I’m no Picasso, but I must say I’m quite good at the art of oversharing.
(pause for hysterical laughter)
The reason is simple: I have no filter.
A lack of filter/talent for the art of oversharing is different from not being able to keep secrets. I’m actually quite good at keeping secrets BUT I need to be told explicitly to keep my mouth shut. Why? Because in regards to my own information, I will happily discuss the insertion of IUD devices with everyone on the whole internet or my latest thyroid maladies with my cleaning lady (she doesn’t speak English so who know what she thinks I’m talking about anyway, right?).
This whole idea of having a filter is similar for me to “having a skincare regime” or “having a 5-year plan”. It sounds very grown-up. I wish I was the girl at the cocktail party calmly debating the benefits of Clinque face lotion over a wine spritzer. Instead, I am the girl carrying on a cheerful conversation about the most effective sex positions with a group of reasonably mortified total strangers. No filter.
There are some benefits to my filter-less life:
After I discuss the way I recently long ago flashed a man on Second Avenue, (it’s okay, we were on a date. A first date, but whatever, towards the end…) people open up with funny stories of their own.
Also, I have been told people do not “get the sense that I am judging them”. I’m (probably) not. Unless they are talking about something boring.
But the best thing by far is this: I don’t have to spend a bunch of time considering what people think about me or know about me, because I don’t really care. As I was yammering on about some completely inappropriate topic to my boyfriend the other night, wondering aloud if I was crossing the line with the things I choose to discuss with total strangers everyone he remarked it is good that I am not ashamed of how I live my life.
I took it as an invitation to keep discussing the merits of “gerbil-ing” a compliment.