I just returned from a conference. I haven't been this excited about a conference in years. My previous conference experiences were scientific conferences in which one ran from room to room, listened intently or just tried to stay awake, depending on speaker and content, took notes or doodled, depending on ditto, came up with sparky new ideas for hypotheses and research, and drank beer in the evenings. Usually, there were others there as super-freaky-geeky as you, as engaged in your field's esoterica as you, allowing you the rare indulgence of sitting around in the evening, parsing the finer points of the various types of estrogen receptor.
Those were OK. But this science-writing conference was one that I was geeked out excited to attend, in part because there were actual authors of actual books I'd actually read and actually enjoyed a whole hell of a lot, and I just wanted to see them, see what these people who write real, cool science books look like and act like. And I hoped, as someone who writes about science not because I want to be a science writer rockstar but because I compulsively must write and am compulsively a scientist--I hoped I'd meet others of my kind, that maybe we'd herd together and geek out perhaps on the finer points of explaining the Krebs cycle without sending our readers into a coma.
That's not exactly what happened. Yes, I geeked. For the first time in my entire life, I approached two complete strangers whose work I just loved and, in my own way, gushed. That translated into an introduction (Hi, I'm Emily) and a comment: "I loved your work." The End. But it was cool to be able to do that.
And then, I wandered, especially during the social times, glass of wine in hand, trying to become a part of a conversation here, learn something new there. But I just couldn't get my social skills mojo up, and went from feeling hopeful in those first hours to feeling completely inept by the end. It was quite a roller coaster in many ways, from finding a couple of people who had big, brash, beautiful personalities and who spoke brashly and bigly about Things That Matter but that many people don't address. Loved meeting them, listening to them. Then there was the student on the bus who was clearly not happy to have ended up with my book in the book grab--brown-paper-wrapped books each attendee just blindly received--and made that pretty obvious to me. I understood, rationally--he's at the end of a four-year science degree and doesn't need a college biology book--but at the same time, of course, I wanted to crawl under the nearest table and hide the rest of the evening.
After contemplating my utter social failure--I'm talking about approaching people, engaging or initiating a conversation, and then seeing their backs within seconds--I realized the one thing that was lacking here for me (besides youth) compared to my previous forays into loud, buzzing, busy, crowded, overwhelming interactions with strangers: Alcohol. Back in the day, that social lubricant probably served two purposes: (1) I could barge in on any conversation and put myself in it, thanks to the suppression of my usual reluctance to do that sort of thing, and (2) if I pissed someone off by doing so, the alcohol probably suppressed my ability to recognize that.
Now...I drink a glass of wine or have a beer and instead get these two things: (1) I may as well have taken a Quaalude, given the level of overwhelming tiredness that overtakes me, and (2) my ability to speak or speak fluidly or remember words is compromised even as my ability to grasp an unwelcome reception remains intact.
I learned things at this conference in the (very overcrowded) meeting rooms from the personable, smart, knowledgeable people who spoke. But I also learned--or reaffirmed or re-realized--where my place is, where I need to stay, where I belong. As I embarked on my 12-hour trip home--flight cancelled, four hour delay of my arrival (thanks, Delta!)--a mantra got stuck in my head, courtesy of one of my favorite movies, and it's one I think I'll harken to more faithfully from now on: "Never get out of the boat. Absolutely goddamned right."
6 comments:
I don't generally do any of the social events or moments at conferences. Even sitting at tables for lunches has gone poorly, so I opt to eat somewhere else alone, even if the meal was covered by fees.
This year, I have two conference appearances. I try to arrive close to the time of my breakout session, presentation, or speech and leave immediately after to reduce stress.
If academic hiring and tenure committees didn't ask about conferences, I wouldn't attend at all. They days, even weeks, required to recover are miserable.
I drove a full day to Purdue this year, 600+ miles, and drove back home the next day -- though I had paid for a longer stay in case I couldn't drive the next morning due to weather or exhaustion. Even the few interactions with people were generally too much for me. I'd rather be alone in the car for ten hours than deal with social situations and the sensory overload.
I'm really sorry you had a rough time Emily. I understand about the alcohol thing too. When it comes to conferences, or anywhere there are groups of people I dont know I tend to pretend to be fascinated by the programme or any other reading material I can lay my hands on and just hope someone else will initiate conversation. At least until the third glass of wine starts to take effect. I am NT but have always struggled with this stuff. For me it is an insecurity issue I think. After those three glasses of wine kick in, I then turn into an opinionated loud mouth. Trying to find the middle ground is tough.
I understand the concept of practicing the social skills. Certain situations such as conferences are difficult for me because of my hearing impairment. Crowd scenes like ballroom/ cafeteria meals and cocktail parties are really difficult for me.
The disappointed student needed to practice some social skills. The appropriate response, since as you say, a 4th year student probably couldn't be excited about an introductory text, was "oh my, my aunt, sister, nephew, might get a lot out of this book."
I've struggled with this particular social skill myself, since I am unable to say something that is not true. "I love this book." But, if you think, you can figure out something appropriate to say that's also true.
I would never have know. Seriously. Mostly because I am so self-obsessed, but also because I thought you were VERY social.
That's a hoot, and I love that you thought that. It means that my social algorithms were working. w00t! But...that whole time, I'm completely on edge, self questioning every single effort. Hard work, makes me uncomfortable. That's why alcohol used to be so useful to me...stopped all that second guessing. It was a huge pleasure to meet you.
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