HOW TO BE A SELF-GATEKEEPER

A self-gatekeeper is the same as a regular gatekeeper.

They restrict who can and who can’t pass through a gate.

Except as your own gatekeeper, the gate is you.

Who gets to experience the joy of you, and who doesn’t?

Start with joy. Why joy?

Even if you’re not a joy boy, or girl, figure it out

I’ll help:

Studio 54 doormen picked and chose who got into the club according to their mood, or theme, or if you were famous.

I took a date from out of town there, or tried to.

No, we didn’t get rejected at the gate for looking too plain.

After riding the subway from Brooklyn we walked around mid-town in the dark.

And no, I’m not afraid of the dark. Call it regular cautions of the night.

Either way, afraid of the dark, or good cautions, it got darker with each corner turned, and fewer people, less traffic and I got creeped out.

Did I leave my hot-for-Studio 54 date and run to the safety of the nearest subway?

Not exactly.

We couldn’t even find Studio 54 to stand out front like a mood ring, and gave up.

I had a back-up place where my Army buddy worked the door according to his mood, which was always good.

We walked toward more light, more traffic, and ended up at Adam’s Apple.

The Self-Gatekeeper Has A Harder Job

There may not be hordes of people waiting at the gate of your life, but you still need caution.

Sounds kind of funny coming from a confessional blogger?

The difference is traffic. Who are all of these people and what do they read boomerpdx for?

I’ve got readers in Etna and Needles who spend hours on-site reading tens of tens of posts, like forty.

Thank you for that.

Unlike me, the self-gatekeeper walks a thin line between revealing too much information, TMI, and being distant.

TMI is too needy, and distant is suspicious.

If you think I’m writing this about you, you might be right, but I’m not.

I’m just painting a picture you can put yourself in, which is every writers’ goal.

I was recently reintroduced to a young man and asked “what’s up.”

He started with “living with my parents.”

And we were off.

With a group walk in the park with young parents and dogs, I had a captive millennial audience.

“You need a better start to your story. Instead of ‘living with my parents’ say, ‘I moved home to help my aging parents stay in their house while I start my life over.’

“I see what you mean.”

“Chicks dig an adventure.”

“More than sad and desperate?”

“That’s another adventure. You’ve met my chick?”

Story Boundaries

If you’ve never passed out in public in NYC you haven’t lived.

Just find a nice section of lounge in room full of loungers in the Wall Street Club passed out drunk at the office Christmas party.

When the guy tells you you can’t stay there, flash him your EF Hutton ID badge and you’ll be fine.

It’s Christmas, come on. So what?

The urge to over-share on social media can be a red flag.

On a blog, not so much. Especially on a guilt ridden wannabe writer’s blog.

Again, it’s audience.

I’m either a brave, soul bearing, icon of virtue and love, or a deluded kook with a writing habit.

The difference is the self-gatekeeper.

These are the rules as I understand them:

Don’t write about someone who asks you not to write about them, unless it’s another writer with a bad attitude.

Avoid sensational hyperbole.

Be accurate.

If any rules prevent you from writing and writing and writing, keep writing and review the rules later.

Those pages won’t write themselves, and without them you’ll have nothing to review and improve.

If nothing else, consider the words of R. Buckminster Fuller.

“Humanity is taking its final examination. We have come to an extraordinary moment when it doesn’t have to be you or me. There is enough for all. We need not operate competitively any longer. If we succeed, it will be because of youth, truth, and love.”

Let me know if you’ve got a better idea.