I'm feeling nervous

I'm feeling nervous. And that's weird.

I’m heading off to a business retreat. Alone.

It’s called Do Lectures - an incredible gathering of thinkers, doers, creators and change-makers, all tucked away on a farm in Wales. The kind of event that has inspired some of the world’s most interesting people. The kind of event that, on paper, feels like a perfect match for me.

BUT….I’m nervous. There’s been a tonne of logistics to figure out in advance - kids, camps, travel plans, bookings…and although that has been stressful, I don’t think that’s it. I think it’s deeper.

Why? I go to things all the time. I speak at events. I’ve hosted retreats. I love new people. I love ideas. So what is this?

Truthfully, I think it’s because I’m not bringing a role with me.

I’m not arriving as a keynote speaker or workshop host. I’m not attending with a friend. I’m not representing a client. I’m technically not working.

I’m just showing up. As me. Jennie. And that feels really, really exposing. I have no pitch and no agenda. No business cards. No angle.

It’s me, my thoughts, my ancient pink suitcase and a few days on a Welsh farm with 100 strangers. Many of whom are brilliant, accomplished and intimidating in that effortless way people can be when you’re not sure where you fit in the mix.

I think that’s what the nerves are.

Not fear of the event itself, but fear of the vulnerability that comes with just… being.
Being there without proving anything. Not there to pitch, to ask, to secure, to access - just being there, being me. And this is exactly why I should go.

Not to be brave or to “network.” Not to force some big breakthrough or a-ha moment.
But to sit in the discomfort of showing up - not as a brand, or a business, or a job title - but as the person underneath it all. Just me - Jennie. I was talking to a friend about it last week and I was saying that I was hoping to get clarity, to get the breakthrough, to have that defining moment from which the rest of my career would pivot…and she ripped that all apart. She told me I should just go to enjoy it. To experience it.

Because when you’ve built a career on knowing what to say, when to speak, how to hold space, and how to wear 17 different hats in one week… it’s strangely terrifying to walk into a room with none of them on.

And maybe that’s the real edge. Maybe that’s the growth. Not learning something new (although obviously I will learn). But unlearning the need to prove anything at all.

I think it’s ok. I chose this, I wanted this, I applied for this and I think it’s ok that I feel nervous. Nerves don’t mean it’s wrong. It means I care. It means I’m stretching into something that doesn’t have a neat title or an agenda. And that, in itself, is brave.

I'll report back from the farm.
Probably with grass stains and big feelings.
I’m expecting tears. Great food, Random conversations. Maybe some insight. Maybe not. And that’s ok.
Wish me luck. I’ll need it.