I feel as though it would have done me some good to have met actual colleagues. It’s true to say I’m disappointed; the weather is fair and fine, the city happy and hopeful after the jubilee weekend - it would have been a pleasant journey, and an even nicer walk back from King’s Cross to Paddington later this evening. But it’s not for me to be there this time. I’ve emailed to let them know.
There’s definitely a difference between fear-of-missing-out, and fear-of-being-absent, I think. What I’m actually missing out on is several long talks in a stuffy room. Then there’s a lunch, and a drinks reception - none of which I would particularly come alive at. I am still an introvert, after all, clinging to the wall and itching to go home early. I’m not missing any of that.
But I do think there’s a fear of not being there, a sort of need to be present, regardless of whether I’d personally benefit from the event. You could call it a need to be ‘seen’ - though I wouldn’t want you to imagine I’m desperate for the limelight everywhere I go like some sort of Hollywood starlet. That’s not what I mean.
Sometimes just being a face in a room is needed, the ancient art of showing up. I’m still here, I still work for you, I made an effort to get here, when you think back you’ll remember I was there. I mattered. And that mattered to me.
I’ve also got hay fever back today. Usual drill - stuffed up nose and occasional sneezing.
Ah well. I shall be at home, uninterrupted and ploughing through all the difficult work I need to concentrate on, gazing out on another beautiful summer day. Some days you just have to make the most of whatever you’ve got.
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