December 20, 2001

I was going to continue with my Tales Of Christmas Past today, but am moved to write about something else. I've been doing this on-again, off-again online journal business for close to 5 years in total, all the while mired in near obscurity. To tell the truth, I'm much more comfortable being a lesser light than being one of the journalists (diarists? whatever the term is) who have become legend and/or celebrity throughout the online community. Of the hundreds of journals that are out there in the ethereal beyond, I can count on one hand those I read come every update they make. I read them not necessarily for the quality or quantity of their work, but more because I feel a connection to the person behind the words. I sense that, were I to meet them in real life, I would be able to count them as a friend. In turn, I hope that they would see me in much the same light. I'm not naive though. I know full well that what is projected through an online presence is only what the author chooses to share with their readers; that it is not a complete representation of their life or who they are. Still, it's enough for me to be able to get a good feel of what that person is like in real life.

This morning, two of those regular reads have posted updates marking this week as a very significant time in their lives, which have made me weep with joy for the one and sorrow for the other. It is difficult for me right now to express in written word what I'm trying to get at. It's as if the two are mirroring each other - one with the promise of what will be, the other mourning the promise of what should have been. I find myself frustrated above all - frustrated that I cannot go up to the one, give them a hug and yell "Congratulations!" - frustrated that I cannot go up the other, give them a hug and whisper "I'm sorry" and "I'm here for you." Frustrated above all because even though they could be great friends, and even though I consider them friends, I know that at the root of it they really aren't friends; they're someone on the internet who chooses to let the rest of us into their lives for a passing glimpse.

This online world is a strange place. On one hand, it opens up a whole new realm of possibilities; of new friendships, new loves, new interests, new communities. On the other hand, it holds these fragile new possibilities like a pebble in its palm that closes to a fist before we can snatch them for ourselves. "Try again, grasshopper."

I'm not trying to sound jaded about all of this. If I were jaded about the whole process, I wouldn't be reading about these people's lives on a regular basis. I certainly wouldn't be writing Radishes and Gooseberries. I know too, that many folks online have met their best friends and/or life partners through this media.

Maybe it's the immediacy of it all that makes it so baffling. Maybe it's like television or a book, where you don't get to interact with the players immediately, if at all. Still, frustrating as it is on a day such as this, I'm that much richer for getting the chance to visit these people's lives on a regular basis. They inspire me to write; they inspire me to think; they inspire me to learn and to expand my horizons; they inspire me to see more of the countless facets of what love and humanity are.

To those of you I read, and to the many more of you I don't:

Thank you.