To Be Unknown
An fantasy.
Many people dream of being rich and famous. They dream of strangers’ faces lighting up with recognition when their name is said, even if they have never met. They dream of disposable income, designer clothes, and cars with buttons you don’t even use.
At the risk of sounding common, (because doesn’t everyone dream of being famous at some point?), so have I.
I haven’t necessarily dreamt of it, but more than that, I’ve known it. I’ve had this deep feeling in my bones for a long time that I will be someone someday. When I was 10, I thought I would be a famous violinist. I pictured myself driving a Volkswagen Beatle, with my purple violin case in the back, off to play in the symphony as concertmistress.
When I was 14, I thought I would be a famous singer on Broadway, or perhaps a famous jazz singer.
When I was 18, I thought I would be a famous photographer.
And now at 24, I am closer to fame than I ever have been. In the broad scope of the world and celebrities and people who are actually famous, I am just a small dot. However, compared to the people I know in real life, I am famous.
I have collectively 180,000 followers - people who know my name - my face has been seen by millions (seriously, one of my videos has about 15 million views), multiple news sources have featured my content (without my permission), commentators have talked about me on YouTube, and there’s a lovely little group of Snarks who chat about me on Reddit. I don’t read what they say, though, it’s not worth my time.
Theoretically, I am on my way to becoming actually famous - not just relatively famous. Unfortunately the rich part is a bit out of sight at the moment, but that is a minute point. The point is, I am, or I will be, what I have dreamt of since I was 10.
As I sit here and look out of my window, with my baby playing on the floor behind me, I wonder if it is cliche to tell you that once you become a mother, life becomes more clear. I know this is not universal, but it is true for many. Your priorities shift as your love for a very little person starts to eclipse the thing you used to think was the sun.
Maybe that’s what has happened to me. Regardless, I find myself disenchanted with this idea of being famous and instead have begun to fantasize about being unknown.
Unknown. What does that even mean?
I guess to me it means no one talking behind my back about my family. That’s an important one. No strangers criticizing my parenting decisions - because when you put your life online, you automatically invite criticism (even if you say you don’t, going public is basically an open invitation for people who know no boundaries - which, let’s face it - is a lot of social media). No one knowing what my house looks like on the inside unless they have actually been in it. Remarkable, that one.
To any normal person who is not a social media influencer, the idea of fantasizing about being unknown is probably quite foreign, and a little ridiculous. But to a burnt-out “influencer” who has fielded thousands of hate comments - most of which inspired just by how I live my life, it gets a little old to be this level of famous.
So what is the outcome? The moral of this story? What am I going to do? Sit here and complain about the fact that too many people see my life, even though they only see exactly what I’ve shared?
Honestly, I don’t know. It’s a question I’ve been mulling over for a while: what would it be like to be unknown? To raise my child without the fear of CPS being called simply because there are some boxes in the room she sleeps in (this sounds ridiculous, I know, but it was an actual threat).
What would it be like if my my entire livelihood did not depend on this glowing rectangle no one had a mere 30 years ago?
What would it be like to be known only by those who I can touch?
Is this a possibility for me, or simply fantasy?