I’m reminded that being sociable is an effort for me. So every person who asks me “what do you do and why? are you a blogger? what books do you read” takes a parcel of my energy with them. Plus, protocol says I have to ask the same of them, even though I don’t especially care.
I sound cranky. I’m not, not really. All I can think about is when I might be able to steal away to get my feet and running gait analyzed at the Asics flagship store.
I’m not here as a blogger (and telling book bloggers that my blog is primarily about my struggle with recovering from a narcissistic mother goes over like a lead balloon) and I’m not here as an author. I’m here as a publisher who is feeling disenchanted with the industry.
I am a reluctant networker at best, so when one of the first people to chat me up this morning pronounced, “This is not really about the sessions, it’s about the networking you do outside the conference sessions,” I felt my stomach turn over. Most of the time I can rally and try to act like a normal human being, but today I’m just not feeling it. Which begs the question:
What the hell am I doing here?
I think I’m suffering a touch of imposter’s syndrome. It’s quite silly of me to be in the middle of NYC and just want people to leave me alone.