I was overwhelmed walking into BlogHer.
I was overwhelmed pretty much the entire time I was at BlogHer.
I am overwhelmed now, trying to write about BlogHer.
Clearly, BlogHer was overwhelming.
I’ve tried to capture my own experience at BlogHer a few different ways. None of them worked out very well. I couldn’t seem to capture it when I was there with my camera, and now I can’t seem to pin it down with my words. It slips from my grasp like a small something in the bathwater that you can’t catch with your hands. No matter how many times I cup my palms around it, the rush of the water carries it away from me. The sheer volume of my experience at BlogHer can’t be contained in my head, my heart, or my words.
While I have admitted defeat, and left that aching need to convey it float peacefully away from me, I have not retreated completely. I can’t seem to encapsulate what I did, or saw, or felt or thought, but I can speak of the seeds that were planted and how I intend to nourish then until they grow.
The biggest seed planted at BlogHer was a renewed investment in my identity as a writer. When I washed my face on Friday morning I saw a mother and middle school teacher who likes to write. When I brushed my teeth on Saturday night I saw a writer who is patiently waiting for her responsibilities as a mother and middle school teacher to ebb, so her words can finally flow.
On Friday two things happened: I attended (and thoroughly enjoyed) two writing workshops and I followed Alexandra of Good Day Regular People down the road that led her to the stage of BlogHer ’14. She detailed the risks she took and how vulnerable she felt as she submitted her work to online publications. She described the elation of her work being accepted, buoying her above the disappointment of necessary rejection. It seems fairly obvious to me now, but I honestly had never considered that most writers becomes contributors on well-trafficked sites by submitting their work until it is accepted. I guess I thought some magical combination of well-placed connections, viral posts and fairy dust was the only way to get there. Hearing her story reminded me that even I might have a chance.
Except I recognized that I’m not there yet. I could get there, but I need to do the work. Luckily I’m good at work. I’m good at writing even when there isn’t time to write. I just need a little focus to make sure the act of writing is taking me where I want to go.
I signed up for a Berkeley Extension course in Creative Non-Fiction today. It was a big investment financially and it will require an even bigger investment of my time and energy once it begins. One thing BlogHer gave me was the conviction that the writer in me is worth that investment, that something might actually come of all this is I put in the work, and put myself out there.
My final take away from the trip was more personal; I need to invest in making time for friends. I have some good friends but they live far away or are perpetually busy. I need some new friends who can sit across from me and sip coffee and shoot the shit. I need some friends who can help me navigate this insane amalgam of family, work and writing I call my life. I need those close, meaningful connections that I saw time and time again at BlogHer, as women came together for the first, or tenth time, to celebrate themselves, each other and friendship. So I’m going to put myself out there, not just on the page, but in my community, and hopefully I’ll find some women who are also looking for a meaningful connection and some time to share.
Investing in myself. Putting myself out there. That is what I took away from BlogHer ’14. I wear them around my neck like talismans, fingering them constantly through the day. I refuse to take them off, to lay them gently on the soft velvet of maybe someday, where they will collect dust with all my best intentions. Instead I will wear them each and every day, even if they clash with my outfit or tangle in my hair. I will keep them on until the woman wearing them is the person I know I can be. Thank you BlogHer, for showing me who that is.
