and would do anything for. For the most part, I find I must click the red X box and move on....... Does that make me insensitive, or just helpless?

       I admire those who keep journals real. Both entertaining, thought provoking and human. So that brings me back to my journal. Keeping it real, keeping it me, keeping it honest without losing my sense of privacy.

       Every time something in my world creates another fault line I seek comfort in sorting it out for myself via written word. My habit, my safety net, my self soothing baby blanket. I've read my last few entries many times over the last week, and the insightful comments gifted to me. Letting things sink it and marinating in that room I call my absorption of new concepts.

       Normal is subjective and I have to admit now, I doubt I'll ever be destined for anything that remotely resembles an ordinary path of life. If destiny is a destination, I'm a ping pong of possibilities, failures, accomplishments and exploration. I doubt I'd be happy with anything short of keeping things interesting. Dangerous territory. That could easily fall into drama induced lifestyle side of things, but it can also fall into the never stopped working on myself and life category. I hope my tombstone says "Here liesRebecca, she never gave up on life, love and the pursuit of possibilities."