LaurieWrites

Editing My Own Story: Going Back to School at 36 Changed My Life

This post is sponsored content from BlogHer and Kaplan University. 

I was 36 when I decided that I didn’t want to do what I was doing any more, and certainly not every day for the rest of my working life.

As I considered my options, I knew that nothing had really felt right since the day almost 20 years earlier, when I held a letter from the dean of my selective journalism program, regretting to inform me that I had to pick another major due to my poor academic performance.

I’d gotten to college and had been distracted by a social life. I was overwhelmed by large classes and lots of freedom. My grades plummeted, and I lost my slot in the very selective admission program that had been my lifelong dream.

I decided eventually that if I couldn't be a journalist, then a career in the helping professions was a workable option. I got a master’s degree in counseling, ending up as a counselor and professor in a large community college.

Fast forward to 36. While I had always loved teaching, and felt that I could empathize with students because of missteps in my own academic career, I stopped feeling fulfilled by my job.

I began to feel way more invested in the freelance work as a web writer that I’d picked up than I was with my day job. The end of a long-term relationship had left me feeling at loose ends personally. I was craving a more creative, productive life, and completely unsure about how to attain it. I didn’t have a game plan.

I don’t know whether it was in the shower or driving to work or in yoga class, but one day it suddenly came to me: I was going to go back to J-school and finish this thing.

I knew the cons. I had very limited financial resources. I had a full-time job. I had bills. I had no time to devote to a demanding academic program and to my job at the same time. I applied anyway.

I had to challenge myself to re-take the required GRE; investigate my financial options; and ask mentors and employers for letters of reference. But I just kept putting one more application form in front of the other, and eventually it was done.

Three months after my flash of clarity, I’d arranged a leave of absence from work, wrangled financial support, and was sitting in my intro writing and editing classes, in the same building where I’d studied years before.

I had no idea how it happened, and especially so quickly, but what I can tell you is this: Once I started, I never looked back. This was mostly because I was just too busy -- but also because from the first day, I knew I was in the right place, even when it was difficult.

Once in school, I said yes to everything I was offered. As a returning student, I had sacrificed significant stability and my income to pursue this, because I knew it was that important for me to follow what I loved and to express my best talents. It was my commitment and financial and time investment now, so I owned it fully.

Unlike the first time around, I went to every class. I took every opportunity I could, and as a result, I learned on a level I never really had before in school. I was the oldest person in my class by at least 20 years, but I got to know my classmates anyway, and some of them remain my closest friends. (I tell them what to do in their 20s, so they won’t have to worry about it in their 40s, like I did. They tolerate this because they are nice people.)

I also got to travel to places I wouldn’t have had access to on my own. I ended up crawling through a ditch by the side of the road outside Hanoi, reporting a story on industrial growth in Vietnam.

This lovely lady runs the school for kids with hearing impairments in Hanoi. I went to shoot the Operation Smile dental mission on my last day in Vietnam. It was the best thing about my trip.

I roamed Invesco Field as a reporter when then-Senator Barack Obama accepted the Democratic nomination for president. I still can’t believe that happened to me, but it did.

I finished a master’s program in online journalism in 18 months. My graduation day was one of the happiest of my life. Earning my degree has been my favorite professional accomplishment, because I worked the hardest for it, and cared about it the most.

Many people ask me why I chose to go back to school, since I had a master’s already. I've been told that I could have worked my way into an online journalism career with my blogging and social media contacts alone. This may be true, but earning the credential was important to me.

For one thing, I still traced my basic confusion and dissatisfaction with my professional path to my failure to complete the journalism program almost 20 years ago. Short of time travel, returning was the best way to correct a situation that had always bothered me, regardless of my successes since then.

A master’s degree in journalism also qualifies me to teach in a community college setting. I already knew I loved teaching, and I was pretty sure I'd love it even more in a discipline I care about as much as writing.

And finally, I knew that making this change required a major shift. I wasn’t sure committing to that change was possible if I stayed at work, and hacked away at it part-time. As an educator, I am also very much a student, and I knew it was the right move for me.

I resumed my day job after I got my degree. But I left for good last year to run my own business. Returning to work in an office full-time never really worked out for me. It was like trying to stuff clothes back into a suitcase after vacation.

Today, I work at least the equivalent of one full-time job as a one-woman writing, editing, social-media-managing machine. I also teach and advise at my old institution, to supplement my income and to keep my head in the academic game. I believe in pursuing dreams, but not burning bridges, and in keeping stable options open as I experiment.

I have never worked this hard in my life, nor felt more intellectually or professionally energized. I respond remarkably well to working in a virtual community of other entrepreneurs and creative types. Every day is different, and while some days are a challenge, it’s been a resoundingly positive year.

I had a choice that wasn’t really a choice at all, looking back, because I had to change or stay stuck. I’m grateful that I had the motivation and resources to actively envision a better, more appropriate life for myself, to give myself the best chances for success, and to take the chance when it came down to it.

I can't recommend it enough.

As I have learned from personal experience, education has the power to change your life. And there are so many options for going back to school. Kaplan, a global company dedicated to helping individuals achieve their educational and career goals, knows how to make a change. Kaplan wasn't satisfied with how the educational system was working, so for 75 years they have been re-writing the rules because they believe education is not one size fits all. A system focused on individual needs has the power to change lives. Kaplan uses technology to learn how you learn, to teach you better; they tailor classes around the needs of employers; and hire teachers with experience in their fields.

Kaplan wasn’t satisfied with the status quo, and you shouldn’t be either.

How can education give you the power to change?

Do What You Love: the Happiness May Follow

I drove to have lunch with my mother today, with a three-hour gap between conference calls.

It was noon. I had actually had time for coffee and deadlines and general catching up at home. I was wearing jeans, and had nowhere I had to physically, absolutely be outside of my house until the next morning. I had a commitment to do a live Google+ hangout this evening, representing one of my favorite clients. On the way to meet her, I took a call from a former colleague who wanted me to teach a class on short notice (as in tomorrow.)

It occurred to me as I drove that I was happy, and specifically so in my work. All of the projects I was managing were happening almost entirely in words and pictures. I had variety, enough excitement to keep things interesting, didn't have to sit behind a desk in a windowless office 40 hours a week, and flexibility, while I'm getting paid for things I'm producing on a daily basis.

It was one of the best moments I've had in a long time.

It probably helps to know that the path to this was circuitous, and not without tears, worry, and the belief that things could never be better. I could not have told my 15, 25, or even 35-year-old-self that today's feeling was possible. For one thing, the technology that enables me to do the jobs I have now didn't exist. Go back to the early 90s and tell 20-something Laurie that I would someday work most consistently and effectively, and also swap jokes and life news, with a person who is based in California? It wasn't even real.

For another, the person I was, prior to 35, anyway, didn't dwell so much in possibility as in limitation, arising from a difficult college experience and unfocused early career launch. I did mostly good work, sometimes even of high quality. I helped people as a counselor and a teacher. I pulled off some interesting accomplishments in spite of a general lack of a core plan. But it had very little do with my best and most effective skills, and made me feel more regularly stressed than fulfilled.

I started working towards fixing this in 2007, when I went back to journalism graduate school. And since I made the radical financial decision to quit my full-time job last year and embark on a life in writing, editing, photography, and social media, I have had a good number of the most difficult days of my life. Going from a bi-weekly paycheck to freelance checks that arrive on other people's schedules hasn't been easy. Shedding my workplace identity, and learning to work for myself, largely alone, at home? Another good but sometimes jarring change.

It all set me up for the moment I had today, though, where everything almost made sense.

I have always told people (cough**mymother**cough) that there was a method to my madness -- that walking away from a stable job at a supposedly rough economic time was the thing that made the most sense for me at this point in my life (translated in my head as absolutely essential to my daily functioning and any shot at future happiness, honestly.)

Now, at least I believe me, 90 percent of the time, anyway. I don't know what things will look like next month, but today? They looked pretty good. And I know that the people who care about me appreciate that I'm easier to get along with, and somewhat obviously happier, too.

