Introversion at conferences

I used to spend a fair amount of my life at conferences. Back when I was regularly asked to speak or, more often, lead breakout sessions, I would be at maybe ten of these things a year.

But then I quit speaking about faith and homelessness and I moved to a new city and then COVID happened and suddenly it had been five years since I had been to much of anything like the conference I am at this week, put on by my denomination, Mennonite Church USA.

I don’t know how many people are here – they come and go, and other than the plenary sessions, you never see everyone at once, but maybe a few thousand?

Over the years, I adopted a series of practices to keep me sane at events like this. Mostly they were adopted in self defense, and were not planned. But this week I realized now they are muscle memory.

  • Most things like this love to offer communal meals, where you are expected to sit next to absolute strangers. I will only do one of those during the conference. If I need to eat, I try to latch onto someone I know, so at least the energy expenditure is low.
  • I always stay at the conference hotel, if it’s at all feasible. Being able to hide in your hotel room when you have 20 minutes of downtime is priceless.
  • I try to schedule one on one meals with people I want to talk to, or catch up with. It takes much less energy to have a one on one coffee or meal than it does to chat with a bunch of folks.
  • Grab snacks like individual yogurts, those water bottle juice powders, and some trail mix, and keep them in your room for when you need topping up. This also gives you an excuse to go back your room.
  • I accept I won’t go to everything I could. I have no FOMO.
  • I run on my home time zone – now Central Time. I’m currently in Eastern Time, but I’m waking up and going to bed based on CST. If the trip is less than a week, I just refuse to adjust.
  • Take advantage of serendipity. Tonight, my supper meeting cancelled, so I skipped the evening session and went to CookOut and had a strawberry milkshake and a chilidog for supper. Only God can judge me.

Mennonite on the move.

I’m in Greensboro, NC for the rest of the week for the bi-annual Mennonite Church USA convention, and I always feel a bit weird at things like this. I love my denomination, and I love what they stand for at their best. But it’s also always a bit surreal.

There are only three MC USA churches in my state. Our conference, the Gulf States Conference, is the smallest. It’s a pretty lonely place to be Mennonite, to tell you the truth. In the US, Mennonites are found in quantity in the Midwest and Northeast. And there are relatively none in the Southeast, especially the deep south. And I’m unapologetically Queer-affirming and am a Christian Humanist, and honestly, the denomination hasn’t always known what to do with somebody like me. 

And I’m an introvert, and in general, I don’t think introverts go to conferences and conventions.

But here I am. My role as pastor at Open Door Mennonite Church doesn’t require me to go, but it’s good if I can. So yesterday I drove 11 and a half hours to get here, and arrived around 7 last night. After checking in, I went to the exhibit hall and ran into a dozen or more folks I know from around the country, and a few more who only know me from social media. 

So today I shall fortify myself with coffee and sit in sessions and put my extrovert face on and hang out with my folks. And then tomorrow, get up and do it again.