I glance down at my phone. Its 4:04. Having spent far too much of my life online, the first thought that crosses my mind is 404, file not found. Then I start to reflect on my circumstances.
I have a place that I reside. It isn’t home, but it’s the place where I’ve spent the last decade and where I’ll likely spend the next decade. It should be home, it has all the elements of a home. Somehow there’s something missing. Most likely its only in my head.
Home is where the heart is, the cliche says. In that case I’ve no idea where home is, as I’ve long ago lost track of my heart.
On some level, I moved my home online years ago, when I found a community out there that I was comfortable with. And as the new shiny stripped away the oldbies, singly or in batches, that feeling of home faded into nostalgia. So with nothing to hold me to that place, I’d go wander the back alleys of the global village, looking for another quiet virtual corner to hang up my hat in.
The problem with the net is the disconnect that some people have between their meatspace and wirehopper faces.
For whatever reason, I grew out of that distinction. I suspect its because I have no faith in my ability to project a persona that would appeal to people. Rather than trying to appear as someone more likeable, I just accept that I’ll be misunderstood and embrace my inner curmudgeon. Some people will disagree that I qualify as such, but I think when it comes down to it, I’ve got it down. I want people to do the right thing, but I expect them to act like selfish idiots. I’d like to be proven wrong, but more often than not, they’ll make a choice that’ll make me silently shake my head.
That’s not to say I’ve lost my ability to be silly. Just that my internal auditor has slid his chair closer to my inner ear and he’s making sure he’s heard over the other impulses lurking there.
This seems to result that people see me as more stern and disapproving than I would want to be.