Do I give myself away?

This is not a post about the nature of public/private in the blogosphere. This is not a post about the nature of public/private in our ever more connected world. This is a post the nature of public/private and, well, me.

When in conversation, I tend to give pieces of myself away. I relate to others by sharing details about my life or my feelings that are relevant. Many (most?) people do - it's one of the ways we cement social bonds and give meaning to people, events, and the world in general.

But here's the thing: I tend to share the most about myself when I'm nervous. My subconscious monologue probably goes something like "I'm very nervous right now, and I'm wondering if you think I'm competent, and so I'm going to tell you things about myself that show that I'm really a likable person and a good person."

Which predictably results in a stream of information about myself being launched into the conversational ether, a stream of information that is either boring or irrelevant, and that may actually give a too personal account of myself.

Do I lose by retaining less of myself for myself? Are there situations in which I shouldn't share the things about me that make me human?

Encounters on the B

The man on my B train today started quietly. In a normal voice, as though about to begin a conversation with a friend. "People assume Union Square is named after union organizations," he stated. "But it isn't. It's named because it's the union of Broadway and the Bowery!" Notice the exclamation point-by the end of the sentence his tone had begun to betray him.

I looked up from my book. Between anonymous shoulders and handbags I glimpsed a black checkered shirt and graying hair. Benign.

"In 1811..." the man continued, and began a disquisition that moved from the historical-political dimensions of the nomenclature of various New York City locations (the Triboro Bridge, the Brooklyn Bridge) to present-day politics (an idea for pins declaring "My Mama's not for Obama"). People weren't paying any (physical) attention to the sermon in their midst.

I lost the trail of his pronouncements between the sounds of the train and my own musings on the oddness, and the normality, of the occasion.

(By the way, this blog is not titled B Squared because I ride the B. Pure happenstance that the subject became my first post.)