The Last Post

I was born on Open Diary. I don’t just mean the Serin persona, or just the part of me that animates it, but the person I am today.

I discovered OD in the middle of a massive transition in my life as I started out as an introvert thrust into a new city in my new job as an extroverted consultant. I learned about other people and the tribal effect of sharing stories. I learned to tell my own stories, and that gave me feedback, and the awareness of my self past the bounds of the moment, so that I could be hurt or sad or depressed and still know my own worth. Self-knowledge is a tremendous strength against the trials of the world, and I got that here.

The other side of the coin, Gentle Reader, is you. You reacted to my stories and told me stories of your own, cheered my victories and waited quietly with me while I reeled back from my defeats. You gave me your time, your attention and your companionship and that would be tremendous by itself, but you are remarkable and your attention and your affection and your support has been enough to make me question my worthiness at times. You have sustained me in my trials, picked me up after my falls, helped me heal my hurts and forgiven me my sins.

Now, of course, Rome burns and Nero has put down even his fiddle. It grieves me to watch the stream of farewells at every turn, even as much as names I haven’t seen in a long time come back to say their own goodbyes. It grieves me further to think of the irregulars, the people who come and go in longer cycles, whose orbits will bring them back towards this place in a month or three and find neither themselves, nor the acknowledgements I might leave them.

As for me, life has come almost full circle. I am in the midst of a massive transition in my life, my job coming to an end, my career identity in need of massive definition. My hidden super power, the strength that comes of this secret identity and my safe place to process will both be gone when the lights go out here.

So what’s next?

I don’t know. For all the gratitude I have for OpenDiary and for the community of souls it has given me, it’s not just loyalty that keeps me here but also the awareness that a part of being Serin comes from being here. And the feeling that that being somewhere else means changing the shape of the container that Serin is in and that means changing what Serin is. Not that I’m spoiled for options on that count.

I don’t like Prosebox. It works, which is of course a massive improvement over this place, and Simple Mind, the “Prosemaster,” is clever present and attentive in the community. But as much as it succeeds technically, it fails me at a human level. It is literally a box, in which writing is placed and then closed and filed, rather than set on shelves for others to browse. It repels me, thus far, rather than drawing me in.

I don’t like Facebook. It’s equally repulsive to me, a shrike intent on splaying my marketable identity on a table for advertisers to necropsy at their leisure. If I valued the benefits, perhaps, but the firehose of oversharing does not attract me at all.

For now, I think the next steps are two, or maybe just one for each self.

First, I realized as I started working on a farewell letter to the people at work that I suddenly know what my personal blog needs to be and do, and perhaps losing my voice here and my job there is the spur to make me address the lack. So I’m going to be writing under my own byline, on topics too boring for this place in any case.

Second, I am Serin on Prosebox. Even if it never feels like home, it’s still the next logical place to be found, just as soon as I figure out what Serin is if he grows up.

And there’s always email. I have a gmail account, it’s “TheSerin” (because “Serin” is too short, and “ASerin” just kind of seems a little too hesitant).

To the Diarymaster, I want to express my utter gratitude and my utter bafflement. You gave me a profound gift in creating this place, and you give me a headache in trying to line up word and deed. It’s all well to be proud of the community you created, but you stopped being part of it and seem determined not to come back. That’s a shame, because you were warm company when you walked our earth, and now… Well, now I’m disappointed enough to need to call it out even as I let go.

So thank you. Seriously, without restraint or irony, thank you. My sadness and disappointment will fade and the gift will remain, in my self and in my friends.

To EWS and through him to all the volunteers who have tried to keep the beast alive, thank you. You have been a tireless lightning-rod of all the dissatisfaction that neglect engendered, striving to make things right even when you weren’t given enough backing or trust to actually succeed, and we would have lost this place so much sooner but for your work and your love.

Thank you.

To my favourites, my friends, and you, my Gentle Reader, who has put up with my wordy, rambly, secretive lunacy for so long, thank you. You have made me something I never dreamed I could be. Whatever blessing is in my power to set upon you, I do, without reservation.

I love you.

As a reward for reading to the end, I’m going to give you a newer answer to the oft repeated question “Whatever happened to Nocturne:” I’ve got a date coming up. A real live sit down face-to-face and stammer over coffee date. Coming up very soon. I’m so excited it’s pretty much messing up my concentration on everything else.

Hilariously, I won’t get to tell you how it goes since this place will likely be gone by the time I could, but don’t feel bad. But in fairness, the only reason I mention it is because my secret will vanish soon enough, and I like the thought of finding that happiness if I should happen to reread these past entries.

Here, barring last minute reprieve, ends this version of Sentinel World. Short of that reprieve (or petty outrage, never say never), I will not be posting here again. It’s more elegant that way, and I get to make my backup with an actual ending which may be satisfying if I ever come back to reread it.

May God stand between you and harm in all the empty places you must walk.

Faithfully, finally, fgratefully, (because alliteration)

In which our Hero leaves behind the sand, his lines burnished smooth by time and tide, unto the far horizon