I can already envision an exhibit at the Smithsonian in thirty years, showing what it was like to live in quiet, dignified, respected anonymity, my word of choice.
Anonymous, its adjective meaning, not identifiable by name…privileged, personal, unspoken and undisclosed. An exchange not repeated, gossiped or spread breeding rumors enlarged in each telling.
The confidentiality maintained among members of a group, such as Alcoholics Anonymous, allowing those seeking help to do so without embarrassment or shame.
I’m in a 12 Step program so I know how important it is when it’s read in a meeting’s opening…whatever you see or hear here, stays here.
I never Google anyone I meet, feeling it’s an unnecessary intrusion, yet I know I’m in the minority.
I realize blogging has left me wide open, but should it still be that easy to know everything personal about someone you hardly know?
I draw the line at the deceased. I’m forever looking up presidents and famous writers no longer with us, but tend to leave those still breathing alone.
Why is privacy so important to me?
I feel it’s a person’s right to reveal what he chooses. To keep certain things classified not to be shared with the rest of the world.
There was a time not that long ago, it was possible to be a private citizen cloistered in a private peace, but alas, no more.
I think of many predecessors who tried valiantly to maintain a boundary. Jackie Kennedy Onassis coming to mind, but fortunately she passed way before Tweets and casual cyber slander became the norm.
She was already so hunted in her time. Can you imagine what her life would be like now? With all due respect, seems she dodged a bullet not once, but twice.