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The Light and Darkness in a City's Heart
So many things happened in Atlanta. One of them was very good, and one of them was one of the most dehumanizing experiences I have had as a human being. I will talk about the latter, but not today. If I were to think about it today, I would wash my hands of the entire human race and be shut of the world. Today is for the wonderful thing.
Anyone who's read this blog for more than five minutes knows that I am a Karl Urban fangirl without apology. I met him at a con five years ago, and his kindness and patience with someone who had clearly stepped into the deep end of socialization and was so terrified she couldn't talk clearly inspired me to go on further adventures. If he hadn't chosen to be kind and patient that day, if he hadn't chosen to be kind and take the time to listen, I never would've gathered the courage to go to New York or Las Vegas, or seen Rammstein live four times, or gone to four more cons. I would've stayed home and rotted and never learned to speak up. He could've blown off; his obligation to me ended with the autograph. That is, after all, what I paid for.
But he didn't, and I'm here, and when I saw that he was FINALLY coming to Dragoncon after three previous cancellation, I had a paroxysm of joy that, according to Roomie, could be heard from the yard. I wasn't sure what to expect. It had been five years, and I was sure he wouldn't remember me. What had been such a touchstone moment in my life had been Friday in his, and I'm just one of thousands of people he meets at these things.
When I met him on Saturday, the line was such a crush that it wrapped around itself, and he just had time to scribble on a glossy before I was chivvied along by his con wrangler. Quite a letdown after such a magical meeting the first time around, and coming as it did on the heels of unprecedented ugliness involving the police and a public restroom and trying to pee while disabled, I was deflated. I sullenly considered packing it in and going home, but after a good sulk and a decent meal, I got a grip and a good night's sleep and tried again on Sunday.
And he remembered me. Not at first, and not by name, but when I thanked him for his kindness and told him how it had inspired me to get out there and try, he asked when we'd met, and when I told him, his face lit up.
"Oh, yeah, I remember that! This is fantastic!"
When I thanked him again for helping me get the guts to try, he said, "No, thank you," and sent me off with my Dredd glossy.
Thank you, Karl. What happened with the Atlanta PD and a public restroom cut me to the core, but your sweetness reminded me that even in a hellscape, there are angels. It gave me the breathing room to gather myself and remember that I have worth beyond that assigned to me by others. You gave me yet another gift, and I will hang onto it as tightly as I have to to get through.
Anyone who's read this blog for more than five minutes knows that I am a Karl Urban fangirl without apology. I met him at a con five years ago, and his kindness and patience with someone who had clearly stepped into the deep end of socialization and was so terrified she couldn't talk clearly inspired me to go on further adventures. If he hadn't chosen to be kind and patient that day, if he hadn't chosen to be kind and take the time to listen, I never would've gathered the courage to go to New York or Las Vegas, or seen Rammstein live four times, or gone to four more cons. I would've stayed home and rotted and never learned to speak up. He could've blown off; his obligation to me ended with the autograph. That is, after all, what I paid for.
But he didn't, and I'm here, and when I saw that he was FINALLY coming to Dragoncon after three previous cancellation, I had a paroxysm of joy that, according to Roomie, could be heard from the yard. I wasn't sure what to expect. It had been five years, and I was sure he wouldn't remember me. What had been such a touchstone moment in my life had been Friday in his, and I'm just one of thousands of people he meets at these things.
When I met him on Saturday, the line was such a crush that it wrapped around itself, and he just had time to scribble on a glossy before I was chivvied along by his con wrangler. Quite a letdown after such a magical meeting the first time around, and coming as it did on the heels of unprecedented ugliness involving the police and a public restroom and trying to pee while disabled, I was deflated. I sullenly considered packing it in and going home, but after a good sulk and a decent meal, I got a grip and a good night's sleep and tried again on Sunday.
And he remembered me. Not at first, and not by name, but when I thanked him for his kindness and told him how it had inspired me to get out there and try, he asked when we'd met, and when I told him, his face lit up.
"Oh, yeah, I remember that! This is fantastic!"
When I thanked him again for helping me get the guts to try, he said, "No, thank you," and sent me off with my Dredd glossy.
Thank you, Karl. What happened with the Atlanta PD and a public restroom cut me to the core, but your sweetness reminded me that even in a hellscape, there are angels. It gave me the breathing room to gather myself and remember that I have worth beyond that assigned to me by others. You gave me yet another gift, and I will hang onto it as tightly as I have to to get through.