Well, I never . . .

This blog has been the occasion of offense. A while back, I accepted the friendship of someone through my Goodreads program. A few days ago, I noticed that one of their friends had the kind of qualities I liked in a reading buddy—so I attempted to add him. With extreme rapidity, as I perceive from Google Analytics, someone from that man’s city accessed my blog and spent half an hour or so perusing. Just like that, the first friend severed our Goodreads connection, as though the new contact point--who declined friendship--urged her to flee the weirdo. (Around that time, someone from her location bounced in and out of this blog.) And, no, my knowledge of these circumstances does not in itself make me weird; I multitask fairly quickly, and I’ve always been rather scrupulous about details.

Does my personality appear that toxic or strange? I’m terribly sorry. This doesn’t convey the thousandth part of what I think and feel, nor is the tip of the iceberg always what it seems. Truly, much of who I am has come to personify gritty determination, but scarcely a soul realizes the grace and necessity driving me to it. Indeed, this whole while I am sensing the innate demand that I have a much, much, MUCH thicker skin. Also, avoid the subject as I may, certain rough edges perhaps prove that it is “not good for man to be alone,” as I’d welcome the right sort of softening, feminine acquaintance into my life. Yet one must realize that the last woman I had close spent most of her time making demands or clamping her hand over my mouth lest I should ever say a word in public defense of truth and virtue. I in no way think that she represents the fairer, gentler, better sex, but experience has certainly put me on my guard. While I’m not who I could be, I know I didn’t want to be—should not have been—what she had in mind. Certain experiences are sufficient to remind one in perpetuity that it is better to live out one’s days single than go into spirit-stultifying captivity.

That I often write about somber matters is not an object of dispute. I view my responsibility with public discourse as largely a vehicle toward societal improvement. That I cannot warm people with my smile via electronic text is a major hindrance and alarmingly alters the reception of any message. I have before felt, and do now feel, that someone would be nearly impossibly hard-pressed to find individuals (certainly of credible reputation) who have had unpleasant personal encounters with me. I recall how some people seriously believed Joseph Fielding Smith must beat his children at home, simply because he was very intense with his message. It is also small part of my personality to supply the filler that evidently some desire: reminders that my having great role models does not mean I equate myself to them, and that my describing high gospel expectations does not mean I think I am without fault or authorized to impose them. I nearly always operate on the assumption that people realize I’m mortal, and that I have so much on my mind and tongue, as it is, that I can’t pause to restate the obvious. (It’s a bonus that when people see how absurdly short I am, and how obviously inoffensive, they realize quickly that it’s alright to suppress possible initial misunderstanding.) And if I say something weird, it’s possible I didn’t phrase it right, or that my perspective is really just that different. I love the Lord, I love His gospel, I love the human family. Need I say more?

On a lighter note, since I readily acknowledge among my weaknesses that this blog chronicles my heartache and/or my harshness much more readily than my blessings and gratitude. . . . Provo life has been among the greatest experiences of my life, every time I’ve managed to be here. Here, if I stand at the sidelines of a physical activity that my mortal frame cannot perform, there is no constant confusion at my “aloofness,” total misunderstanding that I might that desperately crave human company—instead, these good people welcome me in, converse lovingly, and extend alternate friendship activities freely. (Speaking in the aggregate, though it's an enormous aggregate in Provo.) I need only poke my head in almost any doorway at the Bountiful Court and I will hear a genuine chorus of welcoming voices calling my name and inviting me in. Not one odd feature of my demeanor and mindset over about six months has deterred them from the perfect bond of charity. I count myself fortunate to have acquired so many fast friends in such a small space of time and condensed geographical location. I also count the unreal distance and communication barriers (in addition to incorrect virtual familiarity) created by the Internet as all the more dangerous. So, hmph!!! :-)