Tuesday, September 20, 2011

For the briefest moment, as our party was shuttled to the special section in the back of Capone’s, I was convinced I had walked onto the set of Blade, with pounding bass shaking the walls, fancy lasers cutting through the smoky haze, and well-dressed creatures of the night who were seemingly immune to the Florida heat. Have I developed a taste for nightlife? Absolutely not. Going to a fun club is approximately as appealing as going to the nice Olive Garden, where they put the really good hair into the pasta.

But regardless of how much I don’t like clubs, I enjoyed the experience itself, and that’s something the previous me would’ve never even considered saying. That’s the key difference. There were no deep-seated revelations during either of my trips. It was more a test, a chance to put my newfound sociability through its paces, along with all the related skills I’ve been cultivating, and it was thrilling.

I’m still decompressing, so in place of coherence I have a stack of fresh memories. Dense airport traffic. A lot of Brazilian barbecue. Going to the ballroom at 5:48 in the morning, just hours before the company meeting, to deliver my presentation to a room full of empty chairs and hotel staff bustling to set up breakfast. There was a sunrise. A surprise eight-hour layover in Atlanta, courtesy of AirTran fucking the proverbial dog. A riveting talk from Aaron Ralston. A temperate evening in a museum courtyard. Katy Perry’s legs. Three Vodka Red Bulls followed by two mojitos and the capacity for more.

As tiring as these past few days have been, they’ve also been rich and full, and I feel recharged, strangely enough. Optimistic, even. There are times when I’m convinced I’ve traded in my old standby–reality–for possibility, and there’s a feeling of contentment, coupled with the hope that great things are still to come. I’m not sure who wrote this.