One night last week on my trip, I was walking near the Santa Fe Plaza after dinner. It was pretty quiet and there were only a few people walking around.

In the distance, I saw two men holding hands walking along the street toward me. “Aw, how sweet,” I thought. “It’s nice to see a same-sex couple around here not afraid to hold hands.”

As they got closer to me, two things happened.

One, the men stopped holding hands.

Two, I realized that one of them was Jesse Tyler Ferguson.

(I feel ok writing about this, since he’s totally out.)

Now, I’ve been a fan of Jesse Tyler Ferguson for a few years. I first saw him in The 25th Annual Putnam County Spelling Bee on Broadway in 2005 as the adorkable Leaf Coneybear. Then he was on this short-lived CBS sitcom called The Class. And then, of course, came Modern Family, and now he’s nationally famous.

So, I suddenly realized that Jesse Tyler Ferguson and his boyfriend were walking toward me. And then right past me.

I quickly turned around and said, “Are you Jesse Tyler Ferguson?”

He said, “Yeah… hi…” without stopping or really turning around, and they continued on walking.

“Sorry, I won’t bother you,” I said, and I kept on in my direction.

I immediately felt so stupid and rude and mortified. I hadn’t even said “excuse me” first. I’d just blurted out “Are you Jesse Tyler Ferguson?” like some pushy idiot.

I wish I’d said, “I loved you in ‘Spelling Bee,'” or something like that, to show that I wasn’t some random yokel who knew him only from TV. It would have been even better if I’d seen him in “On the Town” 12 years ago.

I totally felt like I’d invaded his privacy. I imagined that he and his boyfriend had come to Santa Fe to get away from L.A. for a few days. I wondered if Santa Fe was one of those places where L.A. people go to get away from it all, like when New Yorkers go to Maine or something. Afterward I looked him up and it turns out that he actually grew up in Albuquerque, which is about an hour away from Santa Fe. But I still felt like I’d intruded.

I don’t know what it is about certain celebrities. Even though I’m a New Yorker, I still always feel like famous people are imaginary people made of stardust. I’m in awe of them, and I want to talk to them, and I want them to like me. It’s like they’ll suddenly recognize something special in me, and they’ll sprinkle me with stardust and initiate me into their tribe.

It’s totally ridiculous, because of course I’m nobody. They don’t know me from Adam. The same thing happened when I saw Michael Urie in the audience of Angels in America a few months ago; I went up and said hi to him and felt totally stupid afterwards.

I guess in some way, I want to be more than I am. I want to be special and charmed and famous. I don’t feel that desire as much as I used to; years of therapy have helped me realize that just being me is good enough.

But famous people still have this hold over me.