These are a few things that it would have helped to know as I agonized over what to do and how to be, as a college student and an early-career professional:

Identify and use your strongest and most favorite gifts and talents.

I never knew how or wanted to do anything but write. I failed out of journalism school at 19, and always thought that derailed everything, and it was done. Histrionic much? But I was young, it hurt, it was hard, and I didn't rebound well. I could have been a writer anyway, but I took that external event as a sign that it wasn't meant to be, and that I wasn't any good. Never mind that I got As in my writing classes, and it was failing the gen ed classes that bored me and I therefore blew off that wrecked my GPA and sent me out of the major. It took almost 20 years of being called upon to write in all of my completely-unrelated jobs, depression related to a daily working life that had very limited relationship to creativity, and the advent of blogging, to make me wake up and realize that I had to, and could, turn this car around.

Because it can be done. All of the cliches about "doing what you love" aside, figure out what you're good at, and what lights up you up, as early as you can, or I believe that it will keep nagging at you and distracting you from the things that are in front of your face now. Plus, everyone will be better off when you put this into practice. Especially you.

Don't stay in unsatisfactory situations for longer than you absolutely must.

I loved doing this. I loved carrying the torch and playing the tiny violin of the weird assignment or the overworked position. It became my habit, and my excuse not to send cover letters to better jobs, or to submit freelance articles to local publications.

Don't do this. It is an unattractive waste of time, and we don't have a lot of that as it is. You can find another job. You can stay in your job that you hate while you find a new one. You are allowed to quit. You are allowed to hope for and eventually find better. You will be okay. Trust me.

Stop cramming yourself into the wrong spot and wondering why it hurts. Find what fits you.

A big part of my happy moment today was realizing that I was valued in my current work for some of my skills, insights, and personality traits that were considered negatives in my previous positions. And these were some fundamental things, like creativity, independent thought, and the ability to change course without a blink at the last minute. Sometimes it's not just you that's wrong in the environment -- it's that the environment is not right for you. Considering this has allowed me to forgive myself for what I considered solely my errors, and to look at where my personality and habits might fit the best in job. (We're at the best place in history to do this, by the way.)

Do Something Productive

I did not do a single internship, practicum, or independent study in undergrad. As curious about the world as I am, I didn't study abroad, or go anywhere other than Florida or Mexican resorts for spring break, and lolled away my summer vacations.

I didn't have the best advisors, no (which I can say now, since I've been one) but I also didn't seek out challenges or experiences beyond my own backyard. It wasn't until I found myself staring down 40 in a job I knew I didn't want to have until I was 65 that I got motivated. It wasn't until I was the oldest person in my graduate program with the knowledge of what not taking risks had cost me that I said yes to reporting trips to Vietnam and the 2008 Democratic Convention. These were two of the most significant experiences of my life. This is what happens when you start saying yes to things.

Better late than never, but the risks were definitely higher later on, and I can't help but think sometimes, although I know I'm in a good place now, of all of the opportunities I missed to go places, to meet people, to learn things.

I'd go back and tell that (smart, impassioned, confused, needy) slacker to go to the advising office instead of to the quad to take a nap. Hindsight is its own torture, and effective motivation.

Get a Mentor

The people I respect personally and professionally have been essential in helping me identify my strengths, helping me find the confidence I needed to leave a bad situation, to fix it if I planned to stay in it, and to envision a better future regardless (letters of recommendation and job referrals are nice, too.) There are a lot of smart, experienced, kind people in the world, and many of them want to help you. Make friends with them. I did not until the past five years or so, and now I'd be lost without a few mentors in my phone for specific situations. I wasted all of my undergraduate years not reaching out, and who knows how much farther along I'd be if I hadn't?

Create. Have fun. Do good.

My jobs now come from other people, but there is so much of me in them, in addition to the effort it takes to manage my daily entrepreneurial schedule, that this is a strictly DIY operation. It stands or falls on me, and as much as that could seem like the worst kind of pressure, it works better for me than anything has.

It's everything I may have believed at one time that I was capable of, before I started to think I wasn't capable of anything. Now I'm circling back to the beginning, a much better place of possibility and opportunity. I could feel sorry for the me of years ago, that it took us so long to get here, and for the trouble along the way, but that would just take my time away from being glad that it ever happened at all.

There may be a time when it's too late to get it right, but I'm glad that I never got there.

This post is part of BlogHer's Success Guide for My Younger Self editorial series, made possible by Kaplan.

BlogHer In New York, BlogHer At Home, basically it's all BlogHer around here right now so yeah

Oh, here we go again, me about to spin my yarn about how I got on an aeroplane in ye olde 2006 and flew to California for the first time, pretended I knew how to make a "podcast" so this nice lady who ran this blogging conference would spot me a ticket while I proceeded not to try to wreck her audio recording situation. 

It's quite a yarn. 

This is a different, more recent one. I just thought I'd get that shot out of the way early. You know how sometimes, in 2006, you fly to California, and then five years later you're standing at the same, now way huger, event, next to a giant toilet? Yeah. 

Then there's the part about how I didn't know anyone before I got there, and I had never been to California before, and I stood awkwardly in a crowded party room with other people who had recently been hired to be editors for this newfangled lady blogger website. 

I would also post photos like this on Flickr then, apparently. That's different from now. 

And then I went to sessions and gawked at the same five bloggers everyone gawked at then, and made a few friends, and drank some wine, sat by the pool with strangers, didn't wreck the audio after all, and fell completely in love with this weird scene. 

Then at the end I drove to Santa Cruz and came back to San Jose and flew home, and that was it. Goodbye, old life. Hello, new, strange, half-in-the-computer-half-out-of-it one. 

I have since gone to six more BlogHer conferences and several other offshoots, the Foods and the Writers and the Businesses, the one in Boston and one in DC.

Barefoot in a San Francisco hotel lobby at 5 a.m., waiting for a cab to take me to a bus and then a train. That happened. 

Also in SF, this was on a telephone table by the elevator, by someone apparently needing to check in about her conference experience. Or maybe his. Is that Neil's handwriting? 

I've written for the site for seven years. I've taken pictures for the events. I met my best friends writing for it, and some of my most valued professional and personal mentors (who also happen to be my friends, which is nice.) 

In May I quit my teaching job as an indirect result of the path that first conference set me on, and now I am trying to find a combination of life and work in the things that blogging reminded me again that I love the most -- writing and photography and, interestingly, a sense of community, shared and sometimes opposing ideas,  with the common denominator still for me that in 2012 we have the power to strike keys and press a button and send our words around the world. 

And maybe meet childhood toys come to life. That too. 

I will never get over that this happened in my lifetime, even on days like a few lately when the internet drives me crazy and I want to leave it entirely. It is still the defining thing, for me. I spend too much time in and around it, I feel like, sometimes, but this is the straw I drew, and I'm not sorry. 

I can't tell anyone how to get ready for this conference, or what kind of time they'll have, or if it'll be like what they thought or wanted or didn't. I cannot help you with shoes in New York or with social anxiety, because I never bring the right ones for my terrible feet and I have such terror sometimes of making an ass of myself that I actually do it, and for an introvert I am generally quite shy around people at first, even if I act like I'm not.

This yearly trip into the island of misfit blogger toys is the core of my core. It is what it is, every year, and what it is is always good, so there really isn't a whole lot to say about that part. 

This year, because I quit my job in May (which is something I need to keep saying over and over again, it seems,  until I get used to it) I have had the challenge and the opportunity to try new things online (in the online SPACE, as the cool kids say. Space. The online space.) This has included working with a couple of events, helping to bring their on and off-line communities together. That means that this year I'm the bizarre fairy den mother charged with hosting BlogHerAtHome on the Twitter, and on the BlogHer website.

No, I will not myself be at home. But I will be roaming around the Hilton New York, trying to share content from this conference with people at home who, although they won't be there, can still benefit from learning from the speakers, mostly, and I want to help them access that. I'll also be sharing real-time photos and tweets from parties and expo hall activities and whatnot, and just the general knitting together online of one person's conference experience. 

