I see you in my stats, though you remain nameless, faceless on my blog. You could be anyone, from anywhere, I realize with some degree of solemnity. Perhaps you are a single-click visitor from one of the countries I’ve never been to: England, Germany, India, Ireland, Nigeria, Romania, Greece, or Spain. Or, maybe you’re one of many from Canada, the USA, or the UK.
You’ve left no trace in likes, shares, re-posts, pins, or subscribe. Which is totally fine: you’re not obligated to.
You are anonymous, but not unknown.
I note your presence like footprints in the number of daily visitors and views, though I have no way of knowing which one is you. How many pages and posts did you click on, and how long did you stay? And tell me, what did you think of my latest post?
I wonder, sometimes, if maybe you want to comment after all, and make your presence known; but you hesitate.
I don’t think you are sitting, wherever you are in the world, hunched forward at your keyboard, and stressed about commenting. There’s no requirement to do so. Its just my curiosity gets the best of me, and I truly wonder what makes you come here, makes you peruse my blog, catch up with my words for the month..
And yet, there have been a few who have contacted me privately, to share with an audience of one, the responses to the posts I’ve written, like a silent auditor, wanting to participate by commenting, but are reluctant to publicly.
The world of blogging is fast. I publish a post, it’s seen for a few hours, and then is largely forgotten about. But my urge to know what you are thinking, what my blog may have said to you; are you another writer? a reader? or someone who is just checking in?
I want to let you know: it’s never too late to comment.
What’s more, you don’t need to comment for me to realize you are here.
And I wonder if this post is as much about me as you?
When I began blogging I realized that this digital world, is one where everything is recorded, noted, analyzed. I’ve since sat, you see, and stared at the stats, analyzing this raw data of clicks, trying to decipher something about you, you who are there, but visible only to me.
I began to realize the intrinsic value of a comment, how it connects me to a reader. That a “like” is more than a note of approval, but a sign of acknowledgement, like a smile when you pass someone on the street. I’ve an amazing sense of gratitude for each comment, each like.
When this happens — when I publish a post and someone comments or even just “likes” it — it’s like I’ve reached out into the abyss, and someone has reached back.
In reading my posts you are, in your own way, reaching out to me.
(Though you may not have thought about it in that way, or realized I could notice.) And so, reader, I wanted to reach back, and let you know that yes, I have.
This post is to openly acknowledge your presence, and to thank you for being here (even if I’m the only one who will ever see you).