So I got a call this afternoon from my mother. . . .
"Hey! I googled you last night!"
". . . . And?"
And the fact of the matter is, my manifesto shows up on Google Books, and one of my blank journals is at the top of the English Dept. blog for a binding show.
If you will excuse my bragging, I would just like to savor this moment: if you type in my name followed by the word "books," things pop up. And I love that.
I hope the trend continues.
Have you ever "googled yourself?" On one hand, it's an entirely vain enterprise, but on the other, it's a way to see yourself through the eyes of the world at large. Case in point, I usually don't think about the fact that I technically still have a Myspace (and only remembered it because it came up on Google a few minutes ago), but I remember a few years ago I went back and figured out how to log in again, and what came up was infinitely nostalgic. Sophomore me? I think it was.
It still says I'm in a relationship with oh God why, but she loved him, because he made her laugh. There's still a dressing-room photo of her in a prom dress, which Hannah must have taken, and can I have her waistline back please? And those tennis arms? She still gets creepy messages from the cart boy at Meijer, the one with the giant mole on his face. She still hasn't written back. The friends on her top 8? Some she couldn't live without, some she doesn't speak to.
This led me to two questions:
1) God, how did I get so OLD?
2) Am I still who I was?
I couldn't bring myself to delete it. I suppose I will have to, some day, but I kind of like the idea of a static, timeless self floating out in the world somewhere.
I'm not sure that I want that timeless self to be me at sixteen, but. . . .
Some things have gone really well since then. I'm not sure Iowa even registered in my consciousness then, but I am precisely where I wanted to be at 22. Professionally, at least.
So, professionally, I issue this challenge:
Doppelganger of the Duke swim team? You're going down.
Married lady with a baby? You're going down.
Famous flutist? Homeowner? Dead lady? You can all suck it.
One day, I will be on the first page of the google search results.
Only part of me is kidding.
In the meantime, I will use my anonymity to... get back to work.