privaticus neuroticus

Seems some of you just wont be happy until you have a portrait of me in hand!  Since I was working on a logo, I thought I might as well do a portrait : )

Hello. My name is <insert pseudonym-of-choice> and I suffer from Privaticus Neuroticus. PN is a bizarre and conflicted attachment to my sense of privacy, especially on the Internet.

Ok, I don’t really have PN. “Privaticus Neuroticus” sounds more like an endangered species of plant than a mental disorder, anyway, and it doesn’t exist.

But I do have unresolved conflicts about my personal privacy.

That isn’t unusual - most folks I know are worried about their credit card numbers, banking info, and browsing history being tracked online. I’ve come to grips with those risks, but I’m more troubled by another even more disturbing phenomena..

Search-engine enabled family and friends!

(Oh, the horror!)

When I first discovered the Internet, the anonymity was reassuring. No one knew who I was, and no one really wanted to know who I was. I was a faceless system font, lost in a sea of fonts. Nothing was indexed, nothing was searchable. The expense and geek factors kept the Average Joe (and my family) out of the game.

I found could explore and even discuss any topic I wanted to, without fear that my mother or next door neighbor would find out. I didn’t need to worry about them overhearing me and butting in with nosey advice and judgements. It was freedom of a sort I’d never experienced. I could be transparently honest in a big way, and my openness was appreciated - hearing my thoughts seemed to benefit others in their own search for sanity, truth, understanding, and the perfect shade of blue.

It was a Good Thing.

Then everything changed. The price of computers dropped. Software became easier to navigate. Online services became affordable.

My family joined the computer age.
They got AOL access.

Three generations of AOL access.

Then… they discovered Google.

My family ran every email address they’d ever known through Google. They ran the domain names through Google. They ran my friend’s names through Google. They ran my DOG’S name through Google, for gawd’s sake.

No, I’m not kidding.

It was the damnedest thing.

My family has never been the poke-around-in-someone’s-medicine-cabinet variety. They’re all quite private, too. But somehow, their own sense of privacy on the Internet made them feel that it was ok to violate mine, and so they stalked me through message boards, webpage articles, and USENET.

Randomly, they’d look at me over the rims of their glasses and a freshly baked slice of apple pie, and ask about something I’d said 8 years previously on alt.misanthrope. Each time, I’d let out this odd little scream. Each time, they’d ask if I wanted vanilla ice cream with my pie.

Mind you, it isn’t that I’ve ever written anything that I’m exactly ashamed of writing. It’s just.. well… when I write, or speak, it’s with a specific audience in mind. It’s in context, sometimes a closed context.

I like it that way.

I don’t want my brother-in-law sneering at my meandering thoughts on God,and I don’t want my great uncle leering at my nude paintings. It’s ok for strangers to sneer and leer, but not family. I do have my standards. Granted, they are double standards, but they are standards, dammit.

I suppose that if I were truly well adjusted, I wouldn’t mind them all of this sneering and peering. I would know my family loves me, no matter what they think of my posts on alt.orange.octopus. I could affectionately laugh off those friends who insert themselves into my business, and ignore neighborly intrusive meddling.

But I’m not that well adjusted.

I am working on it… I’m aware that my privacy fetish has roots in social anxiety, fears of criticism, and a peculiar sensitivity towards violations of personal boundaries. I know that my insistence on anonymity seriously hampers my attempts at branding and promotion. I know that using initials rather than a name makes me less personable and sincere seeming.

I am struggling to overcome these issues.

I hope to eventually put my real name to this blog. I may even post a picture. I might, someday, give the address to my family… erm. Wait. Nope. Scratch that. No way.

Instead, I’ll start a new organization: Privaticus Neuroticus Anonymous. Yes, that’s just the thing, a support group. 12 steps, maybe..

It will, of course, require another pseudonym…

Anonymity on the web is an amazing thing, especially for those of us with touches of social anxiety.

There is liberty in approaching the world as if it were a masquerade ball; I get to choose which individuals (if any) are allowed to peak behind the mask.

If I look a bit foolish, I don’t have to worry if it will cost me clients, make my brother lose a national security clearance, or embarrass future generations of family. My publicized mistakes and half-baked ideas wont bring the tsk-tsks of neighbors and in-laws, and I don’t have to cringe about what might turn up in an internet archive search of my name, 10 years from now.

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