I spent the whole morning of day three much like I spent the evening of day two: curled up in a feverish ball in my hotel room willing myself to get better quickly without much luck. I could almost feel the festival going on without me: people having fun breakfasts together, making grand plans for the theater they want to create, reveling in the shows they’ve seen, and recovering from last night’s gala. (If so, I hope they feel better than I do; I heard they were passing around flasks of “whin,” which for those who haven’t seen Peter Sinn Nachtrieb’s play BOB is whiskey plus gin.) With tickets for a noon show, however, I was determined to rest as much as possible and at least try to make it through one last production. I rallied as best I could and stumbled out of the hotel.

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Here are the two things that saved me: 1) the kind bartender at the theater who handed me a can of ginger ale and five saltine crackers and told me to feel better, and 2) a damn fine production of a damn fine play, which carried me utterly away for a good two hours. By the standing ovation—the third such expression of gratitude I’d experienced all weekend—I felt a great deal more like myself.

With a good half hour to go before the shuttle left for the airport and my spirits greatly renewed, I made a series of whirlwind goodbyes: my dear friend David Loehr of 2am Theatre; my friends from HotCity Theatre; Polly Carl and Sean Daniels, the Associate Artistic Director of the Actors Theater of Louisville (and yet another person I’d only tweeted with prior to the festival); and the gracious marketing staff that made my trip so amenable. There were a few others I would have liked to have said farewell to, but I had a plane to catch…and given how sick I still felt, I was not about to make the same miss-my-plane mistake twice.

As I took my seat on the shuttle, I was immediately saddened by how quickly the whole experience seemed to have come to a close… but I should have known better than to assume it was actually over. Within minutes I was deep into a conversation with the two women sitting behind me, one of whom happened to be a playwright I’d emailed with a while back, the other of whom serves as a board member for one of my favorite theater companies in DC. We chatted about the plays we had seen, our opinions of the work largely in agreement, and shared our genuine admiration for the festival. Traveling with them was a treat: it made me feel as if I was coming back to DC with at least two other people who would understand what the weekend had really been about.

Then again, perhaps the whole point of coming to Humana is to experience a sense of belonging within the larger American theatrical community, not merely one’s own home city. Even with my time at the festival severely compromised, I managed to meet and befriend people, to renew existing relationships with people all over the country, and to broaden my theatrical perspective a bit. I also saw more than enough outstanding work to make me feel invigorated and inspired by the diverse and talented voices being nurtured at Humana.

Did I end up feeling like I’d made the most of the weekend, career-wise? In the end, I believe I realized that “networking” isn’t what Humana is about, or at least it shouldn’t be—not for me. What really mattered was being surrounded by so much passion for theatrical storytelling and so many well-crafted stories brilliantly told. The level of excellence was astonishing: an inspirational kick-in-the-pants that made me want to come home and make the very best work I’ve ever made. Sure, I might have met a few new people I’d like to work with… but what really matters is the renewed energy I have to create. For that, and for surviving a rocky three days, I am very grateful.