Putting It Out There--BIG GULP!

OK, I guess I had a blonde moment, no matter how artificially intelligent I might currently be (I recently wandered over to the REDHEAD side), LOL!
I follow several folks on my Twitter account, one of which is someone I’ve long admired and respected, albeit from very far away—Mr. Roger Ebert.

Back when I was in high school, my best friend and I loved going to movies, and we’d sit for hours afterwards discussing them, along with other important things like books, boys, and music, of course! We would fancy ourselves to be critics, believing that one day we could be famous critics like Mr. Ebert. Someday.

Fast forward over 20 years…..

Mr. Ebert has an online journal and his entry on his site on November 5th is titled “All the Lonely People.” It simply captivated me, and I had to read it several times and quietly reflect upon why, exactly, his words so moved me. I had to respond and let him know—something I’ve never done.

However, I firmly believe that when someone touches your life, you gotta let him or her know.

Otherwise, how do they know what they’ve done?

Soooooooooooo, I had some brilliantly witty sort of response that flew right out of my brain onto electronic paper (i.e., the computer screen) and hit “Submit” and then waited with baited breath, constantly checking back to see if my comment got posted, let alone read. NOTHING. I was heartbroken.

I had even Tweeted that I had gone ahead and commented on the journal site, maybe that jinxed me?

My niece had even Tweeted me asking where the heck was my comment—who knows?

Did I hallucinate? Hmmmmmm….

Well, folks, if at first you don’t succeed, TRY, TRY AGAIN! So I did.

Of course, it wasn’t exactly brilliant—never really was, I was simply using hyperbole to allure and entice readers into thinking I’m magnificent. KIDDING!!!

No, it was simply me, reaching out across the cyber universe, to let another being know that what they bravely put out there was received, reflected upon, and appreciated. By ME.

Here’s the link to Mr. Ebert’s journal site, feel free to take a read, enjoy the BEAUTIFUL and powerful photographs that accompany the journal entry, and see for yourself. http://blogs.suntimes.com/ebert/2010/11/all_the_lonely_people.html

I’d highly encourage and recommend reading this, and I’d love to hear your thoughts on what you think J

Oh, and, yeah, I actually saved my previewed comments and am pasting them below, as proof that I actually did submit something. But, alas, in my nervous haste, I had typos ::GASP::: Oh well, I dunno if it will post on his site this time, whatever the internet gremlins decide, I guess J Here’s what I posted:

Previewing your Comment

By Eliza Jane Gomez on November 12, 2010

I've been such a fan of your work for years--in fact, back in high school, my best friend and I wanted to be film critics "when we grew up." Over 20 years later, life taking a totally different and beautiful direction, I still haven't grown up and likely never will....I ventured to step out and comment on this entry of yours a couple of days ago (but I guess something prevented my post from listing)--which is a first for me. I tend to read and not post. Alas, whatever dim-yet-delightful comment I was "inspired" to write is lost to the cyber abyss forevermore..... However, your words in this particular entry literally tapped me in the heart and I felt compelled to "reach out" and let you know how grateful I am having read them.

Your words in the paragraph below especially sounded that bell deep within me:

"But why are you writing them? Don't you have anything else to do? Every day there are untold millions of comments, texts, and online interactions. Millions. And each one says, I am here and I extend my consciousness to there. There might have been a time when humans were content to sit and simply be, like the goat I saw yesterday sitting contently in a patch of sunshine at the Lincoln Park Zoo. That time was long ago. We want the news. We want to chatter and gossip. We want to say "I am alive" in a billion billion different ways. And now here is internet, providing such an easy, easy way to do that."

Your one particular line reminds me of the line in "Ars Poetica" that states,"A poem should not mean/but be."


I find that this is precisely why I venture at all to create and maintain a presence online--via Twitter, my blog, my poetry, Facebook, what-have-you....And, even though some of us at times revel in our solitude, we also embody the curiosity of exploring "what's out there" and make those connections that in any other way would be rendered unconnectable. From the safety and distance we still possess the ability to create, fan, and ignite experiences and passions. Your "delicious learning by proxy" very much represents how I vicariously live via voracious reading, mucking around on the internet, living life to the fullest, virtually and literally.

However, your commentary on lonliness also speaks to me in a different way altogether. I am entirely comfortable and embrace both being lonely/solitary and also the opposite end of the spectrum of being a social butterfly. Very much a people person, I thrive on meeting and getting to know new people, almost as much as travelling to new places...however, the more I reflect on this, the more I actually feel both connected and detatched--some part of me (not to sound so Sybil-lish) feels more alone than ever. But not in a negative way; no, much more a very soothing, "I'm more comfortable within my own mind than without" sort of way.

Your writing and the included photographs poignantly capture this, and I think that's what really jumped out at me. Made me think. Always a dangerous thing, that. Dangerous, yes, yet true.

So, sir, I thank you.

For beautifully capturing a sense of sentiment I never had any idea how to express. For sharing of yourself in an intelligent-yet-intimate way. Of connecting with wandering online travellers such as I.

And, yes, I still hold to the notion that one of these days I'll be able to be like you when I grow up, whenever that is :)

Humbly and Sincerely,

Eliza Jane Farley Gomez
Pompano Beach, FL