To All of You

Dear You,

One of my best friends and I talk often about what kind of ego you need to be President. How you have to be so sure of yourself, that you believe YOU- out of the millions of possible candidates, are the single best person to lead. How you have to be so confident that your speeches are ones worth listening to, your vision one worth believing in. How you have to send out your hopes and plans and goals and hope that people who are listening relate to them.

I sometimes feel that way about blogging.

It takes something to believe your words are worth sharing. That a pen and paper no longer will suffice- that what you have to say is valuable enough for the world to read. That the questions you pose deserve answers, the tales you tell deserve a response. That you are more than a nameless voice in an unidentified location- you are the person you put forth, the one you hope others will want to listen to, the one who has something to say. The one with the valuable words.

I want you to know that I’m thankful that you believe your words are worth it. Because they are.

I’ve read about your job interviews and found myself actually crossing my fingers. I’ve sighed over wedding pictures and swooned over new boyfriends. I’ve cheered on first homes, first marathons, first dates. I’ve given advice on wedding colors and new car options. I’ve sent baby clothes to new babies and congratulation cards to newly engaged couples. I’ve congratulated on new jobs, laughed out loud at your jokes, typed out many happy birthday wishes and squealed with delight when one of you found an unbelievable Michael Kors steal.

And when you lost your job? I felt horrible. When I read your sick, I sympathize. When you’ve been dumped and wrote things that have hit very close to home? I felt for you. I’ve read the things you weren’t sure anyone would want to hear. Topics like divorce and cancer and dogs who eat their own poop (it freaks me out how many posts I’ve read on that last one). And when the awful happens- when you’ve lost a loved one? I’ve cried.  Not only because it reminds me of those I have lost, but because when you’ve come to find someone who has writing you enjoy- you feel like you know them in ways that are hard to explain- like a friend you just haven’t met yet. And knowing that you are grieving, grieves me.

I’ve read sentences that have left me speechless, their beauty rendered with precise words and detail. I’ve read posts with honesty so searing I’ve cried. I’ve read your words that have riled me up so much my blood pressure was affected. I’ve read posts that have been more thought provoking than many of the published novels that line my bookshelf. I’ve read your words and I’ve loved them all.

I’m reminded of the kindness of strangers each day I write something and find that someone has taken time from their day to respond. And I speak with complete sincerity, when I say that seeing a comment in response to a thought I’ve shared, still leaves me surprised.  I’m thankful to those who have commented to tell me that Mallard is crazy (And thank you to all of you who did, I do agree with you), who have sent me links of things they knew I would enjoy, who have emailed me when they know that a kind word could go a long way.

This sounds like a goodbye post doesn’t? I promise it’s not. It’s a “today is Friday and I want to write about something other than Mallard and you guys are awesome so this post just makes sense” sort of post. In short, I just want you- the one who writes and shares it with me, whether it’s daily, or weekly or monthly or sporadically whenever you feel the urge, to know that I thank you.

And if any of you decide to run for President, let me know. I will be your Robert Gibbs and lay the smack down on any bitch ass host who ever tries to trash you on national television.

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