Last Updated on June 13, 2017
This is a special entry which is part of AOL’s Journal Community First Anniversary Celebration.
When I was asked by Vivian to prepare one of the “keynote addresses” for the big party, I thought for a while about what I wanted to say to those of you who stopped by. I was flattered by her request, but at the same time, I felt the pressure to come up with some pearl of wisdom more than a little daunting.
I thought I would try to answer that basic question that many never ask…but secretly would like to: Why do we do it?
Writing a journal is much like building a house, furnishing it to your own taste down to the knickknacks on the shelves. Each day, as you bring another item up from the basement — the only room that is always locked — you place it, get it where you want it, then leave the house for a few hours.
There’s just one more thing: before you leave, you open every door to every room (except for that mysterious basement), including all of the closets with any skeletons you’ve put there, and then you leave the front door standing wide open and just walk away for a little while.
Those in the neighborhood who walk by, seeing that door, can step inside if they wish and have a look around.
Who wouldn’t? You’re in a nice neighborhood, you see an open door — almost an invitation in itself — you know no one is around and that no one is watching. You can step inside, have a look around and no one will ever be the wiser. Unlike real life, you can’t really take any furniture or belongings from the house…all you can do is look around. If you want to, you can leave a note or two to let someone know that you’ve been there, but you don’t even have to identify yourself when you do so. In the real world, I can’t imagine anyone resisting that temptation for very long.
It’s very intimidating, though, when you get back home and you realize that someone has been there. I mean, you left the door open, so you know that it was possible…but when you find proof, well, that’s different. When you see that “sticky-note” left on the refrigerator, surrounded by those magnets that have been rearranged into a smiley-face, or when you find that note card on the coffee table, you realize that someone else has browsed through your private little world.
It can be very pleasant when someone leaves a comment that says they like the way you’ve chosen to decorate your place. It can be unpleasant when someone calls you an idiot for placing the leopard-skin sofa on the green shag carpet, no matter how cool you think it looks.
Some recoil at the idea of having others leave comments, because it makes them realize that someone has looked around. It throws them into a panic! “Did I leave the place tidy?” “Had I made my bed?” “Did I flush the toilet before I left?” Some abruptly tear up the comments and throw them away, whether they were well-meaning or not. Some lock the door, making sure no one can ever leave a comment again. Others, so bothered by the notion that anyone might take advantage of the chance to see how they live inside their own home decide to take the extreme action of tearing down the house by deleting their journal altogether.
What they don’t realize is that it’s no less intimidating a year later. Sure, those of you with journals that have stood the test of time since the very beginning may be used to that intimidation. You may have come to terms with the pressure of having to keep things in order so that visitors won’t be offended. Or, you may have reached the conclusion that it’s your house, you can live how you want to live, and those who step inside will see what they see, period.
No matter how long that front door has been standing wide open, there are still those moments, as you bring up the latest item from the basement and decide where and how to place it, that you wonder, “Am I going to upset someone with this?” or “Am I going to run off one of my friends if they know I have one of these?”
Making other people happy isn’t really our motive, as much as we like to think it is. You can’t please everyone, no matter how hard you try. Sooner or later, you will offend someone. That doesn’t mean that you have to do it often, but it does mean that the odds aren’t necessarily on your side.
So why open that door at all? There are plenty of visitors who don’t. Why not just be like them?
The obvious answer is that if everyone just walked from house to house looking for one with the door open, they’d all be closed. Someone has to open the door.
I think I’ve figured out, finally, why those of us who do choose to open the front door and quietly invite the inspection, judgment or even scorn of others do so. I think we all have the same motive in mind…the same question we’d like to have answered.
No matter what gender, age, race, nationality, religion, political preference, sexual orientation or other quality that might make us unique, we all have one key thing in common: we have all reached a point in this crazy journey where we need that one answer to that one question.
We post things about our ourselves, our family, our loves, our hopes, our dreams, and even our fears. We talk about things we wish would happen to us, and things that already have. Some of them are profound, others are inane. We plead our cases, argue our beliefs, defend our causes. And while we may not always ask whether anyone agrees with us, understands our situation, can explain some incomprehensible behavior of another, or even thinks we’re overreacting, there is still that nagging question that is much simpler:
Is anyone out there?
It seems a little sad in a way, doesn’t it? That’s what we really want to know. Is anybody out there? Is this thing on? Is someone reading?
All of you in AOL Journal-land answer the question every day, just by being here. There are people out there. In fact, there are many, each of whom has a unique, special voice.
Isn’t it wonderful when that tapestry of diverse voices has the chance to have its say?
Happy anniversary to AOL’s Journal-land community. And thanks to everyone who keeps their porch light on for each other. It’s a nice neighborhood, indeed.
