“You must not ever stop being whimsical. And you must not, ever, give anyone else the responsibility for your life.” - Mary Oliver, Upstream: Essays
This past academic year marked more than sixteen years working in higher education for me and eight years of lecturing in my field full-time. Even with all of that experience, I still feel like a novice (and, indeed, in most areas of my life). I like that word — novice — it makes me think of Julie Andrews as Maria in The Sound of Music. Enthusiastic, fresh, ready to take on anything. I’ve certainly had some growing pains along the way and I’ve endured a fair share of obstacles and academic horror stories, and that means I really need something to feel new and shiny to bring that enthusiasm and excitement back to what I’m doing.
Maybe this attitude has been inspired by that old mantra I was told as a 4-H kid, to “learn by doing.” Getting my hands in the dirt and making something happen. It’s also a bit of that alleged Leonardo da Vinci quote: “Never stop learning.” Sometimes we have to just dive right in, make a mess, and work hard to make something beautiful out of it. Oh, and not to be afraid of failure along the way.
Where I am in life right now has really been the result of one experiment after another. It’s taking the moment to say, “What happens if . . .?” or “What could things be like if I tried x?” As a kid, I was a bit of a science nerd. How I ended up working in the arts and humanities is a long story, but eight-year-old Kim? Eight-year-old Kim wanted to be a marine biologist and then, a little later, a botanist. She collected ladybugs in little screenwire huts and fished tadpoles out of the ditch in mason jars. I was fascinated by the natural world and scientists love a good experiment, right? Even though my future education and career diverged from the lab to the archive, I’ve tried to keep that “what if?” problem-solving mindset.
I taught my first research seminar this past year solely for public history students. We laid the groundwork for a new exhibit on colonial legal culture and crime in early Wilmington at the 1744 jail site that is now Burgwin-Wright House and Gardens.
Last year was really hard, if I’m completely honest. I’ve dealt with a handful of chronic illness issues for most of my life but things compiled and new things kept popping up. I’ve found that I have to be incredibly flexible in how I approach every day of life so that I can accommodate how I’m feeling and what kind of energy I have (and how that can even fluctuate throughout the day). It’s a daily experiment. I find myself thinking about that ubiquitous scene from Friends when the guys are trying to get a couch up the stairs — PIVOT! I don’t know what I’m doing, but I’m trying anyway. I’ve been revisiting those things that brought a sense of wonder and whimsy to eight-year-old Kim’s life. How I loved playing in the garden and greenhouse at my grandmother’s house, how I would make art just for myself, and how I held tight to curiosity and a thirst for learning about the world around me. I don’t want to lose that sense of wonder — especially when the world feels like it’s falling apart around us.
My first book manuscript is currently under review with a publisher. My fingers are crossed for a positive outcome, but I know I’ll move forward with the projects I love nonetheless. I’m busy researching and planning my second book project that has been more than a decade in the making. There are lots of leads to chase down and evidence to gather, but it’s coming together. There are side quests and rabbit holes that drag me away at times, not to mention the opportunities I’ve had to continue working with public organizations and other educators this summer. It often feels like there are lots of browser tabs open in my brain as I move from project to project, idea to idea.
All of this is to say that I’m still finding my way as a researcher, writer, and teacher — heck, just as a human being. We don’t have to have it all figured out. We keep loving. We keep fighting for the good of our neighbors and our communities. We keep talking about the past because it is always present. I hope you’ll hold onto that reminder, too.
