Having a website is like having a megaphone – you can say what you want, yet spread your message much farther than you could with – say, a telephone. You’ve instantly increased your breadth from one person to possibly thousands, and airing your dirty laundry in public is, well, a bit tacky. That’s not to say it isn’t tempting…

I’ve talked about this before – how sometimes you just want to NOT be the bigger person, how you sometimes DO want the last word, how sometimes, after you’ve gone through so much pain yourself, you just want to hurt someone else. You want to be mean – you want to not care what the other person thinks. You want to say all the things that you didn’t while you were in a relationship, just to get them out, just so they were said. Having a website affords you this luxury, and whether your ex reads it or not is basically inconsequential, because you said it, and that was the point.

Then you move on. You find new likes and new loves and new crushes and new people that make your heart go pitty-pat. The unanticipated feelings of longing for your ex slowly go away, and little-by-little you realize you’re over them. Those places that reminded you of him stop doing so, those feelings that you had start to abate, first slowly, then quicker now. You realize it’s been longer than you had thought, you look back on the time and look at all you’ve done and all you’ve found and all you’ve learned. And, without anyone ever having to tell you, you realize you’re happy.

And herein lies the quandary. You’ve had your say with the past, and despite tangible written evidence that you did, in fact, feel that way, you’re done with that matter and on to bigger, better, brighter. Your website no longer looks to the past; instead, it looks forward, with hope, with excitement, and with the jubilation that only a new take on things can bring. But in the midst of hopeful anticipation, there’s a fine line between writing what you’re thinking, writing what you’re hoping for, and jinxing it all. You see, writing about the past is fail-safe: it’s done, it’s over, and very little you say can change the way it was. Yet the future – well, that, my friends, is in your hands. Anything you say or do can influence what will be, leaving us falling all over ourselves to not mess it up.

I liken it to a new relationship. When you like someone new, you tread lightly. You’re on your best behavior, lest you end up doing something ridiculously uncouth like snorting while laughing, sending you into the depths of embarrassment so early into a new relationship. And if you like them – and I mean really like them, you end up over-analyzing. You don’t want to get too close too fast; what if you come off as all needy? You don’t want to be intimate before the “acceptable” time – what if he thinks you’re a slut? And God forbid if you have a few too many margaritas one night and drunk-dial him, slurring your words like a 60-year old homeless booze-hound, because then you just know it’s over.

And through it all, you end up doing this little dance, walking the tightrope of propriety, basically disguising who you really are from someone you want to know you – REALLY know you.

Somewhere in the midst of this all is the right balance between not enough and too much, and I’m still figuring it out. Yet in the meantime, I’m off to have margaritas now. And if I call you? Well, please don’t hold it against me. I like you, and I’m trying my best to keep my balance.