Needless to say, I don't write about everything that happens in my life. In fact, I probably just scratch the surface here at times. Anybody who reads this shlock might think they know me well, but they probably don't. That's the problem with blogs -- they can be confessional and honest, but you never know how much the author is choosing to reveal. Although the whole story might be more fascinating, a life time of "what would the neighbors think?" reactions makes even me a little reticent.
While there are some things that I don't mention because I don't want to remember them, there are also plenty of experiences that I do want to remember but self-censor for unknown reasons.
Tonight, for instance, I had a smashing time with lee lee: getting burritos, browsing old books, and watching Kinsey (so so). And yet I'm reluctant to mention anything because I've received melodramatic email "warning" me of impending doom should I seek the friendship of such a troubled soul. I don't need to hear that. Let me figure that out for myself. Let me feel pain, if it comes to that.
There are many, many things I wouldn't have done if I were afraid of a little suffering, physical or otherwise. If life is suffering (and I believe it is [not in the "woe is me" sense, but the zen sense]), then it's foolish to try to shelter another from a potential suffering that they willingly accept. Overly-protective (at least they believe they're being protective) people find it difficult to let others make their own decisions. It's a character flaw, not a nurturing trait.
I'm going to plunge head-first into situations, informed from past experience though unfettered by needless external restraints. And if I fail, so what. At least I'm trying, which is more than a lot of people can say.
And besides, it's better to burn out than to fade away.