I remember exactly where I was the first time I got a comment on my blog from a stranger. It was dusk, and I was on a bus in NYC. I was likely returning from my day job as a nanny to two wonderful kids on the Upper East Side, which would put me on the M72. I was sitting in a window seat, and we had already cleared the park. I decided to reread my own blog post and compulsively check for embarrassing grammatical errors. And maybe chuckle to myself at my own wittiness.
And there it was.
Funny thing is, I don’t remember what the short-lived blog was called, what the post was about, or what the comment said. I only remember how it made me feel – connected.
There I was in this huge city. My own center of the universe and a stranger deemed my little corner of the internet worthy to explore and even engage with, before engagement was a metric.
I wasn’t committed then. I think I was bored. Reaching, yearning for something more. Not validation. Simply connection in a new way. Not instant. Something I worked for, then waited. And waited. And finally, someone, somewhere reached back.
That’s what I want to explore now. Not the (almost) instant back and forth of social media. Not the toxicity. Not chasing algorithms. I want to put my thoughts down and see who picks them up. Who turns them over and examines them closely? Who lingers? Who sees themselves in it? And, of course, who responds?
Who will share their story to create this new story?
I’m not a rebel. This isn’t my anti-social media manifesto. I’m on Instagram and more often, Pinterest. But there is something so old-school cool about live journaling online and connecting with strangers. Like handwriting a letter (as I’m known to do) when everyone else is texting.
Or maybe I’m just getting old; that’s okay, too. Because the best thing about aging is getting to do it. And not giving a fuck what anyone else has to say about it.
They say people don’t read blogs anymore. If you made it here, congratulations; clearly, you’re not just people. You’re my kind of people.
I’m so curious to find out what this space will become. Won’t you join me?
Sincerely yours,
B
