She’s afraid to tell me anything important, knowing I’ll only turn around and write about it. In my mind, I’m like a friendly junkman, building things from the little pieces of scrap I find here and there, but my family’s started to see things differently. Their personal lives are the so-called pieces of scrap I so casually pick up, and they’re sick of it. (David Sedaris – Dress Your Family In Corduroy And Denim)
I’ve just finished reading David Sedaris’ book Dress Your Family In Corduroy And Denim. It’s great, highly recommended. It has caused me to notice things around me more and a few things in particular have stood out as being worthy of a Sedaris style story. I was tempted. Tempted to write the thing as it happened, tempted to try dressing it up in funny outfits, changing the names and places to protect the innocent, but in the end I decided I couldn’t. This isn’t a judgement against anyone who does that style of writing; I enjoy reading it as much as anyone else and if your friends and family are cool with you putting it out into the world, then good for you and good for them. For all I know, the people in the story I was thinking about would have been fine with it too. I wouldn’t know, I didn’t ask them.
In the end, it wasn’t really about them and how they would feel about it. It was about me and how I would feel writing it. I wouldn’t feel comfortable, it’s all too messy and private and you know what? They’re my friends and I love them but I don’t want to get that close to them. I don’t want to see it. So I didn’t get a funny story out of it, but I did get this blog post and, in the end, isn’t that really all any of us want?