I'm most excited for the people following along and hopefully speaking up from home that they'll get to be in touch with other people, maybe make some new Twitter contacts, share their blogs, try to connect in a good way. The space (I can't stop saying it now, see how that happens?) is so crowded now. When I went to BlogHer San Jose, there were maybe 350 people there? I don't know. Math. The projection this year is for right around 4,000. 4,000 people, people.

But my guidelines for what gets you where you want to go online are just like they are anywhere: Talk to people. Listen for opportunities. Work hard. Know what to turn down. Talk to people. Listen. Listen listen listen. 

I wouldn't have any of the gigs I've got now if it weren't for friendships and professional relationships that developed from conversations, from writing I did that turned into more, from photos I shared online that somebody liked, from conversations I had in hallways that turned into deeper exchanges that turned into "Hey, I know someone looking for someone who does what you do." 

It elevates us all when it's right, I think. 

So if you're going to be home, follow @BlogHerAtHome, if you're into that sort of thing. If you're going to the conference, I'll be the one over there, hoping you're having a good time. 

It is my favorite thing, every year. It's good to know that about a few good things, and a lot of good people. 

(Oh, and PS, one word of advice, so I totally lied about not telling you what to do. If you like good writing and good people, I highly recommend NOT skipping Voices of the Year or the Listen to Your Mother Salon. Also do not eat at the "microbrewery" down the avenue from the Hilton, because it sucks, and if you're going to the meat cart, please bring me something, because I can never stand to stand in line that long. Otherwise, do your thing. It's totally allowed.) 

BlogHer -- the Final

Yes, BlogHer 2011 was a month ago. But August is the worst month of my life in terms of commitments I can't control (well, maybe besides December into January, but that's another story.) So I haven't really had the time to catch up with anything the way I wanted to. 

This year was especially and differently wonderful for a variety of reasons, and I thought I would share them in a list format, just to keep me on task. 

Especially and Differently Wonderful Things About BlogHer 2011. 

1. Sarah made me get up early and fly to California.

This is not something I'd expect to think was a positive, and at the time I was forcing myself off the couch at 5ish a.m. I wasn't happy at all. But she planned the flights, which is always a huge bonus for me (thank you, I never thank you appropriately for taking care of that stuff, and of me.) (Also I owe you money. Be very pleased that the house sold.) But more than that, she also made the entire trip worthwhile before we even left the airport by making me laugh from the time we got there until we were in the air. This is so useful for a bad flier who usually flies alone and is therefore solitary with my own thoughts about mortality and mechanical failure from the time I leave my house for the airport until I land wherever I'm going.

I don't even think she did it on purpose this time. Suffice to say that she hallucinated a Thanksgiving-table-ready turkey on the security conveyor belt and had her Dick knife confiscated by a TSA agent who I'm convinced was thisclose to letting her keep it because he seemed torn between laughing his ass off at a grown woman genuinely bereft at the loss of her Dick knife and sorry for her because he was afraid a grown woman was going to cry because she was genuinely bereft at the loss of her Dick knife. 

It's complicated. (And anyway she has a new one now.) 

Add to this a double shot of "hosers" and a Cash Cab story that made us both cry-laugh and I'm fairly certain I didn't even need the Bloody Mary or two I had on the way, although I had it anyway. So that was good. 

2. Coronado and the ocean, basically. 

I loved Coronado and I loved just...getting on a boat and going there as soon as we got to town. I am a water person and a beach bum at heart, and something about being able to be near it and in it whenever I really want is so freeing to me. It was a good thing. I loved the location this year. It was good for my soul and I loved being with my friends in that gorgeous -- and fairly chill- -environment. The pool alone? I could be sitting in that place right now and be perfectly happy. Who's in? 

3. My roommate

Jenny Mae is a brilliant, funny, kind soul and I loved getting to meet her and know her a little bit. I was working a lot this conference so it was even harder than it usually is for me to light anywhere (and it is always hard.) But we seemed to run into each other at the most opportune times and co-existed quite well when we were in the same space. This is something I value so much, as a person who lives alone and tends towards the super nervous about my own effect on others in my space. (I was an only child for the first ten years of my life. I always had my own room. I never lived in a dorm. I live alone. I'm basically a sociopath. Also, I snore. If you can hang with that and not make me feel like an asshole? I could probably live with you.)

She also is remarkably crafty, inventive and creative, not to mention giving, because she brought me this and I love it. 

Front. 

Back. 

(That is my pillow. I hope there is no visible drool.) 

Sweet, right? 

I like her. And not just because she brought me a present. That was just extra like. She's @ohjennymae. She's really fucking cool. Avail yourself, although she may cut a bitch from her trapeze of awesome. Sometimes it just goes down like that. 

4. The weather. 

Oh my God. The weather. I've been to San Diego thrice before and never was it this perfect. If I'm ever independently wealthy, please know that I will be Augusting there. Maybe if I'm not even wealthy, but just become a drifter? I will August there that way. 

5. Another Present! 

I met Janet at Mom2.0 in New Orleans in May. She walked up to me the first day and told me that she, too, had brought me a present. (I support the bringing of surprise presents to me. Maybe we can make this a more widespread thing this year?) 

And then she gave me this. 

It was no big deal, it was $5.50 at Claire's or something, she said, but it reminded her of me. 

I wore it all weekend, and I got more compliments than I have gotten on any piece of jewelry that I can remember, even stuff I bought from friends that they made with their own hands. I love it. When it falls apart, as pieces of jewelry like this tend to and also because I break things with alarming frequency, I will keep all of the pieces, because I am a sentimental idiot and also because I want to know how to remake this necklace because I think it could make a killing on Etsy. 

Also it may be the case that Janet and I have discussed other, er, cottage industries involving this particular piece. Or not. 

6. My people. (and a little bit of reading of blog posts, as it turns out.) 

Glennia was there. Just thinking about Glennia being alive in the world makes me happy. 

Deb on the Rocks. That is all. 

ClumberKim and her merry band of Clumber People! 

Sassymonkey and FireMom, which now that you mention it makes for a rocking band name. 

Mr. Lady, y'all. Also Redneck Mommy. One of these things is not like the other. 

Also MotherBumper stalked me a little bit, and that was delightful. 

Jen B., who it's just nice to see wherever I go. 

Shannon, who I just love so much. (Looking at this list, I don't understand all over again why I haven't been to Canada.) 

And so many more, I can't even begin to list. I haven't even talked about the Voices of the Year/Community Keynote, and getting to hear Bon Stewart read live, which to me was (and I mean this, no matter how corny it sounds) a gift. I love her words and it was so great to hear her speak them aloud. I also just love Kristen Chase, I do. Have since I got off a train in New York a couple years ago and met up with her on the way to a blogging event, having never met her before, and it was like I'd always known her. That is my favorite kind of person. I thought she did the most fantastic job reading. Every year is great, but I had a soft spot for this one. I thought it was beyond great, maybe almost as good as the first year, which will forever rank as the top spot on my very short list of reading honors, so it always has to be my favorite. 

Also I loved watching Sarah and Suebob read at the fabulous Ann (of Ann's Rants) Listen to Your Mother Salon. Suebob was a keynoter with me, and it was time for Sarah to do this. It made me very happy. I'm also grateful to call Ann a good friend, and I love what she's doing with this project. She's unstoppable, y'all. Watch out.

7. Baseball with TwoBusy (hey man, that could be a thing.) 

Sarah and I, along with the Kotecki-Vests, were lucky enough to attend a San Diego Padres game with this guy. I could tell you about him but then the Internet would explode and I'd be sentenced to watching all of the remaining bajillion Red Sox games that will be fielded in my lifetime, and we can't have that. So here is his sandwich. It is from the Food Network, ostensibly. It cost $13. The potato sticks were like the ones that come out of the Heinz can or whatever brand, and they were just as disgusting and delicious as they were when I was a child. 

