I don’t know what people think when they look at me.

We go through various phases in life as we cope with the struggles along the way. I think I fought a lot of imagined adversaries, whether I was the one who imagined them, or just believed in the figments that haunted the devout who taught me from a young age.

I no longer fear the monsters of this world or any future worlds. Maybe that’s why I can be calm and speak with confidence now. I am not afraid to be wrong… not afraid to alter my course of thought when it seems to make sense to me to do so.

I listen to advice. Once in a while a heed it.

My most trusted counsel comes from my gut.

But as I was saying, I don’t know what people think when they look at me. In this age of social media, there are many whose consciousness comes into virtual contact with mine, but they will only recall a me from decades ago. Thirty, forty years or more. Even in this town where I live, there are those who will recall a loud, dramatic… a flamboyant version of me. They will have seen and will remember only the armor.

I could cringe, but I won’t. I could apologize, but I won’t. Because I survived. I survived the wounds the armor hid from view.

Some of you know details of my personal life, some of you know less. This is simply because I have nothing to hide and nothing to prove.

I write a lot on my blog. I don’t share all of my intimate details, but I try to communicate with purpose.