The light in other people's houses
A holiday geolocation challenge and a sad story with an undetermined ending
When I posted this picture on my Twitter, I was confident that most people would geolocate it quickly:
And they did!
I believe the earliest tweet pinning the exact location came in just three minutes:
And most everyone else piled in within minutes too. And why shouldn’t they have? This explains why:
Even if you’re not familiar with Alexandria, VA (and a lot of my followers are), the name of the shop was right there on the wall!
Now you’re wondering why on earth I left it there in the first place. The long answer will launch me into a bit of a story, but before we do that, let’s get the short answer out of the way:
Instead of cropping the name out and make the challenge more challenging, I wanted to perform an experiment. Before I posted the photo, I had a few elderly people I know look at it. This included an elderly relative, the mother of a friend, and a family friend from Charlotte. All are internet users, and all around in their late 60s/early 70s
Here’s the thing. I’d blurred the shop name just a little before I sent it out to them, asking them to check out the photo and see if they could pick out any clues as to where I was standing.
Two of the three could kind of zoom in and deduce that a Virginia license plate was on the parked car behind me. None of the three could really make out the letters on the shop.
Why did I do this?
Here’s why:
I am now regularly approached by people who are worried about what their older relatives are potentially giving away online. And I am also regularly told that such worries are not a big deal, and who cares.
I wanted to demonstrate the disparity between the way an older person and a younger person may view my photo. And in this case, it was very, very stark. The slightly blurred letters of the shop name made the older folks just kind of give up immediately. Now, maybe if they’d worked in security/police/intelligence/etc., it would’ve been a different response. But I picked very regular older folks. With some very regular vision problems.
What I wanted to demonstrate is that photos will be perceived differently by different people. It’s something you have to remember if you’re going to talk to your relatives and friends about their digital footprint, how it may overlap with yours, and what potential privacy concerns this can all raise.
Don’t assume that when you and your mom are looking at a picture, you’re noticing the same things. My relative, for example, was mostly concerned with the fact that my coat was unbuttoned in the winter cold. Not with the fact that my photo could and would be easily geolocated.
I hope that’s a valuable exercise, but… having said all that… can we talk about this season and what it’s doing to me, please? You can quit reading if you’re only here for the challenge and the online safety lesson.
***
Still here?
The thing is, this geolocation challenge almost didn’t happen. It took my son dragging me out of the house. I didn’t want to go to beautiful Alexandria for the evening. I knew that it would make me sad, and it did.
Walking with my son in the cold and dark, looking at the pretty lights inside the houses on Prince St. and beyond, all I could think about was how bad things have been. Sometimes, beauty echoes in us. Other times, all it does is remind us of how bereft we feel on the inside.
I started out this pandemic on a strong note. I had my shit extremely together. But difficult times can also expose our communities for what they are — this includes our professional communities too. And as I eventually learned, there were way too many perverts and cowards around me. Of course, I realized that part far too late. The perverts and cowards derailed my life and career in a way that I am still struggling with.
The worst part was being cruelly and maliciously stripped of dignity. I’d stupidly thought that I was beyond all that at this point in my life.
There is something about the beauty of Christmas lights in the winter gloom, the precious light spilling from other people’s houses, that assaults my sense of self. I think I first experienced this when I was a small child wandering the December streets of Prague with my parents, during a bizarre and dangerous time in our life, a period that resulted in us moving to the States so that we could literally save ourselves. I don’t remember all the details, but I remember the sense of peeking into a fairy tale while feeling that I was outside of it; I could never be part of it. And I remember feeling haunted by my own pale little reflection in a window.
All the true homes I’ve ever had were taken from me, in one way or another. One’s career can also feel like a home, a psychological refuge, and then the roof is ripped out and the lights die and the winds howl — and, well, I can be a melodramatic writer when I want to be, but even I can’t really capture how that feels in words right now. It’s too raw. And let’s face it, it’s hard to be creative and serene when you’re facing down potential eviction!
I walked the streets of Alexandria wondering how many people could see what was really going on inside of me, knowing deep down that the answer was zero. The worst part was knowing that my son could see it all. That’s the part I can’t forgive myself. If you’re brave enough to be a parent, you have to be brave enough to recognize the ways in which you fail the people you bring into the world. I think failure itself is natural — the world is set up that way. I don’t feel guilt. Just sadness. And a weird hope that is a natural part of motherhood, I think. A hope that exists beyond logic.
That’s the thing about differences in perception, though. They’re not just important to note if you’re learning OSINT skills — or learning about online safety. When people look at my picture, they see a smiling woman in a leopard print coat. My son sees his struggling mother, who had to be convinced to leave the house.
Why is that important? Well, honestly, I think it’s important because as supply chains are put under pressure in a crisis, so do our reserves of empathy, for one thing. But importantly, I actually kind of like the smiling woman in the coat. I want to be more like the way in which she appears to be. That’s my wish for Santa. I want to be myself again. I want justice.
I hear it’s important to make wishes this season, so I am doing that as I wonder the dim and lovely streets in Virginia and elsewhere, and I encourage you to do the same.
If you learned something new today, please get a paid subscription! $5 a month makes all the difference in the world, believe me! And if you have older relatives whose online safety you’re worried about, reach out for a consultation at nvantonova [at] gmail (dot) com. Let’s see if I can help.