the public
Don't you hate it when you go out in public, and the public is there?
Jokes aside, my relationship with the public is difficult.
I think most interactions are actually neutral; just passing each other, sitting next to each other, exchanging glances, paying for things.
Some are good, and they are so rare that it restores a lot of faith in me. I love that the barista at the coffee shop is always so heart warming and genuinely happy and kind; I have brought him a little chocolate Santa before to thank him.
The negative experiences unfortunately stick with me longer, and are the first thing I think of. Vomit, dog poop and litter on the sidewalk, loud music in public transport, smoking and spitting everywhere, getting honked at while walking down the street, people under the influence or in a mental health episode harassing others, public spaces filled with either intense perfume/deodorant or piss and sweat smell... just to name a few. I'm very sensitive to smell and sound, and it often feels like my skin is peeling off and my head will explode when I am exposed to these.
My home is my retreat, my silent refuge. I go there to recharge. Basically all of my hobbies can be done independently inside by myself. Aside from work, I don't really go out that often because I don't feel welcome or comfortable outside a lot of times. The above negative experiences, together with urban car-centric design, overfilled cafes or restaurants, and infection risks just don't make it that enticing for me.
The exceptions are going out in the dark when the streets are empty, or on long walks in the forest. I need my solitude and quiet, and the few people I see in the forest usually have the common decency not to act like teenagers in a small park area do.
When I want to do outdoor stuff with my wife or friends, of course I have to step outside. The museums lately were wonderful, for example. I enter the public, but mainly because my focus is spending time with them. When I dress in bright colors, put on one of my colorful wigs, adorn my hair with stuff and put rhinestones on my face, I mainly do that for me and them; any onlooker is welcome to enjoy it too, of course. Maybe it makes someone feel happy or brave to see that.
Still, there is this expectation by many that once you put yourself out there, you consent to what happens to you, and that you perform for others... and that can be disappointing and make you question whether you wanna commit to this at all. Like you should have anticipated rude comments if you dress like that, for example (hasn't happened in quite a while, but still!).
I find my relationship to the internet similarly complicated, if not even more so. After all, the internet is where the very same public is that I otherwise tend to have issues with. I have to go outside for necessities, work and enjoyment; but do I have to expose myself on and to the online? Why do I do it?
Walking outside, I have very rarely wondered what that person on the opposite side of the street thinks about a topic, or their opinion on how I am dressed; yet at home, in my refuge from the public, I open the internet, and invite the public into my safe space via me seeing their stuff. I see their thoughts, despite being at home. I see things and it's like seeing dog poop not picked up on the sidewalk. I put things online about myself, and therefore invite the public to consume it, to comment on it. It feels weird to acknowledge that.
The same thing from above applies here: If you make it public, anything goes. If you didn't want that, you shouldn't have put that online. Makes sense, depending on what it is.
An online presence feels so at odds with being a private person in some ways, or being picky about people, and being intentionally harder to access in real life. It can even feel like a narcissistic shrine to oneself at times, or a hardening cast around you that makes it more difficult to change it and let it grow with you as time goes on. I deal with that right now.
Online, you can't really retreat; either you're there or you're not, obscurity by using smaller platforms doesn't help much. It also feels weird because in a way, you are expected to put on a performance for an online crowd once you are there.
In the offline public, I simply exist in the space to go where I need to go, or to enjoy a meal or the time at the lake. In the online public, I am content to be consumed. We are invited to criticize people like product reviews, or as if they are annoying ads shoved down our throats (and I guess influencers are that). The reactions to people changing up their online presence seem less like they're about a person and more like anger when the formula of a product you like got changed. If someone comes up to you on the street saying you'll never find a man in that getup, they're rightfully seen as a weirdo, but online, it's discourse and engagement is farmed.
Recently, I've been wondering why I put in the effort of putting my stuff online to the very same public I don't particularly care about, or sometimes even dislike, on the street1. In the offline world, I don't really give them anything, but online, I give them so much. My art, my thoughts, my research, my help. Is it worth it, is it hypocritical? Is it believable when I say I do this for me, my wife, my friends, and some drive-by eyeballs? I could just keep it to myself, keep it all in the journal, start a password-protected blog elsewhere.
I don't have any good answers to this; for now, it seems I have to walk around as a contradiction. In real life, I cannot make myself selectively visible to just a few people (I wish I could!); online, I could find a way, but I don't. That's odd.
Maybe there is pride in my work and what I do, an urge to be seen by others who understand me, something to prove I was there too, a way to show people alternative ways of being online, or spreading more awareness about specific rights or health issues. Still, it's curious that I would do this online, but not offline - I would not walk up to a random person and say something, or walk around with a banner, or stand at a town square with a megaphone. But do I have to? Or is online simply the best way for me to find a way to interact with, and be in, the public?
It's easy to see the internet as a self-obsessed thing, filled with navelgazing; people might read personal blogs online and go "Why should we listen to you? Who even are you? Who cares, who asked? Why do you think anyone needs to hear this from you? Isn't this just digital garbage? This isn't even an original thought."
I understand how this view is fostered in a time when anyone can throw their opinions online in seconds; but in a way, this is unprecedented, and previous generations in history would have appreciated the ability to be so easily heard/seen and making their feelings known to so many people without relying on flyers or a newspaper. So maybe this is a privilege we should not take for granted, especially as tensions and censorship across the globe rise.
And as always, you have to let in nasty stuff if you also wanna let in love. Close yourself off, and you receive neither. I have to walk past dog poop and sit in sometimes excruciating trams for 45 minutes to reach the nice barista or have a good in-person talk with a coworker. I have received some truly shitty emails over the years2, but the good ones outweigh them. I wade through the Discover feed to see some beautiful gems.
What makes the online public so difficult is that once it's out there, it's out; even when you change your mind or grow. While we want our online presence to be a continuous process readjusting boundaries, it's more like committing to the most vulnerable piece that is still online, over and over again.
In contrast: Before I step into the offline public space, I can readjust how I want to appear every time. The stranger on the street doesn't see all the history attached, doesn't see all the past versions of me that have stepped outside.
And here I am, once again, stepping out into the public.
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Of course I care in the sense that everyone should have a home, money, healthcare, a support network, access to education, fulfilling work etc etc., but that's not what I'm talking about here.↩
No, socially anxious person reading this and thinking this could be about you, it wasn't you. It could have never been you. The people I am talking about don't care about how they come across and haven't spent a second self-reflecting. You're good.↩