My Space In The World

I got a very nice email from someone this morning telling me how my essay The Object of Dread helped her understand her relationships.  And I’ve been blogging for long enough that I occasionally have people who’ve grown up on my advice, which is a little odd realizing some people have incorporated my thought patterns into their way of thinking.  I hope it’s more helpful than harmful.
A long time ago, Cat Valente called me “The Garrison Keillor of LJ,” which is a title I’ve always been proud of, because I love Garrison’s voice – he tells stories, sometimes very harsh ones about loneliness and isolation, yet somehow makes them reassuring.  But I realized what I think of myself as today:
The local newspaper’s columnist.
I’m not a big celebrity, not in the scheme of things, but in certain areas I’m very well-known.  And I think that makes me a beloved columnist in a small-town newspaper, where it’s a part of the daily routine for folks to sit down, eat dinner, and open the paper to that Ferrett fellow’s page.  Mostly they nod their head.  Sometimes they’re outraged.  Sometimes they’re even convinced.
And I’m not a big deal, not really.  Go to New York, they haven’t heard of me, and Hollywood’s never come knocking.  Every once in a while I get a piece reprinted in a national newspaper and it’s a little PR for a while, then it fades and I return to my sleepy burg.
It’s nice.  It’s cozy.  It’s not fame enough that I step outside and I’m barraged by paparrazzi, but I get fan mail about once a week (which is more than most people get in a lifetime), and people say nice things.  I’m still mostly obscure, but the people who like me, like me, and that’s a lovely space to be.
I’m in my spot.  Typing for you.  And the deadlines come calling, and it’s hard work, but I couldn’t think of a lovelier neighborhood to live in.  With a better bunch of people.