I ’ve finally decided to tell my side of the story.
Names will be named. People will be outed. Just .. you … wait. Some of you have pondered why I left this church or that church. Others of you have driven by my house and wondered why I don’t cut my grass … or my hair for that matter. Well, all secrets will be revealed. All villains will be exposed. Y’all ready for this? It’s you. You’re the villain. That’s why you were salivating at the prospect of peering at my unmentionables.
In fact, we’ve all unintentionally become the villains of this story. Our society has mutated into a drooling mob of voyeuristic zombies, lusting after the latest and greatest juicy morsels of gossip. Our social media platforms provide virtual striptease performances, unveiling every aspect of our personal lives, right down to giving away our geotagged location. Do you really want to know the scantily clad details of my personal life? If you do, you’re sick. That, and you’ll just have to wait until someone does a biopic on me … where the guy who plays me will have to wear a Wookiee suit just so he can match my majestically hairy likeness.
Look … I get it. As an honest writer, I tend to dole out the naked truth. Most of my readers enjoy my candor, and that’s probably why they keep reading my stuff. The world needs more sincerity and raw talk about social ills and polluted politics. Lies need to be exposed … but we don’t need to be exposing the butt cracks of our personal lives for everyone to see. The most intimate details of our lives are best reserved for those closest to us … those who love us deeply.
That being said, last week, I made an announcement on a few of my social media accounts that I was selling my house and moving. Some of you thought I was joking. To be fair, I have been quite the mischievous monkey in the past. So … that’s on me, but I am moving. I’m moving on … into mystery. I’m moving away from having to give out every detail of my life and into greater obscurity. Some of you asked where I was moving to. For most of you, it was an honest and innocent inquiry. However, whether I move to Portland, to Patagonia, or to a magical land of flying ponies is of very little consequence to any of you. My family and close friends will know … and so will all the creepy cyberstalkers. But I’m just not in the mood to be giving out all of my personal information anymore. In fact, that’s why I’ve switched most of my social media accounts to more private settings. For the record, I don’t think telling people online that I’m moving is a bad idea. It’s actually a very calculated move to create greater ambiguity.
And in lieu of moving to a new house, I also plan on moving away from the spotlight for a while. I’m going to take a break from writing. Maybe it will be several weeks, or maybe it will be a few months. I don’t know. What I do know is that I need a break and that I need to focus my time and energy on this new transition in my life. I’ve been blessed to write for the Pleasanton Express, but there’s some healing that needs to happen in me. For most of my life, I’ve lived like Wolverine.
I’ve walked through traumas that would’ve killed most or driven them insane. People knew that I could take a beating, and they obliged me with excruciating tests. My adamantium skeleton seemed to be unbreakable. So, I carried loads and burdens for others who didn’t seem capable of carrying their own. Maybe you can relate. But lately, I’ve felt like old man Logan … like my healing powers are fading and like I just finished my last fight. So, I’m going to lie down for a while and wait for some resurrection power. And maybe … you should, too. See you on the other side of this sabbatical, friends. Fare thee well.
PAUL MICHAEL JONES is an artist who currently dabbles in music, photography and creative writing.