We are who we are by force of deep emotional connections to our people and our things and our random thoughts. The aggregate of all of these makes virtually all of us good people, even if some of the connections to people or things or thoughts are net negatives.
A billion or a trillion or so people have died and left nothing of themselves, except a few sacred and secular things, the stories of which are lost forever. By the time most of us are old enough to ask respectful questions to our elders, and to get why that matters, they are dead.
I don’t blog because I have something to say that must be heard. I don’t blog because I believe I can persuade. I don’t blog to score points.
I just blog therefore I am. Break it down.
Until recently, it was a given that you died misunderstood. No one really got you. Perhaps if you were famous, like Samuel Johnson, and you had an obsessive chronicler like James Boswell following you, a roughly accurate portrait might emerge. Otherwise, we all sighed, died, and persisted, at best, as an inscrutable sepia photo.
The internet and its exploding capacities deliver a new possibility. We can record ourselves. We can be ourselves in more detail. Some of those otherwise lost stories can be preserved.
We don’t do this to celebrate ourselves, merely to say, for those who might care, now or when they are older, here are answers to some of the questions you might have asked after I am dead. I am therefore a little bit more real than I would have been.