His gifts are unceasing. 

It was the best time I've ever had at a baseball game. It was fun to go with someone who really loved the game and could point out things that were going on that I wouldn't normally notice, and also it was a rather exciting game. 

Yes, I acknowledge the excitement in a baseball game. 

He's one of the best people I know, and I'm very lucky that he is my friend. Just saying. 

8. Shooting the Bob Harper/@mytrainerbob workout. 

What? Yes. 

I got out of bed at 6:45 after a night of parties to go downstairs to do this particular thing. 

Well, I didn't kick my leg up like so, but I did lurk around the Bob Harper workout and take pictures. I recapped Biggest Loser for many, many hours and weeks last year, and I was determined that I was going to see this. 

And I saw it. I even popped into his oatmeal breakfast after, after I did a flow yoga class (because I'd totally taken leave of my senses)

but I got a little shy and plus, I needed a shower. My favorite part of the morning, however, was SueBob tweeting out smack talk when Bob's "LET'S GO LADIES!" yells into his microphone apparently woke up the higher floors of the hotel. Oops. 

9. Working with Snapfish. 

I had a wonderful experience shooting the conference for Snapfish/HP. I am very grateful to them for the opportunity. I also had the most wonderful time doing the panel on ways to actually get your photos OFF of the hard drive and maybe into frames or books or onto coffee mugs or whatever suits your fancy. I did the panel with Amanda of Parenting By Dummies and Samantha from Snapfish, and I thought it went quite well. I am normally at least a little bit nervous during panels and workshops, and this time I wasn't at all. It was a topic I felt very comfortable with and that I feel fits so well with the BlogHer crew, and I love talking about pictures and how to make them better. Win. 

I felt truly lucky to be a part of it, and to shoot head shots for so many lovely women afterwards. 

10. Sunday

My BlogHer Sundays are my own tradition.  I usually stay over in whatever city I'm in for a day, and leave on Monday. Genie and I kept them up when we were roommates, and had great days in San Francisco and Chicago. Last year, Sarah and Kim and I hung around for the day and a Yankees/Sox game that is one of my favorite memories. It's partially to see where I am a little more, partially to take my time saying goodbye to so many people who I may only see on Twitter and their blogs until next year, and partially (and mostly, I think) to help me transition back home, which is really, really hard for me every year. 

This year Sarah and I ended up at the Clever Girls Tech Brunch at Hotel Solamar, which was wonderful.  (When I go back to San Diego, I want to stay there. So cool.) The brunch was hosted by Beth Blecherman of TechMamas, Kris Cain of Little Tech Girl, Heidi Leder of Coast to Coast Mom and Leticia Barr of Tech Savvy Mama. The mimosa bar was inspired, the food was delicious, and there are a lot of things that are way worse than sitting on a gorgeous California hotel rooftop and talking about geeky things with cool women. It was sponsored by Podotree, Logitech, Popcap (I'm a Bejeweled freak so I love my spiffy coffee mug), Etymotic and iLove Robots. I got a mouse and earbuds, and since I'm prone to breaking things I can always use the help staying stocked.

I've love being involved with the Clever Girls Collective, most of all the professional and personal inspiration of watching the founders/partners -- Stefania, Cat, Sheila and Kristy -- work so well together to provide such cool opportunities for bloggers. I also appreciate that so many of their opportunities are not just open to moms, because as has been mentioned here a few times, that is not what I am. But I still blog, and I still love gadgets, and I still like to talk about things I (genuinely) use and enjoy. Thanks, ladies. Your hospitality and openness to all of us you work with is one of my favorite things about my online life. 

Then, as I said before, Heather was there, and she went out to the beach with us, for just the most wonderful day.

(One for luck.)

11.  It was a wonderful year.

Thank you to the BlogHer founders for making this event possible seven (seven!) years ago. This year I appreciated in particular Erin Groh and Lori Luna of the BlogHer events crew for looking out for me and helping me be better at the things I try to do, among the many other jillion things on their to-do lists. Also? Denise and TW get props for always being there to yell at me in the best and most loving possible way.

Thanks and mad respect most of all to my friend and mentor Elisa Camahort-Page, who never, ever settles for a lower bar or the status quo. You change lives, never doubt it. 

See y'all in New York. In what may count as the first advice dispensed for BlogHer 2012? Get in line for the halal meat cart at 7 a.m., and save me some. I hear it's worth it. Also? If you go to the Carnegie Deli? Split a sandwich. 

August and some other things.

So. Things have been pretty heavy around here. So look! 

It's me! Mildly inappropriately clad in a dress I mended poorly all by my damn self in my hotel room just minutes before Robin wrote profanity on me at a party! She is balls to the wall, y'all, so it's convenient that she tells you that up front. Or, as I captioned a photo of her the other day, "Honey Robin don't give a shit." 

And I'm overtired of the honey badger business, too, but it just made sense. 

Anyway, that should lighten it up a little. If it doesn't I don't know what to tell you. It's all I got. 

Return from BlogHer 2-aught-11 has been difficult. Things were already feeling teetery before I left. Summer schedules are challenging and work is heavy. Major events happened early in the season, and I'd been spending a lot of time since then either on the yoga mat refocusing or screwing around at home, wondering what the next thing was going to be. 

Then I went to California and was surrounded for four days by so many of the best people I've ever been lucky enough to know. It is just true. There were probably 50 people there who I could call (if I liked to call people) and talk to about just about anything related to my life and my work, and they would listen and provide some kind of feedback and it would likely be very useful. This is very cool and incredibly overwhelming for my brain and my heart all at once. And nothing that is overwhelming for these two components of me is entirely good. But there's nothing I can do about it. I can't not go. That doesn't work for me. And once I'm there I'm no good at filtering or managing my time with people versus time alone. I don't have any time alone, unless you count the random walking back and forth to places, and even then? Never happens. Rarely happens. So it's a lot, but it's too much good stuff, if that makes sense. 

(I also worked very, very hard on a couple of projects during the conference this year, in addition to having bad words written on me and having some of the most fun times I've had with some people who are very important to me. I also made some good connections and got some great ideas. And also posed with Sarah and a toilet, and the worst slogan I have ever seen for any product ever. (Sorry dudes.))

(I don't know what is wrong with us, either. She doesn't know how grateful she should be that I posted none of the shots of her watching the, er, Kleenex-testing station, with the peculiar Pinocchio-ish Animatronic child blowing snot on a crappy tissue that splits right in half, and then the Best. Tissue. Ever! that wouldn't break if Voldemort snorted into it through his wand. 

"I'm a real boy! Watch me fake blow my nose! I will make you throw up, right here in this expo hall!" It was not enjoyable in any way.)  

Do you like how I'm flip-flopping here between bitching and sharing ridiculous things?

It's almost too much to go there, to have this kind of experience and feel like you're home when you're not and then come home and not feel at home. All the pieces are rearranged again and this year almost as soon as I walked in the door exhausted from the Metro I proceeded to embark on a series of poor life choices in response to this tailspin. I think I'm going to spend post-BlogHer week next year in a distant tropical location, where I give my iPhone and computer to a trusted caregiver and lie on a beach with  bottomless beers and trashy books.

I hear people bitching on the internet about this or that thing related to the experience every year, and I can't even process it. I don't even care about it, because for me it is such an intensely personal thing. I am too personally immersed to criticize the nuts and bolts of any one part of it. And maybe that makes me weird, but I don't question where anyone else finds their place and their people. I don't. (I mean, I may wonder why they like that place or those people, but it's really none of my business.) 

So yeah, I came home, and freaked out. Hard. 

