I’ll be the third to admit that silence can be deafening. But when you’re an artist and sensitive about your shit, silence can also be a relief. I don’t write the banal things on my blog. I take pieces of my past and string them into words at an attempt to make sense of this life. I pour feelings and frustrations onto a public page for the world wide web to see. So sometimes when I’m met with little to no feedback, I uncoil the knots in my spine and allow my lungs a long, deep release.
I’m a writer with a blog. A. Writer. With. A. Blog. That means I’m not always able to measure what matters through numbers and stats. That means that my posts are sometimes meanderings through memories that mean nothing to anyone but me. That means I’m not always sure. And sometimes, no matter the reaction I receive, I face the fear that I’m doing it wrong, or worse, doing this whole thing for nothing.
But this Thursday a light came on in Cardiff. A lovely lady in Wales, by way of Kenya, messaged me out of the blue saying she enjoyed my writing and that she appreciated my light. We made plans to connect later this month while I covered my mini freak-out with a calm, cool “I’d love to connect with you!”
It’s not the fact that I have a reader in Cardiff that matters. It’s the fact that my signal is strong enough to compel that reader to reach out. It’s the fact that she’s the type of person who lives to share her experience and touch lives too. What matters is the reassurance that what I’m doing and what I’m writing is coruscating good vibes across the globe to attract the companionship of little lights like me.
I’m not saying I’m changing the world one post at a time. Believe me, I hate the sound of my own horn. But it’s nice to know that when I spill my heart on a page for the world wide web to see, I’m somehow making more than just a mess. Thanks Nyambura.