Countess Luann reminds us all to lean into our experiences.
I originally posted this on LinkedIn right after it happened about a year ago and made the mistake of tagging the conference and founder involved. It didn't dawn on me until after I got zero response that I was violating a social code-- while cannabis is obviously a booming industry, it's also still federally illegal, and I learned by my own embarrassment that these types of events operate on plausible deniability, the first rule of Fight Club etc etc. So I ended up taking this down.
But I'm reposting it here today because I feel like my shame should have a home somewhere. I don't want it to be at the expense of the conference so I'm removing all identifying details. And if the feds are reading, none of this is true and is solely written for entertainment purposes.
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It's been over a week. I wanted to talk about my experience at the cannabis conference. But I didn't know how.
Because this is a ✨ professional networking space ✨ , I started out feeling like I needed to be super straight about recounting my time there. I did consider it a work trip. The plan was aggressive networking alongside accruing general knowledge about the industry, which is as fascinating to me as it is intimidating. And I did meet with enthusiastic, knowledgeable women who had compelling stories and advice about navigating this uncharted terrain.
The one thing I didn't anticipate was that I would-- ACCIDENTALLY-- get so high that I could not operate with any amount of normalcy.
On a 100-degree day, a cold lemonade sounds very refreshing, and so I accepted one with the blithe awareness that it was spiked. But I did not take into consideration that I am a lightweight. I'm not a big 🌿 consumer-- I've only had positive experiences but it does make me sneeze. But in this moment, I was a careless sipper, remembering only afterward that what I was enjoying was medicinal. And as I sat in on a panel, listening to sound advice about partnership and equity, my head filled with helium and attempted escape from the unkind and firm grasp of my neck. Oh no, I thought, remembering all too late that intoxication of any sort for me means reduced motor control-- it would be obvious to anyone watching that I was not in the room. I was in orbit, circling around the globe like a satellite. I was receiving transmissions. Act casual, I thought, adjusting my position to look as unhigh as I could.
As the panel finished, a woman seated in front of me turned around to smile and greet me.
"Oh my god," I blurted out, grateful for someone to confess to. "I'm sorry, but I am so high."
"You're in a safe space," she laughed.
My apology was genuine. I was behaving like an animatronic villager from a theme park water ride. I was not tipsy, slightly elevated, tickled by the merry embrace of the molecule. I was stoned. Ravenous. Confused by how my limbs worked, and curious how they were attached to my body in the first place. Moving to the next panel, I saw I'd have to ascend a small flight of stairs. Insurmountable. I took three slow, ginger steps and paused to congratulate myself. No one can tell. You look marvelous. Have a seat, you've earned it.
The panelists were sharing stories of traumatic birthing experiences and how cannabis had shaped their motherhood journeys. I listened with deep intent and sympathy, but kept getting distracted by what appeared to be a clown in the corner of my eye. I turned my head to look-- it was just a staffer in a colorful blazer entering and exiting the room. During an appropriately somber conversation, the worst possible distraction is trying to make sense of the clown hallucination happening in your periphery. You can't laugh. Not even at the situation. Laughing to yourself at the sight of random clowns as women talk about inadequate medical care. And you're still thirsty. Don't you dare take another sip of that lemonade.
Not too long after, I decided to head out. My bed is the safest place for me in that condition. I paid a lot of money to get three hours of incredible sleep.
I'm not sure what the moral of this story is. Sometimes your professionalism is compromised. It feels like this is happening more often than not for me these days. It's fine.