I'm kind of a nerd.

When I felt like school wasn't teaching me math fast enough, I tried to make my own textbook out of encyclopedia entries (this was before we had the internet at home). While other kids wrote short stories about their pets, I crafted well-researched historical fiction. I lost myself in books on ancient cultures and tried to teach myself to read Egyptian hieroglyphics.

While still in elementary school, I watched an interview with a young scholar who, as a child accompanying his archaeologist parents on digs, began deciphering Maya glyphs. He went on to be a leading expert in Maya writing. I wanted to do the same.

In high school, I still loved learning, but I felt suffocated by a structure that rewarded compliance more than curiosity. I felt like I was the wrong size and shape for my