I started writing about my BlogHer ’11 experience with the intention of NOT chronicling my every second – like I did in a three-parter “series” of recap posts last year. But even while purposefully attempting to just feature a few highlights, I still ended up with a mess of anecdotes and links (OHMYLORD the links…) And I finally had to cut it off.

[By the way – if we had a meaningful exchange and I neglected to link to you, it was unintentional. Shoot me an e-mail and I’ll add you to the melee.]

The truth is, aside from all of the planned group dinners, impromptu gatherings and general whirlwind of fun, I did have some more serious discussions both during and after the conference.

About the conference.

What makes it so extraordinary…as well as what makes it so disappointing sometimes.

And as tempting as it is to just forget all of that now and get back to the business of daily survival, I do think it’s worth working some of that out here. For myself – and maybe also for others who have had the same thoughts.

So I’ll start with the extraordinary. I think it’s important to always start with the good – just in case, like me, you have a tendency to get sidetracked.

There were two moments at BlogHer that transcended my carefree vacation expectations. Experiences that while fun, also made me feel part of something much bigger than the activities and frivolous merry making. And they both involved just listening.

So much of that weekend was about talking. Meeting and greeting. Learning. Debating. Actively participating – taking part in an exchange of ideas.

And all of this racing around so closely mirrors the busy pace of our everyday lives and responsibilities. We all spend our days trying to achieve so much in so little time. And we don’t have many opportunities to just sit quietly and listen. Or more accurately, we have to make time for those opportunities. And we seldom do.

A blogging conference schedule offers no exception – just a different set of goals and responsibilities. After almost two days of non-stop activity, I was so happy to finally sit down at the Voices of the Year keynote. To stop talking, walking, looking around…to just stop. And listen.

And the primary reason for my enthusiasm was that a friend (one of the first friends I made through blogging) was a keynote.

I remember reading that particular post, Listen when it appeared on her blog. And while I found it beautiful the first time around, hearing it spoken aloud was a thousand more times more powerful. This piece about not judging others resonates very strongly in my life. It’s a lesson I’ve learned on a daily basis as a mother, and especially as the mother of a special needs child. I’ve found that earnestly expecting the best of people generally brings out the best in them – both in their actions and in my personal perspective.

I loved having this sentiment so close to my heart validated in such a public way.

And to hear it while sitting in a room full of thousands of people with such different backgrounds and life experiences made the subject all the more relevant. It’s so easy to judge the unfamiliar and not acknowledge the good intentions. To focus more “being honest” than being earnest. To have strong opinions about choices. Life choices – parenting choices. We all do it.

Lack of personal connection seems to make us forget about empathy and diversity. And more importantly – we forget all about benefit of the doubt.

I’ve written before about how I rarely get angry. This is usually attributed to my more subdued personality. But that’s not really it. Honestly? I think the real reason is quite simply that I believe in good intentions.

It takes a lot to enrage me. Because no matter how incensing the transgression may be, I just have to believe that the target of my ire most likely meant well enough. And that knocks the fight out of me. I’d rather give them the benefit of the doubt – assume the best – because in my experience, this is usually the case. So I try not to judge. And I also listen when given the opportunity hear the other side of the story.

To sit quietly and listen to a friend speak to a rapt audience of thousands about the value of keeping an open mind – of listening – was extraordinary.

It’s extraordinary that thousands of people would be so willing to just sit and listen to her. To forgo the parties and the freebies and the cocktails and cupcakes for two hours (okay so there were cupcakes on the table…but we didn’t know they would be served…) To put personal biases aside and just listen. And maybe even learn something. How often does this happen in your day-to-day life? I think you can guess what my answer would be.

It should come as no surprise that my favorite conference event by far took place a couple of hours later in the Listen/Letter to Your Mother salon. This event offered an open mic to anyone who wanted to take the stage. And I was blown away by how truly talented these random “takers” were. They didn’t audition – no panel of judges scored their work. They were just lucky to have their names pulled out of a bowl. Some made me laugh so hard I cried. And some had me fighting tears.

Not every single reading held personal relevance for me. But I loved the idea that everyone in that room might be worthy of attention. And even more so, the discovery that they actually were.

And isn’t that an extraordinary concept? That everyone has something important to say – to contribute – to teach. And to then give them a platform. To give them our attention for no other reason than their request to be heard.

Everyone in that room had a story to tell, a perspective to offer, and most importantly, a desire to share a piece of themselves. And the welcome given to those who did step up to the microphone was like nothing I’ve ever seen. It was like sitting around a campfire – taking turns with the proverbial peace pipe. There was a stage, but it wasn’t a production. It was spontaneous. It felt like community. Like family.

Then, as if I could feel even more included in something so special, my own slip of paper was the second to last one pulled from the bowl. I read a post about my son Oliver. And I wasn’t nervous or worried about stumbling over un-memorized lines. It didn’t matter. No one there had any expectations of me. They were just there to listen and accept whatever was said as it was offered. With the best of intentions. 

