I guess I should offer those of you who followed me there some explanation. As is obvious to anyone here, I like to talk. A lot. Knowing this about myself I've always found it useful to guard the amount I talked publicly, because eventually I would something I regretted.
I don't regret saying stupid things--that's sort of unavoidable. I regret babbling. I regret talking because I am empowered to do so, because there is empty space. I think of this as a kind of greed, a vice which has always haunted me in some form.
And so at times I'd find myself babbling, taking no real account of who I was babbling to, or what I was babbling about. All of it wasn't babbling. Twitter was great for improving my French, for instance. But I think the sheer ease with which one could speak--to thousands of people--was a problem. It should never be that easy for me. I must be forced to think. I must remember that I don't talk for the benefit of other people, but, primarily, for myself.
At any rate, to my followers I apologize. It was somewhat good while it lasted. But I think I talk enough right here.
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is a national correspondent for The Atlantic
, where he writes about culture, politics, and social issues. He is the author of The Beautiful Struggle
, Between the World and Me,
and We Were Eight Years in Power