the really ugly truth about why i failed at blogher

I am in a crappy mood and I think it's not going to go away until I am really honest with myself, people.

I didn't do a good job at BlogHer.

I did a good job on my panel. And I did an overachiever's good job of making it to almost every single event and room that I wanted to and of lapping up some new knowledge and ways of thinking about things. I reached out to a couple of people beforehand and made really real connections and feel like I therefore gained a few real life friends (but honestly those people were already friends and we've already established the blurring of the lines between friends in the computer and friends in real life, right? Heather Spohr did it for us at the Community Keynote).

But I didn't make any brand new friends. You probably won't find me popping up in flickr streams, not even as an uncertainly labeled "nice woman I talked to." No one asked to take a picture with me.

And the fact is that I never let it get there. I was too busy running on to the next thing.

Partly I blame the schedule that I set for myself. I had my little book with my little agenda and all its rigid timing didn't allow me to stand around and chat. I always felt pulled in several directions and worried about missing something or somone elsewhere.

I missed chatting with nice people after my panel because I was running to the infertile lunch.

I missed half the infertile lunch because I was in line for food (damn that human need for sustenance!).

I missed dinner with Io and Becky and Emily because I was determined to get my books signed (and that didn't even work out).

But more than any of those things, I regret what I don't even know I missed. I regret that I didn't really make any new, out-of-the-blue best friends. And this is NOT one of those whiny posts about how no one knew my blog and so no one talked to me and the popular kids are soooooooo mean. I truly blame only myself.

Because I kind of got sucked into the popular kid THING in my head. A bit. In my defense, I will put it this way – everyone goes to BlogHer looking to meet those people they read and love, right? I just started reading BlogHer people's blogs this past year, all those years before being either A) depressed B) infertile or C) pregnant. I am still playing catch-up, and so naturally I gravitated first to the big names and fell in love with them. And much like when I met Dooce and would only be happy if she was my new best friend, a tiny and unreasonable part of me really just wanted to be hanging out with those writers I so admire.

By day three (now without my BlogHer date (Becky) thanks to some crazy baby eye infection – poor Alex), I could feel the way my eyes scanned nametags, trying to find anyone whose name I recognized. There weren't that many (lack of twitter handles may have had something to do with that, as twitter has accelerated my knowledge of this world much faster than slowly stumbling around blogs ever did). I glossed over those I had never heard of in favor of hoping to find those I had.

It is gross. I am not proud of it. Some might call it wicked (though my intent was not so). But I do think it's a little bit human nature.

I spent way too much time staring at "them" and trying to think of something to say. I regret that.

This isn't a blanket statement, by any means. As I posted earlier, I made some real connections with people I admire. But those happened because of a shared experience, some time spent together, whether in panels or at cocktails or at a meal. No one is going to become your best friend because you gush that you love their blog or their book and then walk away. And I certainly realize I was just one of a hundred people saying those things. And I am completely aware how ridiculous this is. I did it to Amalah. I did it to Rita Arens. I did it to Redneck Mommy. I probably would have done it to more but my incredibly sexy transitions bifocal lenses made focusing on those tiny nametag blog titles a feat of optometry.

This is messy, messy stuff, boys and girls. This is deep middle school angst here. This is that awkward feeling you get that makes you strangely stupid when you're crushing out, be it a middle school hormone surge or the crushy rush of standing near someone who can write beautfiully, someone who intellectually turns you on.

Now, I could have let all that messy stuff exist in me and STILL made some new best friends. I wish I had approached some other awkward looking person and stuck out my hand and said hi. I could even have tried it in our preferred virtual manner – I wish that I had gotten over my self-pity and concern over looking pathetic and just tweeted something out into the tweetosphere when I felt lonely "Can I hang out with somone, please? I am awesome but I am lonely." Someone very well might have rescued me.

Of course, what if there was no response? That's what held me back. That thought.

So I will do better next time. I will most certainly realize that I can't do everything and that small groups are better (The Queerosphere party, Deb, rocked my world – it was small, it was fun, I got a chance to chat with several people and there was a comfy couch to schmooze with Liza  and there were cosmos. It was perfect!). I will get over myself and talk to more people. I will make plans ahead of time and have more than one caretaker in case of eye infection. Most importantly, I will be on my home turf and I anticipate more of my people by my side.

How DOES one communicate a need to meet other damaged, cynical, messed-up people amid a sea of bloggers on topics both lighter and darker than my own? I needed some sort of sign. Cali has already suggested that she and I wear matching sashes next year that say, "We are nice. We write." I should probably start sewing now.

Also – it is entirely possible that all this grumpiness and middle-school-in-my-mind shit is occurring because only one real life person commented on my t-shirt. Hmph.

More to come on the Business of Blogging and the potential for a Writer's Track and my thoughts on what I need to do for my blog. I give myself to the end of this week to finish obsessing and get to work.