On Friday, I’m flying to San Jose. Then I’m driving a rental car to Mt. Hermon, California, to attend a writer’s conference. This will be my fourth year going.
Every year, I decide there is absolutely no possible way I am going. I realize that it’s a luxury that I don’t deserve, that it would be a waste of money, that I couldn’t possible spend so much money on going away from my family for so many days in a row. Also, I don’t want to make a fool of myself. That is no small matter.
The first year I decided not to spend the money and go, someone literally telephoned me a month before the conference to tell me that he owed me some money . . . the exact (substantial) amount that I needed for the conference. This phone call was a complete surprise and the money felt like a gift parachuting directly from heaven into my lap. So I went. How could I not go?
Every year since, I’ve talked myself out of going. Then my husband has convinced me I should go anyway. This year, I actually told my friend that I decided not to go. Then I had a short conversation with my husband and emailed my friend twelve hours later to say I’d be going after all.
Instead of leaving on Thursday, though, I am leaving on Friday. And instead of returning on Tuesday, I’m returning on Monday. I have chopped off the beginning and the end of the conference . . . mainly because on April 15, I am going to another conference–this one in Grand Rapids, Michigan.
I’m just a jet-setter.
So, as I prepare for this trip, I am busy and distracted and apprehensive and nervous and excited. Kind of in that order.
Meanwhile, my 7-year old daughter has been cracking me up with declarations like these:
“Oh, Shaylyn’s handwriting is gorgeous!”
“My heart just breaks when I think of people not taking care of their dogs.”
Having an articulate child who is so in touch with her feelings is such a gift to me. Also? She is already a good fashion consultant and I am alternately ashamed and amused to admit that I have taken her fashion advice on more than one occasion.
Good grief, I am distracted. And so I’m going to sleep.
p.s. I can’t stand Justin Bieber. He was on The View–and I’d seen him on other shows before–and that just reinforced how much young, very young, cocky pop stars with hair in their eyes annoy me. Of course, I am not his demographic, but I am the parent of his demographic and I will never contribute a dime to his career. (Oh, funny . . . as I am typing this, he is singing on David Letterman. I just conjured up Justin Bieber!)