In 1996, I was irate with a local politician who had left a “How’m I Doing?” flyer on our door. I told her exactly how I thought she was doing, and was about to toss it in the mail, when Ann pointed out that I hadn’t signed my name to it.

“What’s the difference?” I asked.

“If you don’t sign your name to it, your opinion isn’t worth much,” she said.

Wow. I had never considered that. “You’re right,” I said, and signed my name.

I had long been a strict proponent of privacy (i.e., “leave me aloneism”); e.g., cash only, no bank account or credit cards, etc. And, true, since that time I have used a variety of situational names (in addition to my given Hebrew one, Nachum ben Yitzhak Halevi) — Will Thrustwell, Neal Ross, BT Elder — but never with an intent to deceive, only to entertain. (In other words, everyone knew it was me.) That long-ago conversation still echoes to the present, and in the meanwhile I’ve worked as a reporter and seen better how the world works. And have said a lot of things about it. Under my own name.

Instead of restricting “what’s out there” about me, I stand behind it — own it — let it define me.

I guess I’ve changed. I don’t dismiss anonymity, but I also no longer feel like such an ousider to the system. (I also take more to heart Robert Anton Wilson’s opinion about a writer’s opinion.) Especially now that I’m blogging, I feel more like one of the system’s more interesting (I hope) points of reference — visualize a sort of electronic innkeeper basking in the flickering porchlight of little truths.

But mostly, I feel like me.