It’s what I imagine the playwright Samuel Beckett’s characters felt. Or, better yet, what God feels, while waiting patiently for someone to arrive. Waiting for anyone to hear the message, as He makes the birds sing, flowers blossom, the rain fall, the neighbor smile and say hello, and in infinite ways reaches out. The response: muted, silent.
A few weeks ago, I started this blog. Finding content was not the problem. I tackled the coronavirus, our anxious monkey mind, and our predictive brain. I even tried poetry. The response: crickets. My heavenly answer to this: Be patient. My Trumpian reply: Ingrates!
I’ve learned that the biggest hurdle preventing my voice from being heard over the roar of the Internet is leading the crowd to the blog site. They call it getting eyeballs! I still don’t know how that happens. At the moment, getting eyeballs seems gruesome and magical. Although, I am learning about tags and categories and posting on social media, etc. In the meantime, I sit and wait for Godot.