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I deleted the rest of this post when I received a comment from someone who was very hurt by it. I can’t remember the last time I’ve felt so terrible about something. No matter how good my intentions may have been, it doesn’t change the fact that I hurt people. And I will always put feelings first. Always.

Since then, I’ve had an extraordinary opportunity. Instead of doing my usual thing – avoiding the problem altogether – I faced it. I didn’t get many comments (thank god) but I approached everyone who did leave their thoughts. I apologized for offending or hurting them. Or I thanked them for seeing my good intentions. But no matter what – I owned my consequences.

And that was hard. It really hurt. It hurts to hurt other people. At least it does for me.

I don’t think I can just leave it at that as I had planned though. What I really want is to take the whole thing down – pretend it never happened. But that’s not owning it.

I also hate the fact that my original words aren’t here, so that anyone looking to see the worst in me can assume the worst. But I can’t put them back up. It’s out of the question – risking that someone else may be hurt.

So I decided to come back here and briefly explain what I was trying to say when I hit publish last week.

I had these amazing experiences above, and as I thought about them over the next week, I realized that I had missed out on what should have been an extraordinary experience. I sat through the Voices of the Year keynotes simply “enjoying the show.” I didn’t really feel like I was part of a community – and it was entirely my own fault.

Then in a similar event where the speakers were chosen at random, I really listened to what they had to say, recognized that they were handing me a piece of themselves and felt honored to be included. This is exactly what I should have done several hours earlier, but didn’t. I didn’t actively look for the extraordinary in that room of thousands. And my disappointment in the experience was my own fault.

I had a revelation about something that should have been obvious. If you want to feel like you’re part of something extraordinary, you have to actively participate. You have to be earnest in your intentions, but you also have to back them up with action. I realized that I had been passive. And I wanted to write about that.

I also did a lot of thinking about why I would behave that way – and about the excuses that I used. So I wrote about one: the idea of favoritism in judging. Just bringing this subject up is what was so incredibly hurtful to others. Because to assume such a thing is ugly and unfair. And ultimately, it’s not really true. And I wanted to write about that.

I tried to offer a different perspective of “favoritism” – one that is human, and well meaning and fair enough. This is what I said: “we will always be more deeply touched by something spoken in a familiar voice.” And I don’t think there is anything wrong with that. It’s the reason that we’re all here – making connections and listening to each other’s stories. The words of a single post can be powerful, but it’s the writer, and their story – and our history with them – that gives a those words life. And that’s a beautiful thing.

It also creates room for people to hide behind the excuse of favoritism. I used that excuse. I was the “Whiny Bitch” in my title. And I’m very ashamed and somewhat humiliated by the admission.

Unfortunately, my natural verbosity seemed to confuse the issue. Particularly since I thought I’d be SUPER helpful in coming up with a few solutions for the BlogHer judging process that could eliminate some of those easy excuses.

Well – my suggestions were kind of a waste of time, because they weren’t really relevant. I won’t go into detail, but the bottom line is that a great deal of thought was put into the judging process and the ideas I proposed have already been taken into consideration.

The other night in an e-mail, I wrote that nothing will ever be 100% objective. There will always be a different set of circumstances to dictate an outcome. But when people make well thought out decisions with good intentions, then the right decisions are made. And if you only focus on disappointment in the outcome and chose to be ungracious about it – then YOU are the one who misses out on something wonderful.

That pretty much sums up what I wanted to say. I wish I had done a better job of it.

This was hard to write and I feel nauseous just thinking about it. I’d rather not. So much easier to focus on the lovely e-mail exchange I’ve had with the person to whom I wrote my first apology. And the hand holding-heart healing phone conversation with the friend who received my last apology.

But as much as I’ve made my peace with this and know that time will do its work on the knots of guilt and remorse that still fill me, this lingering aborted post felt like a loose end. I had to come back here and rewrite it to have real closure. To let anyone who wanders over here know what happened and what I learned from it. Because “learning experience” would be an understatement.

So having had that intense learning experience, I have to ask myself – if I was given the opportunity to go back and do it all differently, would I? And the answer would be….HELL YES! In a heartbeat! Hand me the keys to THAT time machine – because I would give ANYTHING to make it all go away.

But I can’t (stupid scientists and their inability conquer the space-time continuum…) So I have to look for the positive take aways. And I can think of several.

I learned a lot about myself and the kind of person I want to be – and not be. I managed to avoid unnecessary drama. I lost five pounds (KIDDING! Though I really did). I made a new friend. And I was given yet another opportunity to see how truly wonderful and supportive my friends really are.

So wherever you may fit into that… Thank you.

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I decided to delete and close comments on this. But please feel free to e-mail me if you’d like to discuss any of it.