I’ve been back from the 100 Year Starship Symposium for almost a week now, but I’m still processing everything. Part of that is because, for the first time in two weeks, my hometown is able to take a deep breath and start cleaning up from the hellish King Fire (how aptly named it was!), and part of it is simply the amount of new ideas, information, and possibilities.

But I will write about all of that once I get my Interstellar Crisis Communications paper written and off to the editor!

I’m processing through something much less grand at the moment, partly brought on by the news of a dear and amazing person’s death. I spent last weekend surrounded by some of the smartest people I’ve ever met, people with advanced degrees and extensive experience in their chosen fields.

I was absolutely terrified that I was so far out of my league that I’d get laughed out of the room if I opened my mouth. And they had me presenting! Every shred of imposter’s complex I’ve EVER had came zooming out of the basement.

I couldn’t have been more off-base. The conversations were amazing, the ideas were stimulating, and I learned so much! And I still can’t figure out why anyone listened to me for two seconds.

Except that, intellectually, I know that it’s not just something I deal with. Successful, influential people struggle with it, too. As, er, I would know, given that I, at some point, because a successful, influential person (trust me, no one is more surprised than I am!). Sure, my pond is small, for now, but I have to consider my words now, weigh them against the listeners to make sure that I am building up, not tearing down. And saying that is hard, because I’m sure that someone will immediately point and laugh, or call me on my arrogance.

But I do wish someone had told me a few things…

I wish someone had told me that there’s no magic toggle that flips from ‘child’ to ‘adult’, no potion I could drink that would burn away my fear and uncertainty, leaving me sure and infallible.

I wish someone had told me that everyone is making it up as they go, yes, even that amazingly competent, intelligent, awesome person I worship from afar.

I wish someone had told me that the switch doesn’t matter, because nobody gets it, that my heroes and idols are every bit as alone and afraid and unsure as I am, that strength comes from admitting fear and joining with others to provide refuge, strength, and affirmation; or from steeling my spine and staring into the oncoming storm, and bellowing my solitary resolve.

I wish someone had told me that it doesn’t get better. Fear and pain don’t just vanish. People don’t magically become saints. The danger from my fellow humans is still every bit as great, and with age comes an uncomfortable understanding of evil.

I wish someone had told me that I would make it better, that the secret power of growing up is the ability to take my strength in my own hands and shape it into the weapon I need. No one will make anything better, but I can create the tools I need to survive.

I wish someone had told me that fear can be turned against itself, that it could be my greatest weapon, the thing that drives me when I don’t have anything else left.

I wish someone had told me that the secret joy of being an adult is the endless opportunity for discovery. The only reason for my life to become a grey monotony is if I forget to discover. And, as an adult, I get to choose what I learn, where I explore, and who I learn from. All the joy of childhood, and the wisdom to choose and appreciate.

I wish someone had told me that the dragon and knight and princess are all the same creature, and that I would be each of those things to someone, someday, and that it is okay to be the dragon, even if very few other people understand its real role.

I wish someone had told me that it’s okay to be selfish, to think about myself, what will make me happy or sad, what will be good for me. It’s okay to make choices that hurt others, as long as there is reason and care. It’s okay to do silly little things for myself–get fast food for dinner, burn candles at my desk during the day, watch stupid movies just because I want to, turn down social activities or party the night away.

I wish someone had told me…and I’m glad that they didn’t. No one could have told me what opportunities I’d have, or the choices I’d make for those opportunities to even come into view. No one could have told me how terrible and wonderful my life would be, how often I would sit back and just laugh and laugh at the things life brings.

I wish someone had told me, but I’m glad that they didn’t. It would have spoilt all the joy of discovery.

What do you wish someone had told you?

Well, the Hugo results are making me so happy. A wonderfully diverse, gorgeous slate of recipients (though we of the Nebulas can still claim to be trend-setters, yes?), and I’m not even sorry to say that seeing VD BELOW ‘no award’ doesn’t make me the least bit sad. (Fun fact: I brought up some of the stuff I had to do in that fucking situation at one of the workshops this weekend, and actually choked up. Some of the things I had to read will probably never stop being just a little too raw.)

And, SFSignal got a Hugo! Again! I don’t get to claim much credit there, but as an official Irregular, it was such an amazing thing to find out today. Looking forward to next month’s superstar Social Science Fiction podcast even more now!

Overall, winding down on Gen Con, I’ve got…a lot to process. I’ll be going to Colorado for the funeral in two weeks, three days before Dragon Con, so I have to make some hard choices about what I can legitimately handle, especially in light of some of the other professional stuff I have going on right now. So many great opportunities that I need to devote time and attention to, so I’ve got to get a lot of things wrapped or at least leashed.

Personally, this show has been incredible. I’ve had a little too much experience dealing with staying on top of fresh grief during a professional event, lately–a year ago, I found out about Greyson’s death only a few short weeks before the Nebula/BEA/Purgatory/Origins/Portland/Purgatory/Gen Con/Dragon Con 3-month whirlwind tour. Then, I didn’t have the option. I had to keep other people together, and I had to stay competent professionally, so I don’t think I ever really grieved. Months later, I was still being blind-sided by it. My best friend also lost two people very close to her at this time, so it was easier to shove it all down and be supportive of her.

I had support, but because I was so busy, it wasn’t really something I was able to process well.

This weekend, *everyone* reached out. Tracy Barnett made me tear up with a reminder that I need to be kinder to myself. The hugs were plentiful, alcohol and love and cuddles and consideration were offered but not pressed. The network of people quietly making their presence and care known was powerfully humbling. It was *hard*, but I made it through this weekend without losing it once.

I talk a lot about the family you choose, but the reminder of just how amazing my chosen family is was so wonderful.

Outside of the personal, there are a lot of *really* exciting things being talked about, a lot of proposals and schedules, and timelines, and plans that I have to write. I’m moving back to more fiction and editing, and as burned out as I’ve been, it’s amazing to feel the rush of energy again. The last three years have been unrelenting in their blows, and I’ve nearly done foolish things any number of times, but looking at the amazing things I have to do now…this industry isn’t going to get rid of me that easily.

The workshops were so much fun, but now it’s time to take those experiments and do something *really* stupid: suggest an expansion. (You know me, no matter how carefully I plan, it WILL end up in my lap.)

And yes, there was plenty of bad, too, but it’s late, and I’m supposed to be up in a few hours for breakfast with wonderful people and a flight back to Charlotte, so, that is a subject for another day.