Y'all Come Sit a Spell

I don’t care what people think of me.

I mean that.

Mostly.

I have reached an age where I can leave the house without makeup, wear what I want, say what I think, and generally allow other people’s opinions of me to remain their problem. It took me a long time to get here, and I rather like it.

Then I started putting things on the internet.

Apparently, I care very much what people think of me there.

Except that’s not quite right either.

I don’t need you to like it.

I need you to look at it.

There is a difference.

I discovered this recently while staring at the number 99.

Ninety-nine views.

A perfectly respectable number for something I’d tossed onto the internet, particularly considering I’d only recently started tossing things onto the internet at all.

But it was 99.

One hundred was sitting right there.

One more person. That was all I needed. One more random human being needed to stumble across my little contribution to the endless stream of things being flung into the digital universe.

I refreshed.

Still 99.

I went and did something else.

I came back.

Still 99.

At some point, this became personal.

Which is ridiculous, because I didn’t need the hundredth person to like it. I didn’t need them to comment. I didn’t need them to follow me, buy anything, pledge their eternal devotion, or nominate me for an award.

I just needed the little counter to roll over.

Someone see the damn thing.

And that’s when I realized I may have a somewhat complicated relationship with putting myself out there.

Because I will apparently publish my thoughts on the World Wide Web, where billions of complete strangers could theoretically encounter them.

But tell people I actually know that I’ve done it?

Absolutely the fuck not.

Don’t judge me.

Seriously.

A stranger can read something I’ve written and decide I’m ridiculous. That’s fine. We had no relationship before they arrived, and we’ll have no relationship after they leave. They can wander off into the internet thinking, Well, that woman is a lot.

Fair assessment.

But someone I know?

That’s different.

They already know me. Or at least they know a version of me.

And suddenly saying, Hey, I made this thing. Come look at it, feels far more exposing than quietly putting the same thing somewhere millions of strangers could potentially find it.

Make that make sense.

I want people to find my writing.

I want people to see the things I make.

I want the views.

I want the 99 to become 100.

But apparently I would also prefer that everyone discover these things through an elaborate series of breadcrumbs so I never have to actually announce:

LOOK! I MADE A THING AND I WOULD LIKE YOU TO LOOK AT MY THING.

Because that sounds suspiciously like asking for attention.

And God forbid.

So I compromise.

I put things out there.

I make the books. I write the essays. I post the videos. I pin the pins.

And then I stand approximately six feet away pretending I don’t give a shit whether anybody notices while checking the statistics often enough to qualify as a minor behavioral disorder.

Today, I put the link to this blog on my Facebook profile.

I did not make a post.

Let’s not get carried away.

I also changed my cover photo to the porch—the same porch you see here—but there are no words on it. No logo. No blog name. Nothing announcing what it is.

Just the porch.

The link is there if somebody happens to look.

The door is open if somebody happens to wander through it.

Apparently that’s as brave as we’re getting today.

And you know what?

I’ll take it.

I don’t need to stop caring entirely.

Maybe I just need to keep putting the things I care about where somebody might find them.

Even if I can’t quite bring myself to knock on their door and tell them they’re there.

But if you happen to be number 100?

For the love of God, don’t just stand there. The counter is waiting.