I’m writing about this, and then I’m compartmentalizing it (so I don’t drive myself crazy).
This past weekend there was a huge convention centered around my podcast’s topic. The whole thing was like a gold mine, a sitting duck, whatever analogy you want to use. Any person I sat next to could have been working in the industry my podcast focuses on, could be interested in being interviewed. Moreover, the speakers themselves were quite literally experts in the field. I thought, perhaps because I’m a college student, my small project might have a smidge of credibility, perhaps just enough to get me a low-grade interview. I was so excited at this opportunity that I’d spent seven hours the night before hand-crafting fifty beautiful promotional bookmarks. My expectations were high, and I put a lot of pressure on myself to make the most of this event. That’s when things started to go south.
Panel after panel I found myself struggling to pay attention, internally trying to force myself to build up the courage to chat with the people sitting next to me, to go up to the speaker after the event and try to “network.” What’s funny is, despite hosting an interview podcast, I’m quite an introverted person, and going up to a stranger to ask them if they’d be interested in being a part of my project scared the crap out of me. My heart pounded.
I placed so much emphasis on successfully “networking” with people that each time I inevitably failed myself, I was both crushed and furious at myself for not doing better. This convention only happens once a year! I watched the whole opportunity slip through my fingers, little by little.
Perhaps the worst part of the day rolled around at 3pm. I’d been at the convention for ~five hours, and I’d battled myself, yo-yoing from hope and expectation to disappointment and anger for all five hours. During the Q&A portion of this brilliant speaker’s event, I found myself with this beautiful pearl of a question. I thought it was very relevant and showed how interested in the author’s research I was. I worked up the courage to stand at the mic in front of maybe two-hundred people, and surprisingly was able to form a coherent question. After the speaker answered it, I returned to my seat filled with rejuvenated hope, certain I’d made an impression. I felt there was a real possibility she might actually consider being a guest on the podcast. Yet, here the pressure began to mount. After the event, at the speaker’s book-signing, it was my turn for her to sign my copy. This was my chance to ask her! My heart hammered in my chest and my face grew very hot. Immediately upon opening my mouth I found myself avoiding the topic. As I internally yelled at myself for letting my precious few minutes in front of the signing table slip away, I forced myself to abruptly cut off my rambling, awkwardly introducing my podcast. Immediately after I began speaking about it, I was belittling my podcast, then I began getting mentally upset at myself for this belittling, overall becoming very flustered. I drove myself to near tears and basically spat out my shpiel and ran away. The speaker’s response was a kind one, but because I couldn’t maintain a stoic professionalism, I knew I’d ruined my good first impression. I knew I blew my one chance. I think out of pity she offered to hand out my promotional bookmarks (I hadn’t had the courage to do it myself). Afterwards, I beat myself up about how badly I’d messed up. I’d worked myself up for the entire day for this moment and somehow I messed up. Dejectedly sitting against a wall somewhere in the convention center, I realized. although I can try my best to “take advantage of every opportunity,” that doesn’t mean every opportunity will go well.
After all of this, the cherry on top? I received an Instagram DM from that horrible day, which I only saw yesterday, telling me that they weren’t allowed to pass out the bookmarks I’d made because they weren’t commercial. The woman who worked the festival told me she’d left them at station ten for safe pick-up. Unfortunately, I didn’t see the message in time, and the fifty bookmarks I’d spent seven hours crafting are most likely sitting in the bottom of the trash somewhere. It’s the bookmarks which feel like the last straw. The bookmark anecdote makes all the emotions of that day bubble up again.
At the end the end of the day, the only consolation is that I’m proud I went up to the speaker and spoke to her, despite all the anxiety I was feeling about it. I have to accept that although much of the day was wasted, the day as a whole wasn’t a complete waste, if only because I tried.