One bizarre thing about the internet, that's become somehow perfectly normal, is how you can get involved in the life of strangers. I don't mean your internet friends, because in my experience internet friends often become real life friends and, even when they don't, are often a source of as much comfort and amusement and pleasure as the people you see every day. No, I mean the people whose posts you read or blogs you follow but whom you don't ever interact with. They become almost like fictional characters whose lives you follow voyeuristically and whom you can project your own little fantasies onto. But then occasionally they invoke real emotion in you--as I guess all well-written fictional characters do.
What brings this up? Oh, I was looking at some pictures of a woman's newly decorated house on a crafting board. Now, it wasn't to my taste, but then, I'm the woman who painted her desk gold and who is seriously thinking about creating faux leather walls with kraft paper because every tutorial she's read says even a moron can do it, so we all know decorating taste is, like musical taste, subjective. But it was obviously a nice, and large, house, and because the woman's avatar seemed to show someone who looked quite young and a little "alternative" to own a mini-McMansion like that, I clicked on her profile.
And found that she's 28, has four kids the oldest of whom is 13, is on husband #2, and had to give up her plans of becoming a designer when she got pregnant so young, but loves being a mom and has never stopped creating and never given up her art. I kept thinking about her the whole time I was bathing. That's good, I thought. She seems happy, though people lying on the internet? Never! And she seems like she's doing well materially. I mean, people don't totally redecorate mini-McMansions that are about to be foreclosed, do they? But when you think of 28 year old women with 4 kids, the oldest of whom is a teenager, you first think the worst case scenario--slum apartment or trailer, an endless parade of "stepfathers" at least two of whom are in prison, and mom either drinking all day or killing herself working at the WalMart, not creating art. So you (I) feel happy that she still has dreams and she has contentment and she has some security. And then you remember she's a complete and total stranger and it's kind of weird to care other than in a "oh I wish peace and happiness to the whole world, kumbaya" way.
The internet. It's weird.
xoxo
2 comments:
My son is addicted to stories. He was ironically late to reading, and still not all that favored of books, but if there's a plot, he's obsessed. He turns over every possible implication in his mind, and delves to connect every possible thread. He concocts all the necessary back stories in his mind, and out loud if you'll give him even one conversational inch. And I imagine he's got what you've got that way, and I know, sooner or later, he'll be reading strangers' blogs and immediately becoming savvy whenever the full story just isn't quite right.
It's a gift. All you're lacking is the heartless cynicism to take the conclusions to their logical conclusion. (i.e. there's gotta be a trailer back in there somewhere, and she's obviously lying about a lot of something, if not to us, then to husband #2). Luckily for my son he has a cynic for a father, and I'm guessing between both he'll make a freakishly effective lawyer, investigative journalist, or dinner party conversationalist, if not all three by the time he's done.
What?!? You're telling me not everyone reads other people's blogs that way? :-)
And you're also telling me that "I'll love you forever" to husband #2 really means "Please buy me a house and take care of these four children who are not your own"? Yeah, yeah, shatter my illusions. :-)
(Sounds like your son's meant to be a writer.)
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