One day last year, I got an instant message from one of the young luminaries of the library world. I felt very much as if the leader of the cool kids had just smiled and said "Hi" to me in the hall. I've just had that feeling again: Franklin liked my socks.
I like being liked. I may say that popularity doesn't matter much to me, but that's self-delusion. I crave being part of a group, and I thrive on the approval of others. Like Eve says, "If nothing else, there's applause... like waves of love pouring over the footlights and wrapping you up. To know, every night, that different hundreds of people love you. They smile, and their eyes shine. You've pleased them. They want you. You belong. Just that alone is worth anything."
Belong. What a powerful word. Belong not to a person ("Belong to you? That sounds medieval, something out of an old melodrama."), but to a group ("She has had one wish, one prayer, one dream -- to belong to us.")
That's me: Yves Harrington.