NSA whistle-blower Edward Snowden gave up his freedom to leak classified and critical government secrets that warrant our utmost attention. He relinquished his own privacy so we would know that ours is under attack. But naturally, media outlets are much more concerned with tracking down Lindsay Mills, his free-spirited dancer girlfriend, than holding our country's leaders accountable.


Lindsay's story — or, at least, what we know of it thanks to her blog and various social media feeds — is straight out of a melodramatic tween-friendly romance novel. I mean: she moved to Hawaii for a spy. Lindsay pirouettes in front of sunsets and wears booty shorts with the word "Dream" emblazoned on them and pens Instagram captions that sound like Twilight fan fiction. "I felt you once," she recently wrote. "Your fingers musing down my spine. We sparked life in one another. And all at once you disappeared as quickly as you came." (hashtag #hintofpink).

Lindsay's Instagram is full of photos of her and her friends "having fun being artsy acrobatic weirdos," pole-dancing, and devising eerily portentous costumes: "Switching from super hero to super agent." Even her name seems torn out of a YA book about a normal girl from a dull town who knew she was destined for greater things; i.e., scarf-dancing over dramatic cliffs when not spending time with her mystery man. Move over, Bella! (Obvious sidenote: Edward Cullen is basically the same name as Edward Snowden. Ahhh.)

Lindsay's recent blog posts seem clipped from a novel about a manic pixie dream ballerina who recently discovered that her boyfriend is a spy who holds the country's secrets in his hands and must choose whether to do the right thing or — oh wait, that really happened. Here's her last blog post, from June 10th:

For those of you that know me without my super hero cape, you can probably understand why I’ll be refraining from blog posts for awhile. My world has opened and closed all at once. Leaving me lost at sea without a compass. Surely there will be villainous pirates, distracting mermaids, and tides of change in this new open water chapter of my journey. But at the moment all I can feel is alone. And for the first time in my life I feel strong enough to be on my own. Though I never imagined my hand would be so forced. As I type this on my tear-streaked keyboard I’m reflecting on all the faces that have graced my path. The ones I laughed with. The ones I’ve held. The one I’ve grown to love the most. And the ones I never got to bid adieu. But sometimes life doesn’t afford proper goodbyes. In those unsure endings I find my strength, my true friends, and my heart’s song. A song that I thought had all but died away, when really it was softly singing all along. I don’t know what will happen from here. I don’t know how to feel normal. But I do know that I am loved, by myself and those around me. And no matter where my compass-less vessel will take me, that love will keep me buoyant.


To be fair, most of her posts are just as theatrical:

Hiking through chaotic jungle weeds I find an abandoned oasis. A smooth mirror of liquid reflecting a jagged cave. Its shady spot a world of promise in the midst of this smothering forest. As I approach I hear friendly voices. Clamoring together in a cacophony of jumbled chords. At water’s edge I see tinkling droplets leave the cave’s canopy. Dive-bomb the mirror below. And distort the fluid floor with rings of sound. Each drop a part of the symphony. Drip — disrobe. Drip — swim. Drip — join us. Coaxing commands. My hands mindlessly making quick work of my clothes. The cool, algae-laden water touching my feet. Slowly gliding ever higher on my skin. As my feet take to obeying the calls. Dragging me deeper into darker waters. Serenading songs echoing off the teeth-ridden roof. Their dripping chant growing clearer, louder, unchanging. Come dance. Come dance in my cave. Their calls falling away as I enter.


People devour fan fiction and romance novels to escape real life drudgery. So it's understandable that we want to hear more about Lindsay to distract ourselves from the harsh reality that her boyfriend uncovered. It's bullshit to focus on Snowden's personal life instead of the real bullshit he exposed. But Lindsay might understand. She knows what it feels like to crave escape. From a blog post:

My coping response of the past was to flea to foreign lands. Trying to outrun my misfortune. But before I can sail away to lands unknown I need to wipe my misguided tears and reflect on all that is happening. Listen to my core. Find zen or something like it. And breathe into what little patience I have left.


Let's follow Lindsay's lead. Instead of flee (er, "flea") -ing into a gossip k-hole, peruse her cached blog for a bit and then go back to reading/caring about PRISM instead of the inarguably bewitching Lindsay Mills.

Images via L's Journey.