Who’s reading this and why? And why are you so embarrassed about it?

Whatever my own reasons for putting so many of my thoughts, feelings and sometimes purple prose into the ether, I do wonder, who are the people clicking on my links and what are their motives for doing so?

The few who leave comments are, in the main, nice enough, though there are always a few with whom I’ve touched a nerve. I don’t write to upset anyone, merely to observe and create rather than merely participate. So I always wonder, when my numbers flare, what’s behind them, and what effect my writing’s having in real life.

It’s a dangerous game. An unguarded opinion can come back to bite you; especially one made, forgotten about, and left to gather dust in plain site (sic), where it can be raked over at will by someone with more of an agenda than the one I set out with when I wrote it.

In a world where so many of us lay ourselves bare online or curate a confected version of ourselves for public consumption, I do sometimes wonder who has the time, energy or curiosity to check up on me – and my numbers tell me that you do. Particularly when so few people “reach out” – god, I hate that phrase – in real life.

The thing is, these little snippets are often written hurriedly, not overly thought out and rarely considered for their long-term impact, though for sure they have one, and not always for the good. So why do I bother at all? Why am I compelled to do this literary lap dance, day in, day out for others’ entertainment and perhaps my own self-harm?

Exhibitionism, no doubt. I like to unfurl an elegantly turned phrase and dangle it for posterity. After all, life is so ephemeral that if I don’t hem it in with words, it just slips by unseen. And the more I conform and grow tongue-tied, polite and professional in real life, the more I need to unleash online.

It’s hard to equate words written in my bedroom with real life consequences that might affect my family or my work.  It would be a shame to think people are reading this just to have one over on me, but I know they do, and yet it is a risk I’m still prepared to take.

Why? Because if I didn’t, then none of my thoughts and feelings would matter to anyone but myself; they would slip off into the ether with nothing but karma and the laws of physics to curtail them. But if they don’t matter to you – unless I’m purely here to entertain you, which I’m happy enough to do for free – then ask yourself, why are you here?