At this point in time, J has known about the blog for longer than he didn’t know about the blog. I wrote in secret for 15 months before J stumbled on my writing (that was about a year and a half ago).
While I was content to keep my writing secret, some part of me hoped J might find it because it shows off some of what I like most about myself — thoughtfulness, curiosity, humor, and (sometimes) facility with language. I wanted him to see those things in me, not only because I value them, but because he does too.
If I’m honest, my biggest fear about him stumbling on the blog wasn’t his potential anger or hurt feelings. It was his assessment of my writing and the treatment of its subjects — I was afraid he might find it inarticulate, immature, careless, or shallow.
I always figured it would be one of two extremes — he’d think it was brilliant or he’d think it was awful. Perhaps I assumed it would be one or the other because that’s the way I think about myself.
After it was all out in the open, we talked about it. For the most part, he was fine with what I had written and he understood why I had kept it from him. In the days that followed, I was relieved to learn he didn’t think it was awful (that’s not a reaction he would have been able to hide from me… even if he wanted to). In the weeks and months after that, I waited for some indication of the opposite — something that might show he was impressed, or moved, or flattered, or… something.
But he wasn’t. Not really. Not as much as I wanted him to be. That’s okay — it’s just not what I expected.
unpublished draft, last dated March 8, 2013
March 8, 2013
I guess tonight confirmed what I suspected.
J is apathetic about the blog. He’s glad I have an outlet and flattered to be a subject, but beyond that, he’s indifferent.
I thought he might be upset about what I’ve written or freaked out by the attention I’ve paid him, but I also thought he might see it as I do (in part) — as a more-than-year-long love letter to… whatever this thing is.
Regardless, I thought he’d have more of a response to my writing about him (to him, and at him) for over a year. He doesn’t. He’s not upset, he’s not impressed, he’s not really anything at all.
I guess that makes me ineffective? Being effective was never my intention, but it was a tiny expectation. Indifference wasn’t one of the possibilities I considered.
Does it matter? No. But still… I expected some sort of reaction.