\\”So I heard that you\\’re working for Ellen\\’s firm. Congrats.\\” a classmated imed me.<\/p>\n
I knew I didn\\’t tell him directly, so I asked him where he heard it from.<\/p>\n
\\”Your blog.\\”<\/p>\n
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.<\/p>\n
But that brought up a thought.<\/p>\n
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.<\/p>\n
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.<\/p>\n
I am more the written word. I am so much more. I am more than that photographer who took the above picture.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
\\”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 … Continue reading