So, I have this friend, P, who is a very eloquent blogger. Actually, I have several friends who are quite excellent at this kind of thing. However, I don’t publicly comment on their posts as much as I do with P’s. Sometimes the comments are closed, sometimes I just prefer e-mail, sometimes I am chicken. For whatever reason, I don’t (but actually, I think I may do the same thing to them even so, so they apply to this as well).
So anyway, P. P, P, P.
P can take this benign little thing and turn a phrase and create a metaphor and suddenly this tiny, benign little thing is this thoughtful, poignant, lovely post. Full of thinky things and insight and philosophy and what-all. Honestly, go to her site, it’s very good. And I read it and I get what she is saying and I love the deepness of it all and I am moved to comment. Others comment; their insightful and intelligent comments reflecting on and adding to the whole point that comes between the lines of the post and it all fits so well and we are learning so much and I want to join in and add my two cents of support for my good friend who blogs.
And what do I say? With all these deeper meaning posts all around me and such amazing discussion and sharing going on? *I* comment directly on the benign point where it all started. Oh yes. Not on the part where it got good. Oh, no. I don’t even mean to, but basically, I say the literary equivalent to “Ha ha, pony barnacles!” Not that she has ever discussed pony barnacles, that’s just an example. But I bet she could make something eloquent and meaningful out of it if she did.
Yup. Seven years in post-secondary education and: Pony Barnacles. Oh my.
So, it’s a vanity thing, I know. But, it also suggests that I didn’t really read what she (they) was (were) saying. And if there’s one thing that I have a hard time with regarding comments on blogs, it’s the comments of the people who have entirely and altogether missed the point. Either for not reading or not engaging their brain. To see my comments going that route is… well, embarrassing. I have no idea how to fix it, either. In my effort to chime in, to say, “Me too,” which is what this whole blogging medium can be great for, I think, I don’t seem to share the true Me Too. Or, maybe I’m not as deep as all that and my Me Too isn’t there yet. But like, you know, whatever. I just want to have smarts!
Maybe I am speaking in code? What might look like pony barnacles to the outside world is somehow meaning “I got you, I get you, I hear you?” And the recipient magically knows that, even if the greater blogging world is wondering why this person bothered at all? Who knows. Maybe I would like it to be that way. Maybe I’m protecting myself. Looking dumb does create a lessening of expectations, but since I know these people in real life, they know me and know how I think. Maybe… maybe I really am still just that superficial. It wouldn’t surprise me.
I have another blogging friend I won’t link to, because I stopped commenting on her stuff years ago. Because I WAS that commenter who totally missed the point, on everything. I really didn’t get it. My world and worldview were so much smaller then and I just didn’t know anything, you know? But somehow, thank goodness, I started to see that I was doing it wrong. I’d notice that after I would comment, conversation stopped. I noticed that what I was thinking, her other friends/commenters weren’t. And when I noticed that, I worried that I would stifle her voice if I kept reading. Well, that and she responded faster to her new friends there than to an e-mail from me and that hurt, but I also think I was too close to the source and so I stopped. She never told me if that hurt her, or not. She’s blogging in a new space now and I follow her there, which she knows, since she shared it with me and I e-mail her when I want to talk about what she had to say. I don’t think I Pony Barnacle her; I hope I don’t. I still don’t comment on her site though. I want to do it right this time.
Friends, I promise to endeavor to respond with more meaningful comments on your blogs. But when words fail me at your amazing turn of phrase, I hope you can look between the lines of my banal comments and see that I heard you, I hear you, I get you and rock on with your amazing self.