Tonight I was hired to edit another short blog story about online privacy. I’m mostly editing to make the language flow a little more naturally. My strengths as an editor (and writer) are in the musicality of language – stringing words together that fit and have a cadence. I am not the best technical editor – I break lots of standard rules. When I managed a mini publishing empire (we produced between 100 and 200 books a year) I advised my writers to pay attention to flow and sound as opposed to technically correct usage. For me it’s the difference between a virtuoso guitarist (technically amazing) and a blues musician (a little sloppy but full of soul). I told my writers that if I had to re-read the sentence two or three times there was a problem. I don’t want to work that hard to extract meaning. Our books were for high school students and the last thing we wanted was more stuffiness that turned readers off to reading.
The funny thing about editing these online privacy blog posts is that they are trying to capitalize on fear and scare tactics, and I am probably their worst customer. If you’re not careful, your information can be stolen, you could be stalked, you could be doxxed. All of which, I suppose, are true enough. But for me, it’s a matter of living in fear or living.
I had a dog when I was younger. More accurately, my dad and stepmom had a dog – Jake. Jake was a white German shepherd. I did a lot of Jake’s training (I happen to be really good with animals). Jake and I would roughhouse. Sometimes, he’d get a little too rough when he would bite, and I quickly learned that if he tried to bite my hand, I could put my hand towards the back of his mouth which prevented him from getting a good chomp in…. In driving, this is called steering into the skid.
Many years later, I took a college course on science, technology, and society. Every few semesters a guru-like professor named Ivan Illich came to Penn State to expound on life and philosophy and the history of human endeavors. The course was co-taught and facilitated by a man named Lee Hoinocki (not sure if I’m spelling that correctly). One night in a small group discussion Professor Hoinocki shared that he almost always picked up hitchhikers when he saw them. One of the other students asked why he wasn’t afraid of doing that – after all, there are crazy people out there. The professor explained that he didn’t want to go through life worrying about that. The way he saw it, the chances of him picking up a crazy person are low. And even then, the worst that would probably happen would be that he’d get bonked on the head and lose his car and his wallet. The flip side, of course, was that he might actually help someone in need, he might meet a new person and learn a thing or two about humanity in the process. To him, this was a fair trade-off in his risk-reward calculations.
As I’m editing these pieces that want to convince potential customers that the world is a scary place and that ne’er-do-wells lurk around every corner, I want to subvert the message. Yes, there are bad people out there. If I spend my life worrying about them, I will be miserable and afraid. To me, there seems to be a counter to scrubbing yourself from the internet (or paying to have your footprint scrubbed). Put it all out there. Shove your hand to the back of the dog’s mouth so that he can’t bite you. Trust that humanity is good and live accordingly. Nobody can steal from you what you willingly give away.
When I first moved to Memphis, colleagues and people I met all thought I was crazy for walking around as much as I do. Memphis has the reputation of being one of the most dangerous cities in the country. I have to be honest – it’s not that bad. When I leave my apartment to head the few blocks to the river or to Main St., I can go to the left and take Union Ave. or I can go to the right and take Madison. The difference between the two is stark. On Madison is a liquor store and a small bodega, a few abandoned shops and a handful of characters – there’s always someone shuffling up or down the street, asking for money or the time or a light, adjusting their belt from having urinated in an alley, or just looking like they’re not in good shape. Union has far fewer of all of those things. I almost always choose to go to the right and walk Madison. It’s easy to avoid the things we don’t want to see. It’s easy to avoid the things that make us uncomfortable… but here’s the thing. Also on Madison are two security officers that smile at me and say hello every day. And those people shuffling up and down the street – they smile too when I look them in the eye and ask how their day is going. There’s a big guy who sits on a bench on Main Street just before Union. I would never see him if I walked down Union. We talked once. He’s homeless and disabled and is far more pleasant than he should be given his circumstances. He sits on his bench every morning and talks to some of the other homeless people. Every day he sees me and I see him. He raises hist fist and sometimes calls out how’s it going big guy. I wave and smile back at him. We see each other – which is an unmeasurable gift in a world of avoidance.
This morning’s blog post marked a year of blogging – an endeavor I wouldn’t have guessed I’d have had the discipline, or nerve, to accomplish. I don’t have many readers – I’ve never sought them out. I don’t publicize my writing. A few friends know that I write. As far as I know, none of them have bothered to come looking. I suspect they prefer to not know so much about me. Only three people have ever come forward and told me that they’ve read my blog – my mother being one of them (hi, mom). From time to time, I worry about bad actors – who will dig and discover and try to leverage. But honestly, I don’t say much of consequence and being found out is the least of my concerns in blogging or having an internet presence. My greatest apprehension isn’t about walking through the uncomfortable and unsavory or having someone find out where I live or learn that I peed the bed when I was probably too old to pee the bed – it’s that I also recognize there is a beauty in the process of discovery and revelation. Authentic connections are built in person and through mutual curiosity. By blogging, I sometimes worry that I’m robbing myself and others of the chance to get to know each other.
I can’t think of a good way to end this post, and I’m having a tough time with a title. Steering into the skid? Live like someone’s always watching? Always keep a little something tucked away? Who’s gonna buy the cow? The art of seduction? Take the long way home? Hiding in plain sight? If you can’t beat ’em, join ’em? Privacy and Paranoia? Maybe it’s best to close with the classic Rockwell video (“Somebody’s Watching Me”). Clearly a man who was ahead of his time.