ONE DEEP BREATH
-- Grasshopper



One deep breath.
In through nose.
Out the mouth.
Just like Miyagi Sensei taught my generation all those decades ago.

I felt like I could already hear the roar of the crowd from the other side of the doors.  Like I could already feel the energy bottled up inside the hall.  It was, of course, just my imagination, but my heart raced as if it were real.

These people... 
"My people..." I murmured to myself.  I found myself smiling despite my trepidation.

I looked to my right where the darkly tinted glass of the closed door showed a reflection of a middle-aged professional in a plain white dress shirt... business casual attire we called it.  Hardly the sort most would expect to see in this kind of environment.  I supposed I could have made myself look more like the stereotype.  After all, those on the outside made all sorts of assumptions about them... about us, that is.  I know I did before I knew better.

We're antisocial.  
That one is easily disproved by the very fact that this place exists for us.

We're all computer geeks.  
While there are quite a lot of us that live and breathe the bits and bytes of the cyberworld, there are plenty of others that specialize in non-cyber-related fields.  These hackers are just as welcome and just as essential to the community.

We're all young men.
That one was almost the most laughable.  This community has more diversity than... well, than anything or anywhere else.  

"Whoops," I chuckled.  "There's a dollar for the bad word jar."  
Work would have written me up for the use of the word 'diversity', but this wasn't work and work refused to send me here despite the clear and impactful benefits we tried to justify.  Work believed this type of place wasn’t meant for the upstanding citizen type.

And that was probably the last and worst stereotype of it all.  
We're criminals.  
We're here to learn to be anarchists and rabble-rousers and revolutionaries.
I laughed out loud at that one and suddenly flushed, embarrassed even though I knew no one could hear me.  

If only they knew.
If only they trusted.
If only they understood.

Well, I took it upon myself to teach them.  
To encourage trust in the people of this community.  
To engender understanding of the powerful impact this place could have on their people and their mission.

I looked over at my reflection again and smiled at the near perfection of it.  Not at the subject of the image, as that was as far from perfect as could be, but at the fact that the reflection existed at all.  
I raised a hand and traced it along the glass, feeling none of the cool surface but still marveling at the thought to include this level of detail.

I thought again of changing my look.  
Of finding something that more matched the stereotype of the folks on the other side of the door.  
Of finding something that might make me less... me.

But that was the greatest thing about this place.  I was accepted, celebrated even, for being me.  Conformity was the road we all avoided.  
Down that path lies the diminishment of personal potential and societal progress.  
Down that path lies the loss of identity.
Down that path lies the acceptance of the unacceptable.  

My phone buzzed and I tore my eyes away from my reflection to glance at the notification.

"Are you here yet?  Can't wait to see how it works!  Running over to BTV for a pickup."  From Red.

Red Velvet, known for their love of the baked good that was their namesake.  I smiled as I sent back a quick note affirming my eventual arrival.  
Then I took another deep breath.

In through nose.
Out the mouth.

In the real world, I might have stepped forward.  One foot in front of the other.
In the real world, I might have been right there by Red's side, running from one table to another and putting my hands on everything I could.
In the real world, I might have met up with some of the closest friends I’d not yet actually met in person and bought them drinks at the hotel bar in gratitude for saving me all those years ago.  For saving me still.

In the real world...

Truth was, in the real world, I could do none of those things.

I could not attend DEF CON in the real world.  Even though this was the community that had given me a new life, I could do nothing to be there physically to celebrate that community in person.
In the real world, I slid my hands along my pant legs and the skin on the back of my neck prickled as it tried to rectify the sensation I felt on my palms with what my brain expected my legs to feel but did not.

Forever numb.
Forever paralyzed.
Forever a reminder of the helicopter crash that took my legs and my love of flying from me.  
Forever a reminder of the friends... the family that I lost that day and in the days since.

Pilot error, they had declared.  
With that simple statement, they had utterly tarnished the name of one of the best and most trustworthy pilots I had ever known.  
A pilot that never recovered from the emotional trauma and eventually believed the lie to be the truth.  
A pilot that took their life before we realized that help was needed.

The story takes a strange turn there.  One that won't be fully detailed here and now.
The powers that be dictated a limit to our tale and that one takes us down a different path. 
Suffice to say that this community...
MY community… though I didn’t know them then like I do now.  They didn’t know me either, but still they rallied.
They rallied when a call was sent out.  
They rallied when the truth was begging to be uncovered.
They rallied when a soulless corporation tried to hide the critical flaws in their system.
They rallied when I was lost in the dark without direction and without hope.
They rallied when my life needed saving.

These were the people that had extended a hand to me when I needed it most.  
These were the people that gave me a purpose once again.  A mission to see that critical systems were thoroughly and independently tested.  
These were the people that taught me how to become a part of their world to ensure no one else had to suffer because someone wanted to release a faulty system just to make a quick buck.
These were the people that taught me that our two worlds could actually coexist.  That being a hacker did not mean I couldn’t continue serving my country.  They taught me that, if anything, it meant I could serve it better.