My car blew up. There were other things, life things, a few scary things that I wasn't sure what to do with yet. The huddled masses came streaming back from the beach with burnt noses and a million, time-consuming questions. It turns out that returning from a few days of zero humidity and the pure streaming sunlight and blue sky of heaven to a vat of sticky air and clouds gives me a five-day not-quite-migraine. I had been away from yoga for a week and I immediately twisted something in my neck that made standing a challenge, and also sitting, which made me extra pleasant in the place where I am required to go daily. (Don't turn 40. Do some Benjamin Button thing. Start the incantations now, is all I'm saying.) Worse, I felt all of the ideas I'd had and discussions I'd felt were productive slip away in 48 hours, and everything was swirling around in my brain so much that I couldn't capture it in an appropriate to-do list.

I didn't feel like doing this, not at all: 

 That's my boyfriend Bob Harper from the Biggest Loser, or perhaps @mytrainerbob to you. I dragged myself out of bed on BlogHer Saturday at 6:50 a.m., to go downstairs and watch him lead a terrace full of women through a punishing workout. I didn't meet him because I got a little bit shy and a little bit feeling like I needed to jam from his oatmeal breakfast before it was over because I had done an hour-long flow yoga class after his workout and a shower was a priority if I was going to meet any of my other myriad obligations that day. 

So. Almost two weeks later (is it two weeks later? Lost track.) I still feel like I'm missing stuff. I missed everyone uncommonly when I came home this year -- actually reached out to talk to people on the phone when I got back, a level of missing that is strange for me. I just don't know what to do about it, this reorganization time, besides reach out more to people in my life. But I can't spend time with people every minute. I can't constantly be reattaching some virtual umbilical cord. This is the way my life is right now and I have to learn to rest in it to a point. 

I don't think I'm doing a very good job. So what I am doing is isolating more, even when I know that that is really not a good idea. I just don't like what I have to tell people, the truth of things. I hear myself rambling and it just seems better not to talk. There are things I can't even deal with myself right now, so how can I explain them to anyone else? 

I can just feel things changing, in the oddest, most unavoidable, way, some fundamental things about what I want to do and where and with whom I want to be. I'm in touch in a pretty clinical way with things I'm not happy with in myself, with the unhelpful ways I approach my daily routine, with ways I don't relate well to people and let them down (or at the very least am less to them than I could be), with goals I'm not achieving because I've not been so much lazy as I've been terrified.

Yes, I do some things right. Yes. I have skills and assets. I will still help you if I can. 

But it's a necessary time to focus on the "needs work" list. Because I think I'm coming to understand that when we or our circumstances change, our desires and deepest understanding of what moves us (which also tend to starkly and uncomfortably illuminate what doesn't, and to what we can no longer cling without great cost) do too. It's either bend with that (I'm crazily thinking "enjoy the go," and just, no no no. Also, advertising is our societal drug. This is proof.) or you don't, and eventually -- if you are anything at all like me -- you end up cracking up a little past the usual benchmark, kicking the wrong asses and taking the entirely incorrect names.

It's like my internal house is on fire and I'm constantly cataloguing what and who I'm going to grab first, and what I'm going to let incinerate. It's a disturbing, totally involuntary feeling, and I can't say it's comfortable on any level. It just is. 

(Please go and read that post when you're done with my droning here, if you're not offended by profanity like I am not. Her name is Noa. She read it at the Voices of the Year Community Keynote this year. It is perhaps the funniest goddamned thing I have ever read on the internet, second only perhaps to Hyperbole and a Half's "CLEAN ALL THE THINGS" post which has the added benefit of having added a slogan to my regular speech. Although I'm thinking "Fuck you, this is a pan," is going to go in there too.) 

I've done this before. Although it's been different, I've been uncomfortable and I've struggled. I've tried to get help with it and I've tried to listen to the discomfort for the signals of what I ought to do next, because I believe that they are always there. I'm trying to be brave when I'm really the opposite, and I'm trying to be strong although somedays that's overrated. When I have to go through the motions, I do, and when I have to be a teacher, I am. It's just putting one foot in front of the other, sometimes.

And I also can't say that all of this changing and the burning house concept is bad, entirely, because I honestly don't know yet.  There's very little I can do about it, but walk through it the best that I can. At least I feel somewhat motivated.

And I think that pretty much brings this up to date, which I feel compelled to do around here from time to time.

Going to California Pt. 1

It's Wednesday of the sunniest week of the year. I say let's get on a boat, and you say okay, and we wander and we do. The air is so much lighter here, it's possible to find the second wind. 

I see one of the places where I most like to see the ocean. It's how it should be, for a little while. I know from so many other times that you can't hold onto hours, no matter how much you want to. In fact, the more you want to, the more you can't. It's just the way, you just have to let it roll. 

Amazing cheese and margaritas hours later the texts come in and the excitement of all those faces a few miles away, waiting with the gift of who they are, the brains and hearts and general Christmas morning of themselves, because we are lucky and likeable and were somehow at a few points in the right places at the right times. It blows up from there into what it always is, the friends, the schedule alternately adhered to and ignored, the ideas of how we justify ourselves, how we make ourselves the business forces and party people, the last minute decision of this or that, the drinks and hugs and passed hors d'oeuvres, the weird statues and the new city, the beauty and the bitching, the place we all find ourselves in no matter where it is each year, thousands of us, from here or there. 

(All of these things that you can't pick up free off of a table, that would never fit into a suitcase. Baggage jokes aside, you can't stuff feelings in there, not even if you sit on it.)

It's our luck and our randomness and our -- somehow -- ultimately defined place. It goes too fast and overwhelms and sometimes it irritates me because I'm an overly sensitive soul, but I move easily within it every time. It's a gargantuan home, one of the most certain things in my 365, what I'll always do until it's over, that I discovered (thank God) out of thin air. 

On Sunday I say let's get in a cab, and two of you who have been with me for years say okay, and that's what we do. We walk and drink. I show you where I liked most (really most) to see the ocean. It's how it should be. 

I don't know how I got so lucky. I don't know how the sky and sea and people came together six years ago to say "You can have this, for a few days each year. It's yours." but they did. It does. It rolls along.

And no matter how hard it is to come back into the inadequacy of everything else (because it is very, very hard), I don't really ever lose that time, not even when the walls close in and the engines blow, because you know that just a touch away there is a nation of these people, there is that sun-soaked memory.

There is that smile and those eyes and the hand that reaches out and says "Here, you are known." 

 

The Beach Trees -- a BlogHer Book Club Review

Sometimes books surprise me. 

The Beach Trees, by Karen White, surprised me. 

I love the Gulf Coast -- New Orleans in particular -- so I was excited to read a story set there, clearly written by someone with a love for the area. What I was less sure about was taking my limited time to read a story I identified at first as "chick lit." 

I know, I know. I'm not proud. 

Did I get over it? Surprise me in a good way or bad? I guess you'll see. 

Today It's Suebob's Birthday

Once upon a time in the land of Chicago, I was on a panel of women who blogged and did not concurrently have children. Suebob Davis was on that panel with me. 

I had never met her, but I knew of her, and oddly enough, I was a little intimidated by her. I don't know why. She's not particularly menacing in person. She doesn't carry a gun or any weapon, other than her brain, and I guess the stapler could be used as a projectile. She is a peace freak of sorts, and a smiley person, too. But regardless, I was intimidated. Sometimes I'll randomly decide that a person doesn't like me for no reason at all, because I am a special sort of paranoid when I get anxious. And that BlogHer, I was anxious. After a few years of flying happily under the blogging radar, I was on that panel and I was also a community keynote reader, so I was operating at a high level of Xanax need for pretty much the whole conference.

So when the lady who was moderating, who herself did not have children, asked the final question -- "Just what was it we ladies on the panel did with our lives, as we were not busy parenting?" -- my mind started racing. 

I blog! I, uh, take pictures! I work a mind-numbing, soul-sucking job that nonetheless helps people! I take care of my grandmother sometimes! I manage my life and work out and eat and go on vacation and screw around on the internet! I see my friends and my family and listen to music and take long walks in the suburbs!

Sue, however, wasn't having any of that. She calmly stated that she didn't feel that she needed to reel off a laundry list of activities to justify her existence. She lived a life, and it was good, and that was that. 

