When I left the hotel

Camp Blogher

At one am, one of my roommates was sure she was done with blogging, the other was hatching plans for a new venture. I was still reeling from the conference, trying to decide what to make of it.

Debbie called Blogher the blog prom. To me the two days felt something more like summer camp. As kids, Karen and I both went to sleep away camp. When I talk to other people who had been “camp” kids, I hear the same stories about the experience, whether it was a camp organized around kayaking, one run by the girl scouts or for Jewish youth. It is an intense experience; days feel like weeks, and weeks contain years. Friendships are forged, feelings are hurt, dramas rage, are discussed, analyzed and forgotten in the face of new dramas. Sleep is forgone, nerves fray, people declare themselves and remake themselves daily.

 

Gwen and her favorite blogger enjoy a SF cab ride

As with camp, I enjoyed it and hated it in equal measure. In the session on infertility, adoption and loss, I listened to women speak and felt in synch with them. Over the course of the weekend I met several women who I genuinely enjoyed getting to know, with whom I want to continue friendships across time and space.

I also felt confused and a bit put off by the structure of the event. As a blogger with a small readership, I am not expecting to monetize my blog, I do not hope to get a book deal or even a paid writing gig. I did not need to network in the way that people do when their business is at stake, when working the room can affect their careers.

my old bunk was never this swank

At lunch on Thursday, Karen asked what I wanted out of the weekend. I could not really answer. Sitting in the airport waiting for a delayed plane, I still don’t know. As with camp, I leave exhausted and overstimulated. Unlike those years that I came home from camp with a pile of dirty clothes and a slight sunburn, unpacking is not accompanied by an immediate nostalgia for the days past and a hopeful excitement for next year.

But maybe that's just because I am no longer 14. 

Feeling much better now, thanks.

I didn't realize how emotionally exhausting this whole Blogher thing was going to be. Just now, crying and lying curled up on the bed, I got it.

Being outgoing and friendly all day? Hard.

Asking questions and being trying to be funny all day? Tiring.

Approaching people you know only online and who you aren't sure will recognize you? Forcing yourself to repeatedly overcome the urge to hide in the handicapped stall? Listening to people read and knowing your writing is never going to be that funny/beautiful/poignant? Fucking exhausting.

(Wah, cry me a river, right?)

Oh, and Chris? I told Liz that she is your favorite mommy blogger. I hope that's okay. She said something about kissing you. I told her she could be on your list, after Neko Case.

Live Blogging: Mommyblogging and Privacy

I am in the Blogher session on public parenting and privacy. Hearing these stories I started to wonder if I should worry more. I have a fairly small readership, and I know many of them (more of them as of today). BUT. I can not know everyone who is reading.

The speakers (and audience) are talking about not using their kids' names and not using pictures of their children on their blogs. I am not sure how I'd do this. A couple of years ago I considered switching from names to psuedonyms, but in the end kept referring to my family by their names. Some of my favorite pictures of Ada are closeups; I am not sure I am ready to give up showing those.

I have limits - I do not share my last name online. I don't write about certain things. The moderator says it is  about balance.  This is very comforting to me. I think we all need to do what feels right, while being clear-eyed about what we share. Beyond those with extreme stranger fear (legitimate or not), I am hearing good advice about thinking before writing, and abut considering the impact on myself and those I write about.