Still, because of that crash I could no longer fly.  Even though I knew, logically, that such a thing was statistically safe and that flying to attend DEF CON in person was the most sensible thing I could do, I still could not do it.  Driving was out as well.  Too long in any vehicle triggered panic attacks that didn’t bode well for highway travel.
Even if I could work through my aviophobia and amaxophobia, there was also the matter of getting around in the crazy busy convention center in a wheelchair.  
Sure, these hotels and event halls are all compliant with the ADA, but it's still a difficult thing psychologically and emotionally to reveal this truth about myself to others.  In the virtual world, I could be anyone or anything.  
Red once showed up to a virtual meet looking like a peanut butter and jelly sandwich after an unfortunate glitch had prevented them from switching back after recording a silly video for their toddler.  
All that to say that although my online friends knew much about me, there was still a lot I kept to myself, and my wheelchair use was one of those things.

Another buzz.  Another notification.  This one from Crawdaddy sent out to our entire group.
"Rally at the AppSec Village!  CTF is ours this year!"

Another smile.
Another worry over my avatar's look.
Another deep breath.

In through nose.
A series of light taps on the keyboard.

Out the mouth.
My avatar flickered once and then moved through the doors to the virtual DEF CON event hall, an evolution of the digital commons of old.

I already knew the layout.  I studied it for years in hopes I could eventually overcome my demons and attend.  I weaved my way effortlessly through other virtual attendees as well as the digitized versions of actual in-person attendees.  The avatars of the other remote attendees came in all shapes, sizes, and types.  Just as diverse as the community itself. 

Another dollar for Uncle Sam's naughty word jar.  You'd think I'd be bitter about working for good ol' Uncle Sam, but what better place to be to effect change in all the right ways.  What better place to ensure that what happened to my old crew won't happen again.  

Looking around in awe, I figured that what amazed me most about this new virtual digital commons was how they included the in-person attendees.  My view showed me both the shadowy figures of those that elected not to be digitized as well as the multitude of colorful avatars of those whose electronic badges notified the grid of who they were and what their preferred appearance was.  The badges of both reported their location in the convention hall so that the virtual world could render them precisely.  
In-person attendees that so chose were also granted the benefit of augmented reality glasses.  These allowed them to wander the hall as they normally would while also perceiving the avatars of the online attendees as clearly as if they were there physically.  
From there, all it took was a quick tap on a keyboard or on the electronic badge and, as long as neither avatar was marked 'private', an exclusive audio channel opened up between the participants.  Broadcast and public stream messages could be enabled as well, giving the remote attendees as close to the true CON experience as possible.

I kept my privacy settings on and muted the public stream.  At least for now.  Though I longed to immerse myself in the hullaballoo and to greet some of those folks that I knew only by name or reputation, I wanted my first interaction to be with my people.
I could have fast travelled to my destination.  Another benefit of virtual attendance.  But I decided to take it slow and take in the impressive sights.  At least, that’s what I told myself.  In reality, I felt that I needed the extra time for at least one more deep breath.

In through nose.
Out the mouth.

Eventually, I made my way to the AppSec Village and spotted them immediately.  I moved up slowly and disabled my privacy setting so I could request to join the group chat.

"GH!" Red yelled as soon as I dropped in on the audio.  "You made it!"
Almost immediately, the five of us were commenting on the quality of the virtual world and how amazing it was to interact between those at the convention in person and those that were accessing remotely.
Crawdaddy laughed, "I'm actually in my hotel room right now logged in.  I just wanted to see what it was like, and man am I blown away.  I might do it like this next year."

"I heard the event coordinators and a whole host of volunteers set up over a hundred Tor endpoints to allow access from anywhere in the world, no matter the censorship laws."

"I heard that there's a veritable army of volunteer network admin types manning a network operations center to ensure everyone's privacy and safety."

"I heard that there are thousands of virtual attendees that would never have been able to attend if not for DEF CON's new "Access Everywhere" initiative."

"I heard that they're leaving this all up for good, running on mirrors on dozens of servers around the world.  They're doing recordings of all the training and seminars, and some novel new AI chat bots will be able to reference the recordings to serve as virtual ambassadors helping newcomers in the digital commons."

My avatar nodded in sync with me, its movements loosely matched to my own facial movements by my computer's camera, "I for one couldn't be here without it.  I am..."  I struggled to find the words.  "I am beyond grateful that I have this opportunity to attend and be here with you."

Red smiled, the cameras set up all over the convention hall picking up his movements and digitizing them for display in the virtual world, "I almost forgot!  This is your first time attending!"  Red gestured to the others, "You guys get started on the CTF.  I want to run GH through the nickel tour.  Gonna introduce them to some of our favorite places and meet some folks.  We'll be back in a bit!"

Red turned to me and smiled.  That ear-to-ear smile was infectious.  "You ready Grasshopper?" he asked, using my full handle in a rare moment of bonding.  

One deep breath.
In through nose.
Out the mouth.

I nodded and tapped the keys to allow my avatar to follow his digital representation.  "Ready."

Not a word was said about my avatar's attire not fitting in.
Not a word was said about my avatar's age.
Not a word was said about my avatar's wheelchair that I had added on shortly before entering the digital commons.

Not a word was said because those things just aren't important to these people.  To my people.
Not a word was said because those aren't the things that they use to know or recognize me.
Those aren't the things that WE use to know and recognize each other.  

We care about what knowledge we can share with each other.
We care about building a community of acceptance and diversity*.
We care about innovation, hands-on learning, and promoting responsible and ethical disclosure practices.
We care about ensuring access to all these things for anyone, anywhere.

And that is what makes this community my community.




*I know I used that no-no word again but fuck that jar and the policy that censors that word.