I have long past the point where I communicate more frequently with strangers than I do with people I know. This strikes me as eerie. Among the people I talk to through this website, through Twitter, and through Facebook (although not as the Unemployed Lawyer), almost everyone is a stranger. Certainly, almost all my correspondents started out that way.

Some of them have now become friends, even though we have never met, through the regularity of our correspondence or our shared interests. They are not friends that I’d go for beer and pizza with—for one thing, they are all in different states and countries. They are internet friends and we generally restrict our “conversations” to specific topics and communicate only through specific channels. We have never seen each other and likely never will. Even so, I value them highly and feel cheered and happy when I hear from them. They have become part of my world.

What’s eerie to me is also what comes as routine when you do what I am doing now. When you write for public consumption, you don’t have any idea who is going to read it, or why. I’m just happy anyone reads my work at all, if they read it at all. The difference between writing on the internet and writing for publication in some hard-copy form is that I have no idea if anyone reads what I write, while if copies of a book, magazine, or newspaper are selling, it stands to reason that someone is buying and reading them. It’s true that I have a hit counter on the site, but it only tells me how many times the site has been opened. It doesn’t say anything about which parts have been used or read.

I’m not complaining. I knew this would be so when I started the site.

But I can’t help wondering what you are thinking. I sometimes feel as if I’m drifting in a very small boat at sea in a very deep fog. I just can’t tell if there is anyone out there or not. I can peer and halloo all I want, but unless you light a lamp and ring a bell, I will never know that you are there. We are all hiding out here.

I am further fascinated by those who reveal themselves to me. I am filled with delight each time someone shows an interest, but sometimes I have to wonder why. I desperately want to know the back story. Why does the Unemployed Lawyer interest a purveyor of Italian ice, a gentlemen’s fashion consultant, a private detective, a healthcare professional, and a travel agent, to name a few Twitter followers? Believe me, I am very happy to have your interest; I’m just curious where it comes from.

This afternoon, I answered a request from an unknown woman for free legal representation. That one, I believe I can figure out. The comment was either a hoax posted by spammers bored with posting plain spam or a real request from a needy person who reasoned that a bunch of unemployed lawyers might need something to do. For the record, I don’t believe that the request was a hoax and I offered the best advice I could on how to seek representation. Either way, it did me no harm and the advice I posted was sound. It might be of use to someone in the future and I hope it helps a person in need right now.

But I’m still at sea, drifting in my little boat. I wish I knew if I have done anyone any good. I wish I knew if I depress you beyond measure and you wish that I would just go away. I wish I knew whether you think movie footnotes are stupid. I really, really wish I knew why my Corporations links keep changing colors on me. I wish I knew a lot of things. I wish I knew you.

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[1] Twentieth Century-Fox Film Corp., 1944, directed by Alfred Hitchcock, starring Tallulah Bankhead, William Bendix, Walter Slezak.