So I got my first snarky comment on this blog. I don’t count the one from the hermit crab lover who gently guided me to some resources on how to adequately care for hermit crabs after Molly’s crab died from neglect. She could have called me a killer, but she held it in rather graciously. I’m not going to write about the current state of our other crab, Smiley. He’s just molting, right?
The snarky comment came from someone named “Anonymous” who commented on my post about how men can’t find anything in the house. She said it, and my readers’ comments, helped explain why the divorce rate is so high. I don’t think she liked how I kindly and gently asked Tom to check his body’s orifices for the missing remote control, or something like that.
This got me thinking. When I started blogging, I had neither read a blog nor commented on one. I was “writing for myself.” Tom and my sister were my only readers. When people I didn’t know stumbled across the blog, then actually came back for more and started commenting—go Shana and Kate!—I was surprised and thrilled. The comment section became a way to make new friends and to reconnect with several dear friends I don’t see very often.
Now I want comments. I love comments. Does this serve my narcissistic side? Sure. But it also makes me feel as if my writing doesn’t just go into a vacuum. I feel connected to my readers, most of whom I’ve never met. Since I’ve started reading other blogs, and commenting on them, I’ve actually been writing less often. I have found myself drawn into a blogging community, and more of my time has gone to keeping up with other people’s writing. I don’t want to miss out.
But back to the snarkiness…Do you find it interesting that I read that comment 6 times in a row? That’s kind of like picking at a scab isn’t it? And I wasn’t even upset. And I don’t regret what I wrote about Tom at all. And I’m not too concerned about what “Anonymous” thinks of me.
Can you imagine how many times I would have read it if it had come from someone I knew and cared deeply about?
This just reminded me of the power of words. We tend to cling to the negative and let it penetrate deeply into our souls. We wrap it up and put it in our pocket. We pull it out when we are feeling insecure or vulnerable, unwrap it, and let the pain cut a little deeper.
What could seem like a passing remark can linger for years.
I hate to think of how I may have used words over the years carelessly and for sport. As a sister, a friend, and especially as a teacher. Every day we have a chance to build people up or break them down.
The snarky comment came from someone named “Anonymous” who commented on my post about how men can’t find anything in the house. She said it, and my readers’ comments, helped explain why the divorce rate is so high. I don’t think she liked how I kindly and gently asked Tom to check his body’s orifices for the missing remote control, or something like that.
This got me thinking. When I started blogging, I had neither read a blog nor commented on one. I was “writing for myself.” Tom and my sister were my only readers. When people I didn’t know stumbled across the blog, then actually came back for more and started commenting—go Shana and Kate!—I was surprised and thrilled. The comment section became a way to make new friends and to reconnect with several dear friends I don’t see very often.
Now I want comments. I love comments. Does this serve my narcissistic side? Sure. But it also makes me feel as if my writing doesn’t just go into a vacuum. I feel connected to my readers, most of whom I’ve never met. Since I’ve started reading other blogs, and commenting on them, I’ve actually been writing less often. I have found myself drawn into a blogging community, and more of my time has gone to keeping up with other people’s writing. I don’t want to miss out.
But back to the snarkiness…Do you find it interesting that I read that comment 6 times in a row? That’s kind of like picking at a scab isn’t it? And I wasn’t even upset. And I don’t regret what I wrote about Tom at all. And I’m not too concerned about what “Anonymous” thinks of me.
Can you imagine how many times I would have read it if it had come from someone I knew and cared deeply about?
This just reminded me of the power of words. We tend to cling to the negative and let it penetrate deeply into our souls. We wrap it up and put it in our pocket. We pull it out when we are feeling insecure or vulnerable, unwrap it, and let the pain cut a little deeper.
What could seem like a passing remark can linger for years.
I hate to think of how I may have used words over the years carelessly and for sport. As a sister, a friend, and especially as a teacher. Every day we have a chance to build people up or break them down.
Just today at lunch with my friends I said more about someone than I should have. I’m going to take this as a reminder to watch my words, with my friends, my kids, and yes, even Tom, if he can get the remote out of his ass long enough to listen.
