Because of the time I spend online in a day, and the fact that I have been doing so for more than twenty years, the Internet increasingly feels like my outboard brain. It feels biological. It feels as if some of my neural networks extend beyond my skull and synapses fire off all around the world.
Some ideas I can cope with within my own skull, some I need to push outside onto the Internet to deal with them there. And not just ideas. I remember many, many moons ago realising that the small group of early bloggers that I was part of were all writing similarly melancholy posts. It was as if the Internet was passing on mood as well as information.
Today is one of those days when I have been feeling vulnerable on the internet. Sometimes it is things that happen or are said online, sometimes it is just one of those periods when we want to hide away and be quiet. But I can't, and don't want to, cut it off. I don't want to hide. Over the years I have learned that the discomfort invariably means growth, that there is something I have to deal with, something that my outside brain is trying to teach my inside brain. I have learned to listen to this.