I am not going to use any names here, but I got, via somewhere I am not going to mention, an email, and it goes like:
“Long long long ago when you were a toaster I was a confused 20 something who read your blog and one day was found by you and you made a comment on my blog entries every so often and made me feel loved by someone who didn’t have to love me because they weren’t related to me. I never said Thank you for that, so Thank you for that.”
Which, gentle reader, you have no idea how much that made me glow inside. Enough that I thought I should record it here. As one of the other original reasons for here was to act as an extended memory for me. (The other reason? That I should develop my writing, that I should attempt different forms of writing, that I should improve. I think I settled into writing in the way I speak, and if you have ever spoken to me in one of the contexts of my life, then you may recognise that. If you exist in certain other contexts, then I am rather prone to not speaking much at all.)
But what of those other contexts? This has, when I have neglected to honour them, caused confusion amongst some people, and even jealousy in that I don’t act the same with them as I do others. But context is everything. As is history, philosophy, situation and the people. People and context. With some, I can have conversations that move at the speed of light, with leaps and gaps not needing to be filled in, as the agile minds dance over the topological truths and head to new areas of discussion. But try this with others, and you get blank responses, and worse, disdain and contempt. Or the belief that I can’t speak on certain subjects, as how could I ever know anything of them? I am way smarter than people think I am, but nowhere near as clever as I think I am.
Now, back when I was a toaster, and may yet return there, as evidently I was a better person then, was indeed a while ago. I can also recall somewhat of her confusion, if not precisely what I said (oh, that is a lie, I do so remember, some of it at least). Time defeats me, as I have pointed out before, but I can recall. However, none of that is going to be retold. I think that something over the years (time and life, I would say) has moved me somewhat away from that. Oh, I still am receptive and responsive, but I pick and choose the times, and places, for them more carefully.
Those contacts I have made over the years via the medium of weblogging have been interesting. There are those I still know, follow, comment (now and again) but still read. There are others who came and went, never to darken my doors again. Some I have even met in real life, believe it or no, some even multiple times, and I will no doubt meet them again. There are a few I would also like to, but that is a different issue. My circle never grew overly big, shrunk somewhat, but there is a core of fellows I just adore.
Then Cassandra pointed out that it isn’t just for me that I should maintain a social network presence, it is for others. That doesn’t overly work in my head, as it isn’t about other people. She says I am not that good at keeping in touch with people, so this helps. Them and me. But if it bores me, why should I? Maybe I need to ground myself in the intricacies of life again, with the minutae of the mundane. Maybe I do read the wrong books. But I doubt I will stop.
None of that is what I meant to say in this post. None of that conveys anything other than I should really think before I type. None of that adds value to the chamber, echo or not.
All that, all that about me, aside, going back to the original note I received that prompted this post. Those we touch, regardless of how we do it, has a consequence. And to have some words of mine remembered after a period of time, to have such a wonderous sentiment thrown towards me, can’t do anything other than humble. And for them to have remembered this, and found me after this time, well. And then to remind me of what there is, what there isn’t, and look to the sky once more.
So, no, actually, thank you for that.