Being mostly right-brained has its perks at times, while other times it makes me feel like all I’m qualified to do is put a pretty (metaphorical) ribbon on something and call it art. I do consider writing a form of art, so I guess that would make me an artist, and we all know artists do not typically excel in the self confidence area. Sure, I’m happy with who I am, the woman on the inside. My soul, the person I strive to be each day, is someone I’ve put a lot of work into. But when I spill it all out on the screen, I don’t always feel like I am understood or even interesting. Are the things that interest me–things other people want to read about? My traffic says yes, but my comments…well, not so much.
I love to write, and while I do write for my own reasons and own self, I feel like my blog is a conversation with my (you) readers. There are many of you reading (holy cow, I’m shocked at how many of you visit this humble little place) but I know most of you don’t stop and say howdy. I know the reasons why…too busy, don’t feel witty, forget, not your thang…whatever it may be. I get it, believe me, I do. Because I’m not the best commenter either. Sometimes I’m lucky to get to your blog to read it at all, but I’m working on it. Promise.
So here’s the crux of it: comments matter. Like my friend Beth at I Should Be Folding Laundry said, comments are my payday. This blog is not written for money, and while I do enjoy the opportunities this blog brings my way–at the end of the day it’s still just me and my thoughts and I don’t like talking to my dog. Because that’s what it feels like when a bunch of you read and only a handful leave your thoughts…like speaking out into a foggy night when everyone’s already in their houses and I’m standing alone on the street. When I talk to my dog, she stares at me then walks off completely unaffected.
It’s ok…I realize that it’s entirely possible that most of you click away completely unaffected. But if that’s the case, go ahead and leave “woof” as your comment. That way, I’ll know that you stopped by, that you might slightly care, and that you might also possibly be covered in fur and smell like poo. And any of those is fine by me. (Sorta).