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Photo by Jason Howie |
These
last few months, I have learned more than I ever wanted to about the
blogosphere and how it works and how writers and can market themselves
effectively. I have gotten tied up at times in trying to make some inroads in a
blogger community, trying harder than I should to publicize my posts all over
different blogs and linkups and social media, itching to get noticed on
Twitter, where I am notoriously incompetent. I never seem to be able to
tweet something clever enough. I can’t respond quickly enough to engage others'
twitter conversations. I feel helpless as I write more and more and watch the
page views plummet lower. Maybe I peaked in my first month blogging.
There
is a kind of freedom when I realize it: you
don't fit in, you have never fit in.
Somewhere
along the way I forgot the fact that part of my identity has always been in
landing among the outsiders, the never-quite-home, the misfits. It has been a
lonely strand of my whole life. It has also given me empathy and understanding—it
has also enabled me to reflect on my identity and my place and to find my
people and love them dearly.
I’m not
sure why I expected to fit in among all these hip, talented, quick-quipping writers
on the internet. I was
never good at the captivating of crowds or the quick responses to conversation
in the high school morning locker routine. As a counselor at Christian summer
camp—and these were, I thought, my
people—I couldn't keep up with the dining hall banter and the enthusiasm.
But it
was okay, I was there for my kids, the ten kids in my cabin that week, and I
loved them dearly, just as I have always loved all the other wonderful souls
who stuck around long enough to give me a chance. I have always been lucky
enough to find and connect with my people, and I am writing now much more for
myself and my people than for the chance of making it as a writer.
I am sure
the other people on the internet are lovely people. I am sure many of the
people who appear to me to be getting lots of publicity and popularity, to be
great at marketing themselves and networking on social media—I am sure many of
them feel the same way I do. And I do value the few connections I’ve made here
and there that have turned into real conversation, and mutual admiration.
Freedom
comes in accepting that I’m not here for recognition. I’m not here to get a lot
of re-tweets from other writers who want to be re-tweeted, too. I don’t want to
write for them, I want to keep writing for me, writing for you, who click on my
entries every now and again and maybe even on occasion see something you can
relate to.
Here we
are, you and me, and I hope we are both learning to love the place where we are right now, not the place it seems
like we should be. I hope we are both learning that we can be ourselves. We don’t
have to market ourselves to be loved.