The Perfection of Imperfect.
It can be overwhelming here. BlogHer can cripple those with a great self esteem. There are so many women, so many pitches, so many places to feel left out and alone in a sea of thousands. There are women with the right outfit, the tight ass, the amazing cleavage. There are people who print the highest quality business cards, carry their elevator pitch ready at a moment, who say all the right things.
Then there’s us.
To me Lotus is my BlogHer 11. We wear comfortable clothing and flip flops. We walk around with armpit sweat and unwashed hair. We don’t wear a pedicure. We don’t have the fancy business cards or elevator pitches and it we don’t even possibly pretend. We come as we are: raw, creative, expressive.
I’m blessed in the way I believe a rare few people can experience, but those who understand are gathered together a handful of times a year. I am blessed in the way of extended family, spanning continents and timezones; cultures and languages; politics and religion. I am blessed in glitter and laughs, in comfortable silence, in shared creative expression.
The whirlwind of hugs and greetings and recognition awakens a hibernating joy. There’s a piece of happiness that bubbles from something hidden, something quietly waiting those who know the secret to unlock.
I see myself suddenly as they see me; as I see them. We encourage one another to achieve that absolute most that is possible within ourselves. They know the words, eloquent at time, sarcastically hilarious at others, that push me to heights. They understand a part of me that is vulnerable but confident. They connect with me more deeply because they understand. They get the striving, the seeking, the drive because they strive, seek, and jump. We share this together and I know together we are even more amazing than we are alone. Together we achieve the impossible, we jump even further, we fly even higher. I see myself being all they see, all they are, all they help me become.
The night ends late and the morning comes too early. The plane arrives to carry me home, a false mechanical high. I am flying on my own possibility, of all the potential these people inspire in me, and I know a love different than hollywood romance but equal in passion: I love this community, of what they bring out in me, of who they make me be, and where we can go together. For that I am forever grateful. This month marks 8 years of blogging. It’s no longer a hobby, it’s my family. And I am in love with them.