I always keep a close eye on the statistics for my blog. I’m not very concerned about sheer numbers, but I am fascinated by the location. Looking at the maps of recent visitors, I can see very clearly the divide between North and South. Sometimes, I can guess from the locations that one of several friends has stopped by, and other times, I wonder who is reading from Iceland or the Canary Islands. But there is one frequent visitor who intrigues me most of all.
This visitor drops by at least half a dozen times each week. Sometimes, they visit several times a day, and once they visited fourteen times in the same day. They prefer my blogs about Northwest Coast Art, although occasionally they will read more personal contents.
As much as I take pride in my writing, I doubt that anyone could impersonally admire it so much (or, perhaps, sneer at it). Surely, the thought keeps occurring to me, they must have some personal connection. Whenever their visits in a single day mount up, I start wondering if I am about to hear from them, yet they have never left a message, and I am starting to be convinced that they never will.
Perhaps they are too shy, or too uncertain of how I will respond? One way or the other, they seem to have strong feelings about me.
I have considered various people who could be the visitor. One person in particular seems a strong possibility, because about the same time that they visit my blog, they are often posting on Twitter as well. The times they don’t visit often correspond to when they are out or on holidays. I have been tempted frequently to phone them and satisfy my curiosity, but I am not completely certain of their identity, and the person I suspect has not acted as a friend, so I would add to their grievance if I did.
Still, I imagine a conversation with them, tentative at first, then increasingly relaxed as each of us explains ourselves, until at last we hang up friendly acquaintances. Yet while I am romantic enough to believe that former enemies can sometimes come to mutual respect, I am also realistic enough to know that seldom happens, and is so unlikely in this case as to be impossible. At any rate, I have promised myself that I will not approach them first.
This situation is not a great tragedy of my life. All the same, it has nagged at me for several years, and I would be glad of a resolution. However, if I’ve identified the visitor correctly, I know better than to ever expect one. So, whenever I am tempted to make contact, I force myself to wait, convinced that, by doing so, I am condemning my curiosity to remaining unfulfilled.
So if you are my phantom visitor, go ahead and contact me. I promise to be cordial (if wary) but I don’t promise to be waiting up to hear from you.