The Silken Tent
      My Letter to the World
      October 2000
      (This is "JournalCon -- Being Home," Part 5 of my JournalCon saga. If for some reason this is the first page of The Silken Tent you've ever seen, you might want to start with JournalCon--Anticipation.) 

      October 10, 2000
      Tuesday

       
       

      One problem that I have with productivity is that I need long transitions between activities. When I was a teacher I had four minutes between classes. My two non-teaching periods (one of which was a study hall where I had supervisory duties) often evaporated, forty-five minutes shrinking to barely thirty as I tried to process what had been and regroup for what was to come.

      I spent most of yesterday feeling as if I'd gotten back from Europe. I sulked some, took two naps, managed at least to unpack and put away my suitcase. I reviewed the notes I'd made for these pieces and began the writing. And I brooded, which is not uncharacteristic of me.

      I wish I didn't pay so much attention to what others think of me. I wish I didn't constantly check how I am "coming across." I wish I didn't worry about fitting in, being understood. I've matured to the point where I no longer (or at least not very often) do something just for the sake of others' approval, and never now if it goes against my ethics. But although I speak with my own voice, I remain concerned about the way that voice is being heard. I think this is at the root of the "stranger in a strange land" theme that runs through so much of my writing.

      People have been putting up their takes on the weekend. Oh my, we are self-referential and self-involved, and I really have stopped apologizing for that. But I would be lying if I said I didn't read others' JournalCon reports without first scanning them to see if I'm mentioned and what has been said.

      My favorite will always be Terry's. Terry is a young man who says he's been journaling on-line for nine years, but no one in the "community" had ever heard of him. He came with Stephen, whose journaling script at Diary-X has a fiercely devoted following. Both of them were interesting and entertaining to talk to and were part of the group I spent most of Saturday night with. (Stephen doesn't like Chinese food, so he stopped at McDonald's on our way to the Chinese restaurant and brought along his snack. But he was so nice about it, so discreet.)

      Terry wrote of me:  "Do you remember your favourite english teacher? The one who was a little eccentric, unbelievably nice, and treated your immature 13yr-old obnoxious ass like you were an adult? Remember how much you wish your mother was more like her? Well, she was reading first."

      Thanks Terry. And thanks to everyone else -- to Ryan for inviting me to speak and thus pumping up my resume, to John for treating me like an equal, to Lynda for accepting the gift of my daughter's Peter Rabbit lamp for her soon-to-arrive grandchild, to those who listened and applauded and wrote notes afterward, to the other presenters and session leaders and organizers who made this such a success, and to my readers, who have now endured five essays about an event they weren't invited to.

      On to JournalCon 2001, wherever it is, and back to business as usual here.
       
       


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      Margaret DeAngelis.

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