I woke up this morning at 4 a.m. and knew it was way too early to be awake. There was no light coming from my bedroom window and my dog was still sound asleep. For some reason, I was wired. As soon as I opened my eyes fully and turned my head, I felt dampness on the back of my neck. A moment later, I realized I forgot to turn the heat off before I fell asleep, something I always do before bed. I grabbed my phone to check the time and tried to fall back to sleep before giving up 30 seconds later. So, I opened social media and began checking notifications while pausing every few seconds to kiss my dog on her head. She had snuggled up right under my arm at this point, something she started doing several months ago, around the time of the hurricane, and especially after we moved into my new apartment this past Halloween.

I opened Twitter to find hundreds of notifications and hundreds of new followers. Instagram was the same. In the days after a Tweet you write begins to go viral, this is to be expected when opening social media. Suddenly, overnight, after you sweat through your pajamas and wake up hours before the sun, strangers on the Internet are validating you left and right and following you because they want to know what you’re up to. It’s a feeling like no other, one I first encountered at the beginning of the pandemic when a Tweet I wrote about social distancing and Jane Austen went viral. It’s addicting. It’s exciting. And it comes with a lot of pressure, though mostly self-imposed pressure. I learned that from the first time around.

Here’s the Tweet:

Yesterday, it barely had 9,000 likes. This morning when I woke up, it had 21.6 thousand. Every retweet I’ve seen on Twitter and every comment on Instagram has been relatively the same.

“Best meme in all of 2022.”

“This wins Twitter.”

“This is the funniest thing I’ve ever seen.”

And I can’t help but sit there reading these comments and seeing these numbers and think, “Me? You’re talking about me? You like what I wrote?”

My therapist asked me once what the nicest thing a person could say to me was. I told her that it’s telling me I’m funny. She smiled and nodded, as if she already knew that’s what I would say. As if that answer was no surprise. For the people who know me, it isn’t. For people who know me, of course the best thing someone could tell me is that I’m funny. And, now, thousands of people have looked at me and said, “You’re funny,” and to them I want to say that it’s no surprise to me that you think that, because I am! But what I really want to say is thank you for saying that. Thank you for seeing me. Thank you for being here and wanting to be here and see what I’m up to.

I received a DM from a stranger. This used to feel weird years ago, but not so much anymore. The message said, “You’re hilarious. I can’t wait to follow you and see what you do next.”

Reading this gave me two thoughts:

1. That’s so damn nice.

2. Oh my god what am I doing next?

Kaitlyn from 2020 would panic in this situation. I would have spent hours trying to think of the next thing I’d do that would be funny or cool or share-worthy. But, 2022 Kaitlyn? She’s different. Kaitlyn in 2022 can sit in stillness for a moment. Kaitlyn in 2022 can watch the likes and shares and follows roll through and not freak out about what these people want from me in the future and rest knowing I made them laugh today and maybe I will again sometime. For now, in the in-between, they’re taking a chance on me. And that’s more than I can say for myself in the years that have passed. To me, that’s pretty cool. It’s pretty cool to have people you don’t even know root for you. This go around, I’m rooting for me, too.

This past Christmas, I Tweeted that 2022 has two weeks to impress me before I throw in the towel and start living life on the edge. It’s Jan. 5, and, so far, so good. But I’m not even sure it’s the year who should receive the credit here. I think the credit goes to me. If making people laugh is something I value, something that lights me up and makes me feel purposeful, then it’s my job to put myself out there and see what sticks. Right? Like a stand-up comedian testing out new material. Like a comedy writer pitching a joke in a writer’s room. Like a 30-year-old gal living in New Orleans sharing her thoughts on Twitter.

It was me.

And your success? Your moments of, “Wow, look at this,” or feelings of awe or looking at where you are now and where you came from? That’s you, too.

You did it.

I did it.

We did it.

And, damn, if that isn’t a way to kick off the new year, I’m not sure what is.

So, if you found me from Twitter or have been a reader for awhile now, hey. What’s up? How are you? Thank you for taking a chance on me. And thank you for being here. It means so much to me.

(No, seriously. It means so much to me. I’m going to tell my therapist about this and she’s going to nod her head and smile. I can’t wait.)

**

Kaitlyn McQuin is a writer living in New Orleans with her rescue pup, Lucy. She’s currently querying her debut women’s fiction novel and is the co-writer of the feature-length romcom “Party Girl” and the TV series “Resurrectionist.” Find her on Twitter here and Instagram here. Read samples of her writing here. Say hello here.