Monday, October 6, 2008
Open letter to a stranger
Last night I noticed that my blog had a new "follower". I went to find out who it was. I read this person's blog, which was new.
I read, and I heard sadness and pain. Being me, I felt obligated to leave a comment. And being me, I felt obligated to leave a message that contained some hope.
I prefaced it with the comment, "I hope I don't sound preachy. . ." And perhaps I did sound preachy, but I meant no harm, not in the least.
Today, I checked in with this blog and saw there was a new post, which sounded even more sad. There was a comment in the post about people preaching instead of caring. I wondered if that was in response to what I wrote, but I brushed that thought aside, thinking, "Hey, it's not all about me!"
So, I left another message. Then I got an error message. I hit the back button and saw that the blog no longer existed. Hitting my back button again, I wound up at the screen where I saw who my "followers" are, and saw this person was gone. The blog was gone, and (s)he was gone.
I feel badly about this. Very. Whoever you are, I meant you only the best, from my heart. I know how it feels to think noone cares. I know how it feels to be lonely.
But I'm not young, and this makes some difference. And because I'm not young, I'm bound to come off preachy at times. I feel maternal towards people who are much younger than I - it's natural, I suppose. But, I'm like that towards my friends when they're hurting, too. One wants to point out what's good, because there are things (and people) that are good. There are.
It's hard to see that when we're hurting. It's easy to see everything and everyone as all good or all bad.
See - I'm preaching right now. It is wrong?
Whoever you are, I hope you're reading this out of curiosity, and I want to tell you this: I'm sorry. I thought I was doing what's right, but I don't know you, do I? We make these mistakes in real life, saying or doing things for others that we wish someone would do for us, but it isn't always what the other person wants. And when it's on the Web, well, it's even easier to make these kinds of mistakes.
I hope, whoever you are, that if you're reading this, you'll put up another blog. I promise I won't butt in.
Image note: Now seemed like a good time for Egon Schiele, who, for me, captures angst better than just about anyone.