The room is slowly filling up with attendees, organisers and volunteers are moving around to check that everything is where it is supposed to be. I recognise some faces, I spot a couple of speakers. I keep looking around eagerly as if I wanted to take it all in right here right now. This is not my first Clojure conference, and I do hope it will not be the last, but as I sit I feel the same rush of emotions I have only felt once before, back in 2019. It was Heart of Clojure then. It is Heart of Clojure now.
“What does it mean to be here?”
This is a question I would end up asking myself over and over again while in Leuven. While I am back home writing this, I am not sure I have found an answer just yet, so I want to go over the last few days to see if I finally have a reply to that question.
But first, a caveat. If you are looking for a review of the conference or a report on its program, this is not it. I am sure plenty of useful feedback is already popping up around the web and many more will come out along with pictures, videos, and what have you. This writing, however, will mostly be about me and what Heart of Clojure meant to me.
With that out of the way, let’s dig in.
Heart of Clojure was bigger and stronger this time. There were two locations where talks, sessions, workshops and all sort of activities took place. But the conference was bigger and stronger in another, more intimate sense too. The first edition had already been the people’s conference. This time it was as if the organisers had wished not only to up the ante, but to make sure that everyone followed suit. And using two locations for the event had much to do with this.
Since there was always something going on, people were kindly asked to move freely from one place to another. In the rare occasion when nothing was happening, that nothing was just an illusion. Within the locations, in the halls while waiting for the next talk, outside on a bench for a break, or in the street walking to another session, people were literally everywhere, and anywhere a nice chat might start. Even an introverted such as myself could not resist this welcoming energy.
On the other hand, I also avoided many nice occasions to meet a new person or enjoy a friendly conversation. Too shy? Maybe. Too overwhelmed? Indeed. It is not easy for me to take in everything and everyone all at once, my body and my mind simply refuse to comply, I get awkwardly silent and I do not like to be around people when I feel this way. So I needed my breaks, I needed my walks alone around Leuven with my music.1 I do not know if the organisers had planned for this kind of attendee, but to me it looked like they did. I had time both for myself and the conference, my walks and the people. I realise now that a conference such as this might not be for everyone, especially for the ones who usually like to pile up as many talks as possible, but that is not me. And I am glad Heart of Clojure somehow took care of me.
“What’s your take away from the conference?”
I was asked this question yesterday, on my last day in Leuven and the day after Heart of Clojure had ended. I did not have to think too much to answer. Lu Wilson put it nicely in their outstanding keynote, but they did deliver it directly to me with even more power in a short2 conversation one evening. When I write, whatever I write, I have to be comfortable with sharing sides of me, otherwise simply feel OK not doing so. Balancing tiger with rhythm of tortoise, as Angie McMahon sings.
This self-reflexive state of mind became a constant throughout the whole Heart of Clojure not long after the two opening keynotes had ended. My position in the field was shaken multiple times as I was listening to Lu Wilson and Anna Colom. Am I doing the right thing? Am I not questioning enough the work I do? Am I not open enough, aware enough, serious enough? Am I putting my effort and my rather basic set of skills where they should belong? Miranda Kastemaa (a.k.a. pulu)’s live set felt like the much needed relief.
“What does it mean to be here?”
Back to the original question. I sense no single, unequivocal answer to it. Heart of Clojure made me connect with beautiful people, made me conscious of my limited space and time, filled me with smiles and doubts, words and code, prose and poetry. More than once people said that this conference had contributed to pivotal changes in their lives. What if just by setting my foot in Leuven in the past few days something has been set into motion?