It's mighty late. I always have patience for the internet, though. I think it's something of an addiction.
But that aside...
Sometimes, my secrecy hurts. I hate having people read what I've written. When I hand essays in, I cut them off. I get them back and I don't even look at the comments. I'm scared to commit to the words, or to have the words commit to me. I don't understand why this scares me so. Others put their lives out there and are free.
I think it has to do with words being undeniable. Music, being more intangible, seems safer. Fewer can decode it. I offer an explanation of myself through it, but I can affirm or deny its manner of receipt, or float in between. It's as though sending it out into open space subjects it to the subtle and imperceptible infiltration of...well, anything, really...dust particles, perfume, leaves, skin cells, light, time. With all that interferes with the part of me that's sent out with music, I can be assured that I will be indistinguishable.
It occurs to me that what I want is for people to pay attention. It all sounds so egotistical. But I want people to take the time to figure out the puzzle, picking up pieces here and there. I think that I do that with others. Maybe I'm feeling that people want it all upfront. We've become impatient (even I am guilty of that). I want someone to ask the questions. Come to think of it, hardly anybody asks me why I chose a certain piece of music. I suppose that's part of the veil.
The down side to all of this is that even people closest to me don't really know about all the strange things that go through my head. They're not aware of my writing style, and I will likely never know whether they think something I've written is good, bad, effective. I won't get feedback from them, and I won't get a response to my innermost thoughts. I will never know whether something I have said, with care, makes them cringe or sparks their imagination. They won't know how I feel the world.
