I admire Elementary school art teachers… tremendously. Recently, because I spent over 8 hours preparing for a single 60-minute class, and that one hour drained a whole day's worth of energy. The ability to repeat that hour back-to-back three, five, or even six times a day is well beyond my capacity. I would have to start drinking caffeine to even make it through two.

If you haven't caught on yet, I taught a CRATE workshop this week at a senior center. Of the 20 participants that registered, 25 showed up. And I, like a typical Elementary school art teacher, had no help to instruct all 25. I hadn't even taught this age group before. I'd received some advice, but I was not confident in what to expect...

I have been aggravated lately by the sound of my own voice. And before you say "who isn't?"--rude–let me explain. I'm particularly aggravated when I'm explaining (yet again) that I don't want to say anything. That I want silence. What was that quote parents loved? "If you don't have anything nice to say, then don't say anything at all"? Welp, that just simply does not work. It turns out, saying nothing can often have as much of an impact as saying something, after all!

A "First Bite Conversation" is simple. You've probably had one within the past week, even. Maybe multiple. A "First Bite Conversation" is the kind of conversation initiated by an interested party before you have time to properly form a conclusion. Most famously, these are initiated by parents regarding food, events, and unfamiliar topics. But first bite conversations aren't only happening around the dinner table. They're in interviews and ads, classrooms and bus rides, the U.S. and the U.K. Most significantly, though, they're at the beginning of countless arguments, no matter the relationship status: parent/kid, husband/wife, friends, coworkers. To understand why, we'll start with the simplest form: at the dinner table.

How explaining something to someone new teaches you what you didn't yet understand.

A particular form of clarification via explanation has struck me recently in two different ways. First, this morning when setting up a business checking account for the Crate and explaining the business to the banker. Second, this evening when explaining a type of encounter that I only recently put a name to.

Neither of those one-sentence explanations make much sense, so here's more depth:

These past couple months I've had the privilege of time. With that time I had the privilege of job shadowing four amazing teachers. With my notes from those job shadows, I wrote up a 9 page document with the conclusion that I do not find the job of a public school teacher to be appealing to me at this point in time. I have a deeper respect for what teachers do, and a greater understanding of what goes on behind the scenes. What convinced me it wasn't for me, however, was the lack of freedom and flexibility. With my Crate workshops, I can write up an entirely unique curriculum that doesn't have to adhere to any government standards. I can travel with that curriculum to any number of locations, certainly not limited to schools, retirement communities, offices, libraries, and churches. I can change the plans on a whim, as long as I follow the contracts I write up with clients. The freedom I want abounds in entrepreneurship, so why wouldn't I pursue it?

This is a post about naive creativity: I now know why my ideas never won any of STARTedUP's competitions. I'm writing this directly following the 2026 STARTedUP Regional finals, which I attended all 7 of, "[clocking] 1,500 miles" according to Kevin Schamel, their Director of Programming who thanked me and Mariah Wright for our dedication to the bit (because for me it was partially a bit, proving that sure, why wouldn't I go to all 7? I've got nothing better to do. *shrug*). At the last two events, I even got to sit, like a fly on the wall, in the judges room during their deliberation. So now I know where I went wrong… or blissfully right.

I have a particular approach to photos in my camera roll: I tend to take very few, and delete them within a couple weeks of taking them. Only a few will be transferred onto a hard drive and saved. This is quite opposite of the majority of Gen Z, who have extensive collections of screenshots, memes, and memories in their pocket at all times. I could try and explore the why behind my decision, but I'd rather explore some of the value that stems from the practice.

Whether it should be a collection of poetry, a novel, or even a collection of essays is my only question. But I know something needs to come of the lyrical language. My consideration of each medium is as follows: