Idyllic Studies

When I was in 3rd grade, I put together a presentation about some historical figure whose name, era, story, nor purpose I can remember now. No one asked me to do this. It wasn’t a school project or an assignment from a scrupulous tutor—I did it because I wanted to.

I asked my mom to drive me to Staples and bought one of those three panel presentation boards and a variety of colored papers, markers, and stickers. I filled that board with everything I learned that stuck out to me, a naïve little 8-year-old girl, as somehow fascinating.

After about a month of work, I was done. I’d like to think that I gave the presentation to someone—my parents maybe? But I gave it to no one. I kept it for myself.

I work from the minute I wake up until the minute I sleep. Not every day, but most days. I work on everything. I make everything work. And I love it. It makes me feel like a child again, sticking stickers onto a foam board capturing stories that thrilled me under the desk my dad built me.