At some point today, silently, unbeknownst to me, this little space on the Interwebz has crossed over to the far side. When I was busy meeting my deadline for the day, ranting over an annoying client, and wondering what hope there is for writers like me when dealing with clients who don’t know their elbow from their arse (actually, the quandary was in figuring out first-person from third), this blog crossed the 100,000 hits mark. And just like that another milestone went by. Noiselessly.
In 2011, I made a big move with this blog. I moved to wordpress. It’s when I let analytics start clocking things like hits and follows and comments and what not — things I never worried my silly head with before. And like I said in my first post here, I’m usually not one for change. But something about this move felt like I had pulled out my vintage typewriter, put on grown-up pants and writer’s glasses, and changed something very central to this blog. The writing itself. One year later, I could tell the difference (something I have spoken about somewhere in this very, very long post). It is still the same old me, same old self-obsessed personal blog. In fact, I think it’s all you’ll ever get. But I can safely say I’ve moved from sharing inane details for the sake of chronicling my life, to sharing inane details because they form a part of a larger thought process of my life. Thought processes that evidently are universal. Because it rings true for others out there, and has brought me closer to so many like-minded people.
To say this space has become an indelible part of my life would be an understatement. VC thinks I spend more time on my blog than out in the real world. He says I have more blog friends, than real world friends (and he just might be right, on that one). He says I am bordering on obsessed and must make time for other things in life. Well, he can blame himself completely for the way things have turned out, because the truth is, I wouldn’t have made this move if he hadn’t pushed me to. When he is not busy wagging his finger and chiding me, he thinks there is a book-worthy writer in me, more than I think of myself. And today, he drank an extra drink to celebrate the milestone, out at a work dinner.
A hundred-thousand hits — I couldn’t have done it without him. And you. And you. And you…and you! I could go on, but you know who you are, ladies and gentlebugs. Those of you who subscribe to my incessant self-involved chatter. Those of you who click through and come back day after day and humor me. Those of you who share your thoughts in the comments section. Those of who you I read, who provide constant inspiration, entertainment, contemplation and silent strength. Those of you who I read over and over and feel so akin to.
Those of you that are clued into the the trivialities of my mundane life. The minutiae of my stream of consciousness. My eternal, never-ending monologue, rants and raves, and the many times I wax eloquent about the same things that overwhelm me time and again.
And then there are those of you who send me emails. Those of you with whom I have exchanged words beyond the walls of this corner in cyber space. Those of you who have become real people, rather than names in my list of comments to moderate. Those of you who have become friends, fellow-passionate women in arms, kindred spirits.
This blog has played so many roles in my life. It has helped me, across various instances, get up, get well, get over, get going, get good, get happy. Like Stephen King says, “Writing is magic, as much as the water of life as any other creative art. The water is free. So drink. Drink and be filled up.”
So thank you, from the bottom of my heart, for letting me. For indulging me, for giving me the freedom to drink and be filled up.