Whimsy, under wraps

Dear Ana,

I've been meaning to email you back, but somehow it turned into this blog post instead.

In eighth grade, my English teacher taught us how to write. Really write. That year, I churned out creative stories, personal narratives, persuasive essays, and analytical pieces. I wrote and rewrote, and poured my heart out into my writing.

On the last day of class, this teacher (who was more than a little eccentric) said that if we raised our hands, he would tell us exactly what he thought of us. When I raised my hand, he peered at me and said, "Smarts. Tremendous smarts." I'm sure he saw it as a huge compliment. I was crushed. After reading everything I had written for a year, he saw nothing more in me than what everyone else saw.

In my mid-twenties, a coworker who had known me all of two days said to me out of the blue, "I bet you were a very good student who was well-behaved and always raised your hand." I had to laugh, but I was appalled that this (accurate) impression came across so quickly and so clearly, even after fifteen years.

So when you wrote:
You're very responsible and grown up and well-behaved and stuff, but you come across to me as having [an] artist-like personality . . .  It's not always obvious in the posts, but you do have a fair amount of whimsy and imagination and curiosity.

 you gave me a gift. It's always the "well-behaved and stuff" that people see. Thanks for reading closely and seeing more in me.