Watching the Response

I'm away, conventioneering in a small way, which means I'm away from my computer, among other things. So tonight, sitting in a hotel lobby, I ran my credit-card through the provided slot and logged onto my email for the first time since I posted yesterday's video. I was shocked to find my usually quiescent email account full of "notifications" letting me know that I've "had a comment." This, I suppose, is the technological equivalent of finding a full mailbox -- something I haven't seen, I admit, in many years. Not what I'm used to. Normally, when I check my email, there are a few daily items: bookseller newsletters, The Huffington Post, and that sort of thing. Then there are the usual social media messages; telling me someone liked my comment about last night's dinner, or the latest childhood photograph I've posted of me, age five, wearing something from my grandmother's "dress -up-trunk." I also still get actual emails from a small circle of friends. I've chosen not to be notified when someone looks in on what I do here. To be honest, I've always been afraid that on any given day, no one would. Should some kind soul actually choose to leave a comment, that's always been something of a red letter day, but I've likewise decided not to anticipate this much. Someone writes a comment, I'm thrilled. No one does, and on I go anyway. Seems the most sensible way.

I do post videos here regularly now; nearly all to do with me sitting in the shabby armchair in my office, reading aloud from the Oxford Book of Prose or somesuch. Now and again I've actually braved the out-of-doors, in a sensible hat, and read a poem or two under the Japanese maple in the yard. I have recently put up a clip of my reading to an actual audience, at the bookstore where I work. As a result of these efforts, I have a "page" at Youtube.com. My general feeling when it comes to my efforts at reading aloud online to strangers, either here or at that site, has been to pay as little attention as possible to the buttons and bits that might tell me if anyone has actually noticed my efforts. I did finally learn how to acknowledge the two or three sweet souls who signed-up to "follow" my readings. I find such kindness deeply touching, and perhaps a little strange, but it seems there are at least a couple of very nice young people who like letting me read them to sleep regularly.

Last night I posted a video unlike my usual efforts in being both largely unscripted -- though I had just written a longish piece on the subject here -- and without a book in my hand. Felt odd, that. I decided to participate in Dan Savage's video campaign addressed to GLBTQ youth, telling them that, indeed, "It Gets Better." The mainstream media has recently decided to make an issue of kids being bullied, and GLBTQ kids all too frequently still being bullied to death. Dan Savage, rather brilliantly, decided to address kids where they live, posting a video of himself and his partner, celebrities gay and otherwise, telling kids that things will get better for them if they just stick around. Tim Gunn's video, in particular, spoke pretty directly to my own experience of a queer adolescence. Savage also encouraged everyone else with something constructive to say to contribute as well. So I did.

I made the video "public," meaning anyone could look at it anywhere, and in addition to posting this video here, and on Youtube, I put it up on my facebook page. Then I went to bed.

This morning I got up, got ready for my trip to Portland, kissed the husband goodbye and took off.

Only now am I seeing the response and it is a little overwhelming.

If I read a Dorothy Parker poem and a dozen people look at it on Youtube, frankly, I'm thrilled. This is different.

Let me encourage anyone who has something to say and who hasn't participated in this campaign to do so, to visit, volunteer and donate to The Trevor Project, and to do whatever else you feel yourself able to do to help.

Best way I can think of to say thank yo to the people that saved me, and to help anyone who needs help now.