Lately I am thinking a lot about the existentialist philosopher, Jean Paul Sartre and it isn’t because I am in the midst of an existential crisis or because I am having paranoid delusions that lobsters are chasing me*, rather it is because I am no longer anonymous. My real name is out there and my anonymity is a two-day-old memory.
Having a nom de plume gave me a great amount of freedom to be very open and honest without any concern of consequences. But now that my real name (the one on my drivers license) and my photograph is out there, I am feeling some amount of nausea and dread that comes from from the fear of the gaze of the other and how that gaze will impact my sense of self and my work, my writing and my relationships. Continue reading ‘Belette and nothingness by Jean Paul Sartre (not really)’
