Writing — and more important, hearing back from the great open void — was all so exciting for me the other day that I didn’t know how to handle it. In the end, I opted for flinging salsa verde on my shirt.
Fortunately the shirt was mainly black, and fortunately the salsa did not hit one of the white areas. That could have been problematic.
I expect it will get easier. It’s just a shock to find that after such a private, personal process as typing furiously on my laptop, pausing to perfect my thoughtful, finger-to-chin pose, and hitting “delete” 88,000 times, we can just hit “post” (or whatever magic the editors work) and all of a sudden…the internet talks back.
And later you’re just clicking away, chomping on your Qdoba leftovers (ancho bbq chile burrito FTW) and you discover that not just one stranger but five of them have seen fit to tell you how they relate to you, and share their own stories, and maybe how hearing someone else’s story can bring inexplicable yet suspicious liquid to their eyeballs, and honestly, at that point? Flinging salsa verde seems like a totally reasonable reaction.
And then — well, I must have flung some of that salsa in my eye, too. It’s the only explanation for the mysterious briny liquid suddenly brimming there.
This post isn’t about yoga, or swimming, or any of the physical things we do in a never-ending effort to keep ourselves healthy and maybe even sane. This post is to thank you, however clumsily and inelegantly, for listening and then doing some furious typing of your own.
I haven’t written in forever, and I have never shared anything I’ve written (except under duress, when I had to in order to get, you know, a grade) because I was a little afraid of what might happen. I had no specific fears, you understand; it was just that something bad might happen.
It also never occurred to me that something good might happen.
Thanks for surprising me.