AWP (Or Not) 2024

All across the country, writers are headed to the middle of the country, to the AWP convention in Kansas City.  I will not be going for a variety of reasons.  I'm grateful that I'm not going for a variety of reasons: I'm glad I'm not spending the money, but chiefly, I'm grateful because I'm not being exposed to all the diseases that are running rampant.  Between the airline travel and the packed conference rooms and all the people who will attend even if they are sick (and when they think they aren't contagious yet/still), I'm glad to be staying home.

Yet even as I write those words, I feel a bit of a pang.  It would be so wonderful to hear Jericho Brown give the keynote address.  Some of those sessions would be inspiring.  I've given up on making connections that might open literary doors, but some part of me still wishes it could happen, and it's not likely to happen while I'm sitting in my house in North Carolina.

Part of me wonders what literary doors I'd like to have open and what I think would happen if they did.  For decades, I had the hope of a better academic job or maybe some other form and fame/fortune.  I thought about something that might turn into something I could turn into a lecture circuit.  But now, the thought of all that airline travel makes me very, very tired.

And here's what's strangest to me:  I am fairly satisfied with the life I have right now.  One reason I went to AWP in the past was because it was a way to get away from the crushing drudgery of my regular job, and I could do it without having to spend precious vacation days.  That opportunity was worth the expense to me.

These days, I'd rather be here than just about anywhere.  I am not used to this feeling.  And I hope I never take this feeling for granted.