photo with permission from something's hiding in here on flickr
When I was a teenager, I spent at least one week (sometimes two) of every summer at a Baptist youth camp tucked into the Arbuckle Mountains of Oklahoma. The pinnacle of each day at camp was the evening service in the open air tabernacle. What made it the high point of the day? The energy manifest by thousands of teenagers shouting Jesus cheers at each other before the service started? The experience of communal worship? The mighty-fine preaching of one Come To Jesus sermon after another?
Oh, bless it. No, my dears. It was dressing up and showing off of all of our finest. We would sweat through the muggy days in triple digit heat, allowed to wear shorts only if they skimmed the tops of our knees, and then when evening fell, we would make a post-dinner mad dash to shower and apply a full face of make-up and put on our very, very cutest outfits because It. Was. Tabernacle.
Pretty spiritual, right?
In the weeks leading up to camp week, I would deliberate carefully over my wardrobe choices, making sure to pick the perfect outfit for each evening. The strongest impression I have of the memory of those evenings is that without fail, I would get dressed up and dolled up every evening, only to discover that everyone - everyone! - looked better than me. The very best that I brought from home - it was never enough.
* * * * *
I feel like I should say something about going to BlogHer next week because not saying something might convey that I am rather blase about the whole thing. And I am not. I am the antithesis of blase. I'm practically vibrating with excitement.
From the moment I found out that I was receiving a conference ticket - amazingly, serendipitously, providentially - from Discovery Communications, I've been reading everything BlogHer in sight. I've read fashion posts and what to expect posts (the Hollywood Housewife pulled no punches on that one!) and logistics posts and just ... everything.
As I clicked from post to post, from blog to blog, from Twitter profile to Twitter profile, I sensed that Old Ugly nipping at my heels. Jealousy. Stupid, ridiculous waste of time Jealousy. Old Enemy, it is so not good to see you again.
Many years have passed since my evenings spent in the Tabernacle at camp, and I would like to think I know a little better now about what to do when Jealousy starts throwing shade. I do know now that it's not enough to cram my fingers in my ears and la-la-la-I-can't-hear-you when the Old Ugly starts snipping at me about what others have that I do not. I know now that I have look her right in the eye and tell her the truth. And the truth is that
All that I have is more than enough.
It was true when I was seventeen, but I didn't have the courage or the confidence to believe it then. But I do now.
So when a situation at BlogHer leads to Jealousy stepping in to remind me of someone else's subscriber numbers or ad campaigns or famous friends or whatever silly distraction she offers me, I will repeat my mantra: all that I have is more than enough. It is. I know that with everything within me.
Of all of the posts I've read on preparing for BlogHer, these resonated the most deeply for me:
Kludgy Mom: BlogHer '11: Get Over It
Am I A Funny Girl? : Getting Zen About BlogHer
Ramble Ramble: The Obligatory Pre-BlogHer11 Post
Little Miss Mocha: What Should You Bring to a Conference?
My only expectation of BlogHer at this point is to get to hang out with Laura until she is absolutely sick to death of me, hug some necks (or, for the more stand-off-ish, shake some hands), and escape the miserable heat here for a few days. (I nearly licked the screen when I saw this!) And that is enough. And I have enough. And I am enough.
