Read one of the questions that make you go, hmm, last night. Words to the effect, why does anybody with taste care about what happens on an awards show?

I care because sometimes there is that perfect illuminating moment that reminds me who I am and why I do it.

I watched the 2013 Golden Globes. And then came Jodie Foster. And I wept. And I wondered at her unique intelligence. At her way of putting words together and her love, love, love. How she glowed with it.

“But it will be my writing on the wall: Jodie Foster was here, I still am, and I want to be seen, to be understood, deeply, and to be not so very lonely.”

“To be not so very lonely.” Oh. When I first started writing for the theater I was certainly not ready to be read, but I did feel like I was coming home. Where I would be accepted, embraced, invited in.

My how things have changed since I was a young actress and first read Moss Hart’s Act One. Who knew the home I longed for was 1930s Broadway?

For even as I pine, I am deeply alone in my writing space with canned classical softly playing in the background.

For I live today and today is not stuff made from my youthful dreams of theater. Yet, I will continue to write.

For even if there is nobody to who can see or understand me, Nobody can take away my longing to be not so very lonely.