And then she stopped talking. She wasn't going to entertain it, which was then a much more foreign concept to me than it is now, due to the example of Sue and other women in my life, who have shown my by example and a well-placed "Oh God will you please just cut that OUT" as I reached my 40th year that just because someone asks a question, it doesn't mean I have to answer it. I do not -- I DO NOT -- have to justify my existence or my choices or myself.  That panel was the first time, but not the last, that she has said something and I've thought, "Damn. I need to be more like that." 

Time and months and years went on, and that panel turned into a community keynote that turned into a Twitter relationship that turned into hanging out at BlogHers and every year. I've been pleasantly surprised that this very well-regarded, powerful source for good in my blogging world has sought me out and wanted to spend time with me. That is no kind of false modesty, either. These events are zoos, yes, but they are also populated with hundreds of people, and the basic truth is that there are a lot of people there that we all want to see. They come alive from the internet for just a few days, like toys in an animated film, and then they go back in. You have to take what you can get where you can. 

And as I get older, I realize the honor it is for any human being to want to spend their limited time with any other one. Time is all we have that makes any nevermind, and when someone I respect and admire and find interesting chooses to use it up with me? I appreciate it, and I acknowledge it as a meaningful thing. 

Since then, Sue and I have hung out in New York and Chicago again, and this year we will spend some time together in San Diego, I'm sure. We sat together in a canyon in Ojai last fall, and one of the greatest days I've had, she drove me and Deb up (down? I fail geography) the coast to her house and then on to L.A. I got to see her adorable house and eat at her tacqueria that I would transport to DC in an instant, if I could. I got to meet Goldie, and her mom. It was a great day. She came here once, too, and Sarah and I met her for brunch on our turf, which was fun. 

Virtually, we have spent hours Gchatting about jobs and family and writing and just what on earth it is we're here to do. And there is, of course, always Twitter, for good or for ill. (Just please don't say the p-word.) 

I am lucky that she is my friend. 

But beyond the micro-confines of this particular one-on-one relationship, I find Sue worth celebrating for a very simple fact that goes far beyond me. And that is that she is always the one to see the good in other people. She gets pissed off, sure, at situations, mostly, and the occasional blowhard with a vuvuzela or what have you in her neighborhood. But when it comes to people she knows and cares about? Super forgiving. Ridiculously forgiving, and, most valuable: preemptively forgiving. Even that time I broke my phone and never answered and she texted "Fuck you!" to me so that was the first thing I saw when I turned the replacement back on? I knew it was only temporary. 

I admit it, there are times when I read stuff on the Internet and I think "Holy hell, what is that person's deal. Could they shut up already? OMFG." And that is unfailingly the moment where Sue will pipe up with a tweet to that person that offers some kind of kindness, a good word or a comment or a thoughtful detail about her life that acknowledges not only their current situation but in a broader sense, what is redeeming about them. And I'll think, why didn't I notice that first? What is she, some kind of friggin' saint, showing me up, as I sit here in my living room all judgmental and dark-hearted? 

No. It has nothing to do with me. It's just her. She sees the goodness. She sees the gold, and that is a remarkable quality. I don't always understand it, and I sure as hell don't always agree, but I always admire it.

Happy birthday, Suebob. I hope you enjoy the good words of people from around the internet about you today, and know that they couldn't be offered in more friendship, appreciation, kindness and love. We owe each other a 40/50 toast in San Diego, for sure. I thank you for everything you have done and said to make my world a better place, and I love you very much. 

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Suebob's favorite charities right now are Write Girl (an amazing organization in L.A. that supports self-expression for young women, where I wish I was the director) and Planned Parenthood, which has obviously suffered major cuts in funding and support this year. I have set up a fund via my PayPal, and bloggers have already kicked in a few hundred dollars. When it is all done, I will be splitting the proceeds in half and donating equally to these organizations, taking care to make sure that the funds are diverted as closely as possible to her region.

If you would like to participate in this birthday gift for Sue, please leave a comment below, and I will send you my PayPal contact information. (I am documenting all donations, so there should be no worry about fund transfers to me for this purpose.) I'd like to finish this up by Wednesday of next week, so please get your messages to me by then. Thanks! 

Finally, Karen came up with this wonderful idea to celebrate Suebob's birthday. If you write a post too, please leave a link on her site as well. 

BlogHer Five

I know, I know, it's been a few weeks. I've been busy. At least it's still August, for a few hours anyway. This will also be the longest post I've likely written for this website. That's just how it turned out, because it's been a long time coming, I guess.

(It's not even August anymore. Oh well. The perils of working in education at the end of the summer.)

I got on a plane to San Jose, California, in July, 2006. It was my first trip to the state. I had written for  BlogHer.com for six months -- my first online writing job, and my first paid gig anywhere in awhile. I loved the concept. The people seemed great. What they were doing was very exciting, and I just felt like I wanted to be a part of it.

The truth was I hadn't felt like being a part of much of anything for a year, since the only thing I had planned on being a part of with any enthusiasm had said see ya bye and moved 1,000 miles away. Also, when I turned 35 I decided that as part of my recovery plan from this hellish breakup I would travel somewhere new every month. I'd been to Arizona and Nevada already, so California seemed reasonable. I told my family and friends that I was going to a women's writing conference, which they probably interpreted as "that terrible boy turned her lesbian and she's going to hang with the ladies," which was really fine with me. Then I booked a couple of days on the end to go to Santa Cruz, and I left.

I wasn't nervous. I don't get anxious in groups until the first time I'm standing by a bar by a pool and I'm looking at someone in a "Writing Well Is the Best Revenge" t-shirt and I feel like an inarticulate fool with nothing of any consequence to say except maybe "Hey I have that shirt in red and black too the red has the long sleeves for when it is chilly like it sort of is now isn't this California what the hell is up with that so wine now yeah?" For an extrovert I'm not really one to mosey up to strangers or invite myself to sit at tables. I like to hover on the fringes and case the joint, actually, until someone takes pity on me or a less than excruciating conversation presents itself.

I was a little concerned that I had maybe presented myself as more competent at audio recording than I really was, since I had volunteered to be on the conference podcasting team so I could score a free ticket. I think that when someone asks you if you can do something that you're fairly sure you can handle you should say yes. I'm not going to volunteer to perform surgery or solve equations because I don't want to kill people and I suck at math, but I can press buttons and understand recording equipment. I figured I could swing it and if I couldn't I deserved the embarrassment.

I ended up so grateful for this job. It made the conference smaller and more manageable for me. It gave me a task to focus on if the effort of talking to hundreds of strangers with cameras got to be too much, and it was also really fun.

These are a few of the podcasting ladies. My hair was extremely red verging on purple here, I have an ungodly number of drink tickets left and I appear to be wearing a prairie skirt. I don't understand those last two things at all. 

When I wasn't working on that or in other sessions, I did get a chance to meet people. Sitting by the pool watching mom bloggers knock things over,

Lauren gets the quote of that year for saying "This is like their Burning Man."

I met  Genie, who would become my roommate for the next three BlogHers.

Here she is on the far right with her husband in a not-great but nonetheless the only photo I have of her from that conference and a couple of other girls we hung out with that weekend. Also there is a person in the background of this picture who should have looked right instead of running her mouth. Bygones.

I met other friends, some I'm still in touch with and others I am not. There were other people in that strange little complex who are central to my life now, but if we crossed paths at that gathering I have no memory of it.

After the conference my red hair and I spent a great day in San Francisco where I immediately fell in love with the city,

then I rented a car and drove to Santa Cruz.

I saw the California version of a beach for the first time. I took a train up through a redwood forest. I bought a suitcase at a Ross on the outskirts of town so I could lug all of my extra stuff home, and then I left.

It was a good trip, and I was really glad I went. I had no expectations and a mere hope of not embarrassing myself before I went. I came home with a head full of ideas and my pride intact, so that was good.

