On the first day of BlogHer ’11, I stood up in front of a room full of bloggers and cried. If you know me, this won’t surprise you.
I went into the conference with high expectations. So high, I managed to work myself into a 4-day-long anxiety attack and by the time I left my neck and shoulders were so tight I could hardly turn my head.
I had decided I wasn’t going to fret about things I couldn’t really control or that ultimately don’t matter (to me, anyway). And I didn’t. I didn’t worry about what I was going to wear, whether I would have to sit by myself sometimes, or if people would like me. The clothes I wore reflected the real me, which was sometimes jeans and flip-flops. I went to some sessions with friends and others on my own. On those occasions I sat by myself, but I met someone new each time. And I don’t really care if some of the people I met didn’t like me, because I met many who did and I’ll forever be grateful I got to meet them and spend time with them in person.
No, I was worried about bigger things. Life altering things.
I went to BlogHer looking for reassurance, direction, and inspiration. I wanted to know that the message I’m trying to deliver matters. I wanted someone to point me in the right direction in my search to figure out how to do it. And I wanted to sit there, in a room full of strong, smart, sassy women, and feel alive.
I wanted big things. And that’s what I got.
It was Jess Weiner who made me cry. She’s an author and self-esteem expert and an absolutely bloody fantastic speaker. Over lunch on Pathfinder day, before the main conference started, she talked about self-esteem and criticism and how we treat each other, and I may have gotten a little worked up. When she invited comments I worked up the nerve to go up to the mic.
I care about this stuff, people. We’ve got to stop treating each other badly because of our own insecurities. There was definitely some nastiness going on at the conference, which I suppose is inevitable when you get 3,500 women together, but I ignored it. I don’t have time for that. It’s dumb. I’d rather be respectful and supportive and, yes, even open to the possibility that someone I haven’t met yet, or someone who’s not in the cool crowd, might be the next person I’m supposed to meet.
So yeah, I listened to her speak passionately about something I care about and I got up to share my perspective and I cried.
But you know what? Others did too. In several of the sessions I was in other women got up and asked a question about how to address something in their lives or shared how they have overcome their own hard stuff and there were tears.
That’s why I went to BlogHer. Because we all have a story. Because we all have something we care about. Because we’re all trying to find a place in a world with a million competing voices.
I am just one person. Just one out of billions on this Earth, and just one out of millions in the blog world. But I have a voice. And I got reassurance, direction and inspiration in how to use it.
I got to hear Gretchen Rubin observe that people craft stories others want to hear instead of telling the real truth.
I sat close to the front and listened to Brené Brown suggest writing that’s in control, that’s cool, is an emotional straight jacket. It’s boring. If something’s not uncomfortable for her to write about, she shared, it’s not worth sharing.
I crossed an item off my mental list of blogging anxieties when Shauna Ahearn asserted that we should write for community, for service, and for connections, and that doing so is better than writing for SEO or hits. I could do more to write for SEO, but it would kill part of my spirit – online and off.
I spent a whole day in a session with Karen Walrond, my blogging idol – my life idol, actually – and got to hear her story in person. I also got to ask her advice on how to get where I want to be, which she gave freely and in such simple terms that I came away feeling as though the one thing I wanted out of this conference – a vision – had crystallized.
I might have – just maybe, possibly – cried again when talking to her.
When asked to provide tips at the end of a session, Brené paraphrased a quote from Harold Thurman: “Don’t ask what your readers need. Ask what makes you come alive, and go do it.”
In other words – like those from my tagline above – “Live the life you’re meant to.”
It was a great conference.
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I have other things to say, like the total awesomeness of meeting people I’ve interacted with online and how fun and funny and totally beautiful that was, but that will have to be another post. In the meantime, know this: I loved you all.
