I don’t censor myself, like, ever. Rarely, will I trip over words in a conversation in an attempt to make sure others aren’t made uncomfortable, but for the most part, it’s here’s me, like it or leave it. I kind of have this philosophy that if I’m putting it all out there, people will never have those I didn’t see that coming moments.
There’s almost nothing worse than those moments.
So, I make my scars and judgements obvious, I scream out my annoyance and support, I sometimes write and speak with a level of determination that can stop people and cause them to rethink, except really, I’m not all that important. I’m just, you know, being me, one hundred percent, 99% of the time.
And then every once in a while some thing, or one, or occasion comes along, and I find that it might not be okay to put it all out there. My natural inclination might be to say, “fuck it, I want to talk about it” but I still hold myself back. These issues are few and far between, and usually are only involving other parties that might read this blog, or a potential client or employer who might.
I don’t wanna get Dooce’d, you know? Or dumped before I even have a boyfriend. Or screamed at, that often.
I find myself in a quandary this rare evening, with three separate narratives flowing around my grey matter, without dock to plant anchor at. There’s a person, there’s a realization and there’s a possible change of direction. But leading all of those thoughts, there’s a fourth. One that I’ll briefly mention and let you be you and discuss it away.
Two days ago, I suddenly thought that I might not want to go to BlogHer.
Not because I don’t want and need the vacation, because I sure as hell do.
Not because I can’t afford to, which if I had any grain of responsibility, I probably could – it would just take a lot of stringent saving from basically today, forward, and things would be really really really tight.
Not because I don’t want to hug every one of you that will be there, or because social anxiety will crush the air out of me, or because I don’t want to put faces to names and schmooze and booze away three evenings.
Not because I don’t see BlogHer as an invaluable networking event, during which I could, if I’m interesting to enough people, make this blog a lot more popular.
Because I could use that money more effectively. Because I’m considering removing the BlogHer ads, but don’t feel like I should until after attending, and I’m not a patient sort. Because I’d get home the day after Isobel’s third birthday, during which she will be with friends of our family and neither her father or I.
Or, I could stay home and go on a trip later in the year, possibly with Isobel. I could take off the ads, now, instead of later, and not feel disloyal. I could do most of that Zoeyjane-marketing from home, via social networking, commenting, picking up the phone and getting to know people without the 12th vodka-infused beverage of the night in my hand and painful heels on my feet. And I could not miss my daughter’s third birthday, doing so.
I could do it better if I never got on a plane to Chicago on July 23rd, but, I’d be further isolating myself in my apartment by doing so. I’d also be walking away from something that I’ve committed to and mentally planned for since July 18th of last year.
So. This fourth thought that I was willing to put out there, is basically: I don’t know what the fuck to do about the BlogHer stuff.
