I have followers. And I’m having a bit of a hard time wrapping my mind around this fact. For starters, I am enormously uncomfortable with the term. It seems to be so randomly and indiscriminately applied these days, when to me, only people enormously more worthy than myself should ever have people following them. Like Jesus.
Nevertheless, it is a term that has been seamlessly adopted into our new “techno-language” so I am attempting to just go with it, and appreciate anyone willing to check out my 140 character contribution to the global conversation periodically.
Still, I continue to be blown away at the concept. Like this morning. I was just informed by The Powers that Be (you know, the Twitter people) that Francine Rivers is now following me. Francine Rivers. That’s a little like someone slapping together a shed in their backyard being informed that Frank Lloyd Wright has taken an interest in their work. A little overwhelming, to say the least.
Not that she even knows who I am, necessarily. I’m one of the faceless hundreds, maybe thousands, who follow her I’m sure, and she is merely returning the favour after I signed up to follow her recently. But still.
Which right there accounts for the enormous allure of the Facebook/Twitter world. The ease with which one can delude oneself into believing that people they admire tremendously, people they hold up as models to follow in their chosen profession or endeavours, actually know who they are and are interested in them personally. My daughter, for example, is “friends” with both Justin Bieber and Cody Simpson on Facebook, which gives her a feeling of having an intimate connection with both of them, an intimate connection she shares with the other 8 million pre-teen girls those guys are friends with.
It’s an easy trap to fall into. I have, and uneasiness over the idea of having followers aside, I’m thoroughly enjoying the ride. In fact, I think I’ll sign off now so I can go tweet my new best friend Francine and tell her so.
Press on, my friends. Press on,