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I remember going to my first calligraphy conference, back in 1996.
I’d been taking classes for a year and a half by this time, but I’d never been surrounded by so many letter lovers in one place, not to mention so much calligraphy-related goodness: shops filled with tools and books I’d only ever seen in catalogs; multiple exhibits; nightly lectures; a schedule of classes all day long for a week.
I was giddy with joy and excitement. At one point I honestly remember jumping up and down because I could not contain myself!
This kind of joy is like the bubbles in a champagne glass, rising of its own accord, golden and glowing.
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That feeling when what you’re encountering is more beautiful, or grand, or wondrous than you feel capable of absorbing. That.
Looking up at the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel.
Watching the sun set over a crystal blue lake.
Seeing your brand new nephew for the first time.
That.
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I adored my third grade teacher, Mrs. White. I was an open-hearted kid, predisposed to like people, but Mrs. White was really special.
Honestly, I don’t remember a whole lot of what, specifically, we learned in third grade, but I remember loving going to school, just to bask in her aura.
