I am still struggling with this issue. I am also grasping the implications of just writing something and losing control of it - in all senses. Normally, I write and revise over months. Now I write skim and post. Then send.
The post is like sending an astronaut into space - we don't really understand the implications.
For now I resolve the issues by telling almost no one that I am writing a blog - which is fitting. This is a new way of sharing thoughts. Some people just write. I can't do that. Words are too important to me. I can get an emotional release just by writing them - I don't need to share. My way is likely in the minority.
What we see on the page is different from a screen. I need to learn how to tell stories, not just journal.
An online journal - for me - doesn't fully touch at the posibilities of the communication medium.
So, let's try. A different meaning of anonymity.
The boys fell, right in the middle of the street. He seemed too young to cross alone, yet no one ran to help so i did. A car had stoped a few feet in front of him, respecting the crosswalk. As i approached the fallen child i glared at the impatient woman behind the wheel. She glowered back at me, chirping into a cell phone, her windows firmly shut.
I leaned down, towering over the child. Closer now, i realized that he was smaller than my initial impression. His brown eyes were fringed with tears and he had torn both pant legs at the knees. Blood beaded on each scrapped leg.
I sheltered him with my arm. "Are you all right?" I asked, trying to speak gently, as one should to a wounded child. "Let's get out of the street," I continued, willing him to respond with more than a blink.
He stood, stable, even strong.
"Mommy," he cried, as his tears cranked up in intensity. He ran from me, toward a woman now exiting a shop. Her light pink dress waved in a breeze i hadn't noticed.
"Brian," she cried, seeking her young. As he grabbed her legs she spoke to me. "Thank you."
"It was nothing," I replied and walked away.