If I think too hard about the wide disparity of people who read these moats I can become terrified. There are grieving widows, Generation Yers, happy-as-clams newlyweds, hum drum middlers, persons whose marriages crashed and burned, and wizened octogenarians. On what planet do I deem myself capable of scribing anything of substance to
such a crowd? My experience is ridiculously narrow, and the majority of them lead fast paced lives.
Yet each day, for going on four years, there has been a message and a circle of human beings who read it. What could possibly be the incentive to jam one more email into an inbox more bulging than my junk drawer? How is it plausible that women who have been hurt, single people, and men who have trouble dealing with their own feelings much less the ramblings of a graying
mother of nine all feel motivated to listen?
There is a silken ribbon that ties us together. Whatever our incongruous circumstances, or addresses, or milestones on the journey, we each hold marriages dear. There is no judge or dating site anywhere that can proffer or rebuke that freedom.