*************************************************

I have gone back to BlogHer every year since then. I've been to Chicago, to San Francisco and back to Chicago (my tie for favorite with this year.) I spoke on a panel in 2008 with Suebob and read at the first community keynote, an experience that brought so much good stuff my way that it was totally worth the raging nausea and anxiety of standing on a stage and reading a blog post about one of the most traumatic aspects of my life in front of hundreds of writers.

My blog stayed small but I didn't care. I went to regional gatherings in Boston and DC (where they also let me open my mouth again), and connected with a community here at home that although it focused mostly on mom bloggers was okay with me, because the people are nice and generous, and I've never been so hung up on who has kids and doesn't anyway.

That's my Shannon in Boston, 2008. She lives in Canada. I wish, as I say in the comments on this photo, that she lived up the street.

Some of my D.C. ladies, plus Kim visiting from Pittsburgh, Reach Out D.C., 2008.I didn't know these women when I took this picture. I talk to the three in the middle daily. I catch up with Joanne when I can. I've never seen Colleen again, but she's nice to me on Twitter.

The lines began to blur between blog and not-blog, online and real life, which makes sense when real live people are involved. My family came to understand that these were not lesbian creative writing gatherings, although it was still fine with me if that's what they thought. The older I get, the more it's fine to keep them guessing.

In the months between conferences I kept writing for BlogHer. Twitter happened. I picked up new writing jobs.

My life changed several times over. My heart healed over and broke again for other reasons.

My photos improved. My friendships with people I'd met through blogging and who I continued to connect with got deeper.

I came perilously close to a new decade. And then it was somehow 2010.

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I went to New York for BlogHer in August because there was just nowhere else I could be that week. It was a hard summer financially (haha, that is such an understatement. Haha. Har. STUPID! Almost entirely unbloggable!) but I scrounged the money to go and to stay in my own room, which was something I'd planned on since I learned that Genie and her new baby were going to stay outside of the hotel.

I had an absolutely wonderful time. It was just what I needed at just the right time. Saved my emotional ass, it did.

I spent the four days before the conference at Suzanne's place, rabbit-sitting. She was the first person I wrote with in travel on BlogHer.com back in 2005. I got to pretend I lived in a funky apartment on the Upper West Side. I walked until I wrecked my feet, ate Crumbs Squiggle cupcakes for breakfast when I felt like it, and saw Rock of Ages on Broadway, where I paid for a glass of wine and got a sippy cup to take to my seat.

That's Suzanne and me, on the Sunday after the conference. I am Sparklecorn hungover. She is just nice and funny and brilliant like usual.

True story? Suzanne is one of the most outstanding women you will ever meet. She is a powerhouse. She is but one example of the greatness this gig has brought into my life. And she lets me stay in her house, for free. She trusts me with her key and her stuff.

I got to go see American Idiot with Heather. Heather and I have some stuff in common that no one else can understand. Heather took over photo from me on BlogHer at a time when it needed to happen. Heather is fascinating and hilarious. Heather is gorgeous. Heather kicks my ass on Gchat. She said things to me at dinner after the show that I should have written down because I could probably stand to read it right now.

I got to hang out in New York. It's my happy place and I loved spending this time up there. It's never enough for me. I walked through street fairs and burned some remaining credit on a good seafood dinner. I window shopped and daydreamed. I got a precious evening with Elisa, at a vegan restaurant that could convert this carnivore. I enjoyed every last second.

Then I went home for a day (don't ask, I needed dresses, and thank God the Bolt Bus is $17) and caught the train back with some D.C. friends.

I had a kickass conference. On the very first day I met Debbie and Velma and Kelli, and remember thinking shortly after that that I could go the hell home that second and I'd already have scored.

I went on a Kodak bus and to a Nikon party. I had the most fun night of burritos and karaoke with my friends from MamaPop. I had dinner with my fellow editors from BlogHer, which is always fun. I had a photo in the Kirtsy exhibit that went with this great post by R.J. at Vampire Vocab. I had my picture taken with it like a big dork because it was the first time I'd had a photo displayed like that and it made me happy.

I spent time with Jen B., Jennie and Jonna, with Alexa and Alana and Heather. I met Genie's baby, Ian, finally, and Erin, who writes one of the very first blogs I ever read. I loved that.

I sang and danced a lot.

The first day, Friday, I stopped mid-day, and thought how amazing it was that I was in a space with 2,400 people and in every single room there was someone there who was happy to see me and who I was happy to see. I kept feeling like that, all weekend, so that by the time Sarah, Kim and I went to the Yankees game on Sunday night I was that familiar combination of exhausted yet deeply content that I am every single year when it's all over.

This conference is my favorite thing I do all year. It's been true when I've been inspired and productive and when I've been barely eking out words in this space and where I've been paid to do it. My writing has suffered in consistency and volume over the past couple of years, it's true. I wish I was more focused. I continue to struggle with where I should be in lots of ways versus where I am.

But it's just true that without BlogHer I would lack so much that matters to me. I don't know what I would have in its place but I can't help but think that it would be something so much less than what it's given me.

I have creative and professional mentors.

I have friends like Sue and Maria, who have sat up late and chatted me through crises from a continent away, and Karen and Karen who make me look at the best version of myself whether I feel like it or not.

I have a place that was willing to give me a place to share my voice and my point of view at a point in my life where I valued neither very much, or at the very least was struggling to find a place to put them.

I don't know why anyone else goes to BlogHer. I don't know what they expect from it or what they think it means for their lives online or off. I'm not a mom blogger, a coupon blogger, a marketer's dream or a person with a true agenda. I don't care about fistfuls of swag, except for my Mr. Potato Head which you'll pry out of my warm, live hands and those little slippers I got at Nikon were nice.

I go to see my friends and I go to reassure myself that no matter how small some people say it's become, that there is a group of people I came to know through their words and pictures who are still out there, no matter what they're working on now. I count myself lucky that there are people in this crowd who will get in my face in person like they can usually only do in e-mail and ask me why I'm not writing, why I'm not owning my power? (Hi, Denise. Hi, Rita. Hi, Julie.)

I can have a ridiculous sandwich episode with a friend who knows my soundtrack and my heart, who is my wide receiver, left tackle or quarterback depending on the day (I told you I was learning football) who I simply would not have were it not for this web site and this conference.

No, not THAT one.

This one. (This alone? Worth the price of every single admission. I love you the most.)

I am reminded very distinctly how I best like to see myself.

And I guess it's a place where it's okay that who that is is someone who closes the bar with a bunch of brilliant people, then sits in the sink and shoots self-indulgent semi-hoochie pictures in a mirror because the light is pretty.

And I don't really know what a gift horse is but I've never been one to look them in the mouth, so I'm not starting now.

I open my arms to these three days every year and get roses every time. I still have very few specific expectations and I pray not to embarrass myself, and it mostly works out. Sure, there are some bumps in the road, sessions that leave me cold and pr people who don't get it that I still wash my clothes even though I'm not a mom. I smack down my hindbrain when it worries a little bit that I'm not getting invited to this or that overrated party or that I'm not doing enough or that I'm doing too much. I don't get enough sleep and I miss things here and there that I really wanted to do.

But what I worry about the most is a sin of riches, really. I want to be in three sessions at once. I worry that I won't see all of the people who I have made connections with -- small and very big -- through the years. There are so many of us now and so many ways that I've been in touch with people on blogs, Twitter and in real life, that it's almost impossible to keep track. So there is a lot of frenzied hugging in hallways and plans to meet up and quick picture taking, but this year I felt like in spite of the chaos that it went as well as it possibly could in a city and a conference of this size.

Anyway, this is stupid long, but this year required it and this post is really for me and my friends to whom it is a five-year love letter. So I'll just end with this.

When I first pitched BlogHer in 2006, I hadn't been blogging very long, and I knew no one in the larger blogging world personally. I responded to a call for writers on Lisa Stone's Surfette site, convinced I'd hear nothing, which proves that sometimes when I'm wrong it's the best possible thing. Lisa shocked me by writing me back almost immediately to tell me that she'd love for me to be a part of this.

She has since developed great taste in bag hats.

