Histories’ secrets aren’t buried. They’re knitted into the fabric of time like bad stitching, waiting for someone to come along and tease the thread. I tend to lean into things. How else might we pull if we’re not first close enough to that which may require pulling? So, I lean in. I start tugging on threads. And when the sweater starts to unravel, why sew in the hole? Why not frame it? Photograph the yarn? Write a poem about the lint? The secrets aren’t in what happened. We all know what happened…

Key Insights

• What the silence did after. Silence is the best storyteller, slows the unravelling process, truth crawls out like a nascent moth, wings still wet.
• Why not pin it to the wall, label it: “This is what 1492 tasted like at 3:17 a.m.,” “This is what the Titanic’s last breath smelled like: salt and bad decisions.”
• Not facts: just textures, layers of fecundity, for which I say, “Do it!” What else would I then perform a FMEA on? The secret? Learning to breathe through it all.