\”So I heard that you\’re working for Ellen\’s firm. Congrats.\” a classmated imed me.

I knew I didn\’t tell him directly, so I asked him where he heard it from.

\”Your blog.\”

I immediately looked through all my latest blog entries to see if I had talked anything about the start of a recent part-time interaction designer. Nothing. He must have heard it from someone else.

But that brought up a thought.

In comparision to my earlier days (back in 2001), I now often censor what I write. I don\’t share my emotions on this blog as much as I used to. I don\’t write about angst (besides those vague entries). It\’s a shame in some way to be afraid that people will judge me on the basis of what I write. That they will assume things about me. It\’s not that I care so much about what people think, but I would rather not encourage the development of the wrong assumptions.

Awhile ago, I had a journal where I wrote only during my depressing moments. I shared that with some close friends–or people I thought I could trust. One person however started avoiding me, thinking that I was constantly unhappy on the inside, but happy on the outside.

I am more the written word. I am so much more. I am more than that photographer who took the above picture.