Student: “Hey Mr. Ruff, do you know a _______ Ruff?”
Me: “Uhh… Yeah…”
Student: “Hehehehe… That’s his brother.”
(10 minutes later)
Student: “Hey Mr. Ruff, do you still live on __________ Drive?”
Me: “Can we please get back to work on our geometry?”

Look kids, I get it. You’re growing up in an era where you have a massive amount of information at your finger tips.

I decided to leave the title and text above exactly intact as I had originally written on April 27, 2018. I’ve had some difficulty coming back to this because my little brother passed away four days later due to sudden heart failure. It’s now four years later and I’m still trying to reassemble the pieces of my broken heart. My therapist warned me that I couldn’t write my way out of depression, but it feels important for me to finish what I started here.

I’m not even sure where I was going with this in the first place. I think I just wanted to vent about the incident but couldn’t figure out how to do so without doxxing anyone. It’s not like I didn’t know this information was out there. I couldn’t be angry at this student for looking me up in publicly available records, but I also couldn’t help feeling vulnerable either.

The reality is that my digital footprint is massive. I’ve had a presence on the Internet since I was a teenager and you can still find some of that content if you know where to look. Some of that content is downright awesome! You’ll find teenage me engaging in philosophical discussions on artificial intelligence and building interactive websites. At the same time, there’s little doubt in my mind that you’ll also find me saying naïve or prejudiced things that I’m most certainly NOT proud of. This is the double-edged sword of participating in open forums.

There was much less risk of exposure when I was young and anonymous. Now that my digital footprints can be traced back to my real identity, there’s a strong sense of fear and anxiety that looms behind every word. Who is going to see this? How will they judge me for it?

Having quit my teaching job at the end of the 2020-2021 school year, my concerns about this have somewhat shifted towards “employability”. When I read this tweet from The National Cybersecurity Alliance saying that “70% of job recruiters rejected candidates based on information they found online”, I can’t help but wonder if that’s actively happening to me. If so, how would I even know?

I’m not the type of person to put up a façade. I will speak my mind to a fault. I call bullshit when I see it and try to own up to my mistakes. I’m proud of who I am. I fight fiercely for what I think is right.

The truth is that these very same qualities that I view as my strengths could be easily be flagged as “risks” by potential employers. I’ve made my peace with the fact that I’m a threat to any organization that’s not conducting its business ethically. There’s solace in knowing that those aren’t the types of the company I’d work for anyway, but I only have this choice because I come from a position of privilege to start with.

We’re entering a “damned if you do, damned if you don’t” era in social media. Having no online presence at all looks suspicious, but oversharing is also a considerable liability. People need to be held accountable for what they say online, but a moment of being human captured on the Internet shouldn’t permanently disqualify one from earning a living wage.

It’s not unreasonable for an employer to conduct research on prospective employees, but there is a strong need for for transparency in how that data is collected and used. The United States is in desperate need of privacy regulations in human resources. If something in my digital footprint is used against me in the hiring process, I should have the right to know what and how.

Lately I’ve been paralyzed by fear whenever I post something online. When you’re uncertain how your words will be interpreted, it’s quite easy to file it away under drafts but the silence is not sustainable. I need that sense of community now more than ever.

I’m going to try to start writing again and more frequently. Even if it scares me. Even if it feels forced. I can’t help if a potential employer stumbles across my digital footsteps, but I can assert control over the direction those steps are taking. Blogging can only work as a tool for self-growth if I accept the risks of making a mistake in public and write anyway.