never too much of a good thing

Some of ye may remember that I presented a paper at a conference last August in Rotterdam. The conference also included a mentoring program: you sign up, and some group of people somewhere matches you with someone who presumably shares your interests. Now, those of ye who know me know that I am a total sucker for this kind of shit. What the hell have I got to lose? The worst thing that could happen is I waste a little time and anxiety talking to someone with whom I don't connect and from whom I don't think I can learn anything. But I'm optimistic, and I like to stretch my little tendencies toward extroversion in structured circumstances from time to time.

The powers that were assigned me Mr Bacon as a mentor for the purposes of this exercise. Actually, cruelly-humored Fate had a hand in this assignment, because Mr Bacon is the editor of a journal that sort-of-rejected an essay of mine in a very weird and difficult-to-interpret way. Mr Bacon was very nice about the whole thing. We met up at on the little mentor-mentee evening at a bar the organization in charge of the event had booked. He bought me a couple of beers and we talked shop. We did talk about my essay, but obliquely and only towards the latter end of the beers, thank god.

So that was fine. Mr Bacon isn't in my field, and while it was lovely to chat with him, I expected that the next time we'd communicate would be several years down the road when maybe-maybe I had I something that might float in the journal he edits.

Well, son of a bitch, Mr Bacon sent me an email yesterday saying that he's putting together a panel and wants to know if I'd like to participate (assuming I have something relevant).

Shit. Shit, shit, shit.

I know, I know: you're thinking, What the hell's wrong with you, Betswana? What a nice opportunity. This is true--I got to spend yesterday morning hyperventilating--except that: 1) I know at least one of my committee members thinks I need to get off the conference circuit and write my dissertation already; 2) This is not a grad student panel, it includes a couple of hot names whose work I know, and therefore the fear of making an ass of myself is acute; 3) I'm not entirely sure I have anything relevant.

But I couldn't just let the message sit there whilst I hid under my bed and focused on biting my fingernails. So I sent an email thanking him and letting him know what I can see myself putting together that I think is at least somewhat related to what he's doing. Part of me wants a nod; part of me wants him to say thanks maybe some other time so I can relax. I feel so juvenile. Maybe it's because I've been mainlining Buffy the Vampire Slayer episodes again, but why has no one bothered to tell me that academic networking feels like high school?