weeks ago i received a tweet from someone unexpectedly.

aidan confessed in this tweet that she was “addicted” to my blog. in fact, her exact words were, “I’m a rookie blogger, but I am newly addicted to your site. Your voice and sensibilities are more than compelling. Thanks.”

i then realized who that tweet had come from, and shit my pants.

it was aidan. AIDAN. AIDAN DONNELLEY ROWLEY… as in holy shit she’s a published author who’s book comes out next summer and i can hardly wait another moment, let alone wait through fall, winter and spring to then read it.

in the midst of soiling myself repeatedly, i call my mom. i proceed to tell her what’s just taken place on twitter. and while i’m closing in on a state of hyperventilation, my mom remains calm and fairly unemotional about this AMAZING THING THAT HAS JUST TAKEN PLACE.

while on the phone with me, i email mom links to aidan… to her book, blackberry girl… and gush and gush and gush about how much of a fan i am of her’s. (she had me at pinot grigio).

then mom socks me in the stomach with “well apparently she’s a fan of your’s.”

huh?

upon getting off the phone with mom, aidan and i begin (what i refer to as) an email love affair. i skip my shower during the magoo’s nap… aidan skips packing for a wedding in order to continue emailing me back and forth and back again.

an hour passes. we talk about everything and nothing. we talk about publishing and blogging. we talk about her being in nyc and me being in annapolis, just a train ride away. we talk about motherhood.

we connect.

and the entire time this email love affair of our’s goes on, with each minute that passes on the clock, each tick tock, i think to myself “OH MAH GAWD, IT’S AIDAN DONNELLEY ROWLEY.”

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fast forward a few weeks… aidan and i continue to email back and forth. we strike up a deal that one of us is to teach the other about something we’re both passionately interested in. (no, i’m not going to tell you what our deal consists of).

with time the AIDAN DONNELLEY ROWLEY-NESS of her dissipates. she becomes aidan. she becomes a friend.

our emails become more personal, delve deeper and deeper into who exactly we are… as women, as mothers, as writers… what we are seeking as women, as mothers, as writers.

our differences peak out here and there, but at the core of each of us, aidan and i are so very similar.

and then she goes and writes this. about me. about herself. defining WHY she blogs… including me in her definition.

i am left speechless.

she writes in this piece, “I relished in the uniqueness of my new quasi-friend.”

*deep sigh with a smile*

so did i, and i still do with each email i receive from this fantastic woman.

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so how do you thank someone for that? for writing so eloquently about the absurd beauty of our “encounter.” how do you thank someone for including YOU in what is THEIR definition for WHY they blog?

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i’m not good at this part. i’m not good at receiving. compliments or criticism, i am not good at receiving it. i struggle to even reread the post aidan wrote about me, about our encounter.

i can give it. i can’t receive it. i can write about others; even write about myself as though i have exited my own flesh, and can then write words about the person existing within the flesh.

but reading about myself from someone else’s point of view, as beautiful as their perspective may be… i’m not good at that. and i struggle to reread what i know is aidan’s exquisite post, as she is an exceptional writer.

i am humbled. i am flattered. i am grateful.

for you, aidan. thank you.