Lisa -- and by association Elisa and Jory too -- helped me to change my life. She opened the door for all of these other people -- the ones who I have named and the countless ones I haven't -- to grace me with their presence as well. I just had to ask, and that simple act helped me to resurrect the writer I had always been. It gave me the confidence to go back to grad school and get a degree in journalism that I'd abandoned 20 years ago, an experience that took me to Vietnam to write a story and landed me in a stadium in Denver when a certain man who I strongly believe is changing the world in spite of great difficulty accepted the Democratic nomination for president.

It gave me the confidence to believe that I could do things that I had started to think I wasn't capable of doing.

It gave me friends who are my family and a much clearer view of who I am and what I want to do.

So.

I'll be in San Diego next year, because that's just where I'll need to be. And if you go, I really hope that you'll have a wonderful time too.

Reubens of Unusual Size

Sarah and I were hungry after the Yankees game on the Sunday night after BlogHer, screwing around in Midtown looking for someplace that was open late.

I located a few late night possibilities on Yelp, including the Carnegie Deli. We decided to go there because it was really close, supposedly an institution that I had never visited before, and hey, a deli, why not?

As soon as we sat down there were half-done pickles, which always pleases me. But when the waiter told me that the only Reuben option was $24.95, I was less pleased. I don't know what I was expecting, a Reuben Happy Meal or what, but it seemed crazy even in this neighborhood where dollar bills seem to magically fall out of your pockets into the steam grates.

So I told him I'd take the Woody Allen, a corned beef and pastrami combo that was so very much more reasonable at, oh, 18 bucks or so.

In hindsight, the menu alone caused me to lose all sense of perspective. We also missed the part that said you could share for $3.00. We are very capable of sharing food. This was an unfortunate oversight, brought on no doubt by four days of limited sleep, not so much solid food and not a little bit of wine.

Sarah ordered a roast beef sandwich. I asked him for a Coke and prayed it wasn't ten dollars. Minutes later, this arrives on the table:

I can't even explain to you what happened in my brain when this pile of meat appeared. The pictures do not show how large this thing was. I didn't know whether to name it, apologize to it or get it its own table.

Sarah looked at the sandwich and at me and I looked at her and then the sandwich and I really wish I had video of the way we looked at each other over the plates that were somehow, ridiculously, on our table.

"Dude," she said, when she had words. "Your sandwich is STUPID."

And that is when I lost my mind. I started laughing, and she started laughing. We laughed so hard and so uncontrollably that I think it warranted a clinical diagnosis. We could not stop, for minutes, until we were crying. I am not a person who normally laughs until I cry, but I was weeping. And every time I stopped, we'd look at each other, or we would look at this,

(Pickle for perspective)

(The little pieces of bread make it look like PeeWee Herman with that bellboy hat on, or a giant wearing a beret.) 

And it would start all over again.

I looked around suspiciously at other diners. There were empty plates and beer bottles, people chatting like they weren't in a wackjob land of gargantuan food. The ladies next to me had had entrees that didn't look extraordinarily large, although they probably cost $37. Probably payday.

"No one else is acting like this is weird at all. Look at them," she said. "We sound high The last time I laughed like this for this long I was in my college cafeteria at 7 a.m. and I hadn't slept in a long time."

"I feel high," I said. And I did. It was an almost out-of-body Willy Wonka kind of deal.

Lick the walls! They taste like corned beef and dusty picture frames! I swear, you'll love it! Everything's just really BIG here.

And for the most recent time, I wondered where the hidden cameras were.

The Carnegie Deli's walls are covered with 8x10 autographed photos of a variety of famous visitors who may or may not order the Woody Allen or even eat anything at all. I actually think they are all lying if they say they do. We had several photographs on the wall right next to us. Because I was concerned that the tears in Sarah's eyes were actually those of distress and not hysterical laughter, I decided to focus on what we could control.

"Hey," I said, because I am observant. "We have company. Look, you get to eat with Ryan Seacrest."

That cheered her up.

What did not cheer her up? Or me either for that matter? The fact that these insane piles of meat are held together by (in her case) a brick of cheese and those teensy beensy pieces of bread -- no vegetables, no condiments, nothing. The waiter walked by and Sarah said, "Excuse me? Could I get some...mayonnaise?"

And swear to God dude looked at us like we'd asked for fish tacos in a deli.

You know? Mayonnaise? That spoonful of saturated fat that helps one choke down a side of beef? DUDE.

Ahem. Back to the wall gallery. We had calmed down some. Sarah was pissed off at the wasteful nature of this establishment, what with the pound -- probably more, come to think of it -- of corned beef and pastrami on my plate that was so overwhelming to me (and, quite frankly, dry, minus the six bucks worth of sauerkraut, dressing and cheese that I totally would have sprung for if I had a time machine. I didn't bother to ask for mustard.) She was scowling, occasionally gnawing on her meat, and worst of all, neither of us had a beer to soften the blow. I looked to my right, at this guy.

I thought I knew who he was, but I couldn't remember his name, just that he wanted me to "Save room for the awegfaergvaergaerawgr," to which I say, "Right on."

"Who is that?" I wondered aloud.

And in a version of her voice that I wish I could share with you in an audio file, she said, and you are in no way going to think this is as funny as I do,

"Ooooooaaaaatttttteeeesssss."

As in "John." As in "Hall and."

Yeah, no. I decided to eat with this other guy anyway.

Done. Done. Absolutely done and done and done. Please keep in mind that Sarah makes me laugh harder than just about anyone I know on a regular basis so this was like that experience, except dosed and off the rails.

I started laughing again and did not stop completely until we left the building. Every time I thought this would stop being funny, something insane would happen. For instance, the jolly ladies next to me were not finished when their plates were cleared, oh no. Minutes later, pieces of pie or cheesecake arrived in front of them that were approximately a foot tall, like this:

(I found this on the Internet. It is ostensibly from the Carnegie Deli, and because it looks like the food of Gulliver on the island or an insane person in Wonderland, I can only surmise that it is, in fact, from their dessert case. If I had seen it in person, I would have laughed longer, because, pecan roll on cheesecake? Right.)

I mean, hey, eat what you want, but where do you PUT IT? I was still flailing intermittently at my meat with a fork and getting nowhere. It was like I ate it with my eyes.

Also, Ooooooaaaaatttttteeeesssss was still with me. One or the other or both of us would say it about every thirty seconds, because it turns out that once you start that shit up it's difficult to stop.

It's really, really difficult to stop, or maybe just if you are us.

I do know that there is some kind of joke inherent in leaving a place like this and being hungry and slightly nauseous because I just really couldn't eat what was put in front of me, because just how oh how do you even take that seriously? I couldn't, and when the guy asked me if I wanted it boxed to go I was very fortunate that I did not hurl on the table.

I'm sure that there are people who go there and enjoy it. I think I would have if I'd stuck with maybe six more pickles and a Coke and that's all, a blintz maybe, and giggled at the photos. I'm sure there are people who would call me an idiot -- didn't you KNOW? It's the Carnegie DELI, it's KNOWN for its enormous sandwiches, you imbecile.

But I didn't, or if I'd been told -- if it was the question to a Jeopardy answer or a passage in a travel article -- I forgot. I can only hold so many references in my head at once, or for a lifetime, you guys.

But I can tell you two things. One is that if you're going to have any kind of friend at all with whom you voluntarily spend a significant amount of time it should be the kind who can laugh with you until you cry, damn whomever's around. Because as ridiculous as this may have been and as much as that pile of meat could've fed several hungry people, I know that when I look back on my life I will remember this in technicolor, and it will never not make me smile.

And the other is that I have the tragicomic kind of life where when I opened the refrigerator at my parents' house the next day when I came home, this is what I saw.

And I made myself a Reuben of totally usual size, and it was really good.

(Frying pan and stove for totally normal perspective.)

And I texted Sarah and lost my shit laughing again, and the circle was unbroken.

The end.

Except, you know. Ooooooaaaaatttttteeeesssss.