Assume everything you put on the Internet can and will be seen

The words of Mara Wilson—“Assume everything you put on the Internet can and will be seen not only by the person you're talking about, but your future romantic partners and bosses, too”—resound as a warning, but also as timeless wisdom for an age where words travel farther than the voice intends. In this teaching, she reminds us that nothing written in the vast realm of the Internet truly vanishes. Every thought, every jest, every moment of anger or folly may linger, waiting to be read not only by strangers but by those who may one day shape our destiny.

The origin of this truth lies in the ancient awareness that words carry power far beyond the moment they are spoken. In olden days, a single scroll, letter, or carved tablet could travel across kingdoms and outlive its author. A careless decree from a king, or a harsh line in a poet’s verse, could change the course of lives. Today, the Internet is that scroll, multiplied a thousandfold, where words are not whispered into passing air but carved into a living stone that all may see. Wilson’s wisdom is a modern echo of that ancient truth: guard the tongue, for the tongue builds or destroys reputations, bridges, and even futures.

History gives us clear examples. Consider Cicero, the Roman orator. His fiery words against his enemies, once recorded and spread, outlived the moment of passion and sealed his fate. His speeches, though brilliant, brought him both glory and death. Or recall the story of Marie Antoinette, whose careless words—whether spoken or fabricated—about the starving poor of France (“Let them eat cake”) became eternal symbols of detachment, magnified and remembered long after she could defend herself. Just so, a single post or comment online can rise again years later, reshaping how a lover or an employer views us.

Wilson’s invocation of “future romantic partners and bosses” is particularly evocative, for it reveals how the digital shadow does not remain in the past but leaps into the future. The partner may wonder at old words, and the employer may question character. What was once a passing vent of frustration or a joke told in poor taste becomes a permanent mark. Thus, her words are not merely practical—they are moral, calling us to live with integrity even when we believe no one is watching.

The lesson is clear: conduct yourself in the realm of the Internet as you would in the marketplace or the temple. Speak truth, but speak it with wisdom. Disagree, but disagree with dignity. Share your joys, but guard your grievances. For every word you set loose may become a companion you cannot banish, following you into halls of love and labor alike.

Practically, this means cultivating restraint and mindfulness. Before pressing “send,” ask yourself: would I stand by these words if my beloved were to read them? Would I be proud of them if my future employer held them in his hand? This practice disciplines the spirit, teaching us not only how to survive in a digital world but how to live honorably in any world.

Thus, Wilson’s words, though born of the Internet age, carry the eternal tone of ancestral wisdom. They remind us that character is not built in secret but in every word we release. What we put into the world becomes part of the world, and we are bound to it.

So let this truth be carried forward: the Internet is not a void, but a mirror, a record, and a witness. Speak, therefore, as though eternity listens. For indeed, it does. And the words you send forth may one day become the voice that speaks for you when you are no longer able to speak for yourself.