Sunday, July 20

What NOT Going to BlogHer Meant

I pouted. I wasn't going to BlogHer. I had the go-ahead from work. I had the go-ahead from clients. I could have gone. Except, I couldn't find a fricking ticket last minute and was too shy (yeah, I can be shy, believe it or not) to ask any of my contact for entrance.

I should have been there.

I never cared before, truly, about any conference. I've spoken on so many panels it's no longer exciting to me; I've worked so many conferences that it's more of a chore than a thrill. But somehow, *this* BlogHer, *this year* got to me. I did a few stunts for clients for BlogHer this year, I followed my buddies on Twitter as they boarded planes, got in taxis and stumbled through San Francisco. I was there, but not there.there.

On Friday I did a presentation for work, kids in tow, ready to go pull a favor somewhere to wiggle myself in to the conference at the Westin St. Francis.

As I walked down Powell street I saw my kids skipping and laughing and holding my hand. They were laughing at mommy being all dressed up and acting silly and full of questions and true wonder about everything from homeless people to the "Lego looking" houses they saw stacked on top of each other. Turn toward Union Square where my people were, I turned around.

I took the kids straight to good old cheesy Pier 39. We walked all the way to the Ferry building and ate shrimp cocktail sitting criss-cross-applesauce on the pier watching the boats go by. We watched street performers, did a bungee jump trampoline thingy and shopped for goodies from strung-out-tchachke-selling ladies. We ate eclairs and danced disco. At one point, staring out at the Bay Bridge a girl rolled up in a wheelchair. The name of the back of the chair said, "Westin St. Francis" -- my jaw dropped.

God was speaking to me. I thought then, cotton candy was in order.