If you read my tweets, Facebook updates, or blog posts this week, you know one thing about me: I was one of the Houston bloggers invited to experience the family vacation spot, Great Wolf Lodge.
I tweeted my excitement; answered questions on Facebook — one would have thought I was the ultimate, excited, first time “net-worker” off on a mom blogger adventure.
And, I was — till we arrived in Grapevine. Then, the “real” Rachel stepped out of the car, and all of my visions of networking, meeting popular bloggers, and sharing my site vanished.
My normal, everyday shy self was in place, and I as anxious and introverted as my first day of my new high school . . .way back in 9th grade when I was gawky, awkward, and had a frizzy, short hair-cut that rivaled Ronald McDonald.
That night, after we had checked in and the water-park had been thoroughly explored, my stomach began churning. The next morning, less than 10 hours away, I would meet people — real bloggers. The kind of bloggers who have a purpose, a domain name, and confidence. The kind of bloggers who don’t let pregnancy or illness get in the way of their work, their writing. The kind of bloggers that, when they tweet, twitterers listen. . . and respond.
In my mind, they were the opposite of me and my little, naive blog.
Breakfast came. Katherine and Katie eagerly and graciously welcomed me as I herded the Little Lady to the table. I did my best to feign my own brand of confidence, plastering a big smile on my face, while introducing my little family.
Through out the hour that followed, I tried to convince myself to join in the conversation that was taking place between the Great Wolf Lodge PR rep, Katie, Katherine, and “Mr. Lady.” Instead, I couldn’t do anything but fuss over my kids — wiping facing & hands, scooting glasses of milk and juice away from the table’s edge.
Oh, and I took pictures of my fancy yogurt — “just cause.”
It wasn’t until AFTER the breakfast, when half of the group had left to jump into the wave pool and the other half was starting to think about joining that fun, that I learned something.
These ladies, despite popularity, book deals, or speaking engagements, were absolutely no different than me.
They talked about stinky boys and their stinky rooms (and other such mom stuff). They gushed over Mr. Boy and all the cuteness that can be found in his globe-like cheeks. They were girls — laughing, chatting, sharing war stories from the trenches of motherhood.
They. Were. Normal. Definitely not the hyped up, blog-goddesses I had imagined . . . women who would disdainfully look down their noses at the silly little blogger who showed up at their morning feast. No, they were certainly NOT those women.
But, because of my ridiculous introverted self, all I could do was smile, shake hands, talk a little (but mostly listen) . . .and take one picture of them. One bad, bad picture. Hands raised in story-telling — eyes closed. Half-profile faces barely making the frame.
That’s the picture I have to remind me how silly it is to hang back — to let one’s self be intimidated (whether by real or imagined reasons). I could have joined in the fun of the morning, but, instead I chose to be awkward.
And take pictures of yogurt (and it wasn’t even a yogurt flavor that I enjoyed).
Never again. Next time — I’ll suck up my fear and be the first one to offer my hand and say “Hi.”
