my cup runneth over

An unexpected outpouring of support followed that last post, more encouragement than I ever would have expected...thank you! I was reading one of Maggie's latest, and while I cannot directly relate to it's entirety, the notion of connecting with people you otherwise wouldn't is something of a techno-cliche that I love to hate. She said this of the phenomenon:

The thing about blogland is you get completely caught up in other worlds. You sit here in the privacy of your living room and you sift through archives and you subscribe day to day and you gradually learn all there is to know about a person. In a way, you come to love them.

And she's right. I feel as though we're friends who meet over bandwidths instead of coffee, and for whatever reason this tied into my gratitude for your kind words... La C left a composition in the comment window that greeted my sleepy Sunday eyes with a kind of inspiration I am in need of, being still very much in the infantile state of this thing. Gracie aligned with my snarky cynicism [as usual], which fuels the drive for my desire to prove wrong the nay-sayers. Maggie was uplifting, and SatinBarbie, whose identity is yet unknown, provided appropriate words of wisdom spoken by someone who shares my weaknesses. This is no attempt to provoke a moment of warm-and-fuzzies, but merely an honest thanks because I really needed it.

I struggle with the Writer dream.

If it were like art, a passion I've known all my life that grew in unison with bones and tissue and thick skin, it would be different. I'd know myself better in that role. I would be confident in my true abilities and able to decipher opinions from fact. Unfortunately, it isn't. I began a nonchalant blog on myspace without agenda, and as I like to say, the writing kind of found me. I had never thought about it as a profession until a year or so ago. Now here I am, trying to piece together a path that will lead me there. Take One opened my eyes to an occurrence I should have expected: there are an abundance of people who are waiting to knock you down. The world doesn't owe me a thing. Writing is a destiny I'll have to fight for if I want it [as are all destinies, I suppose].

Now having somehow produced an Oprah-esque tone, I'll first apologize, then retire the sensitive reflection and end with another Thank You. It really does mean a lot that you come here and read, and even more that you take the time to leave your comments. Often they are nearly the highlights of my day because it means that someone values the words I post enough to leave feedback. It means that my words have readers, and isn't that, after all, the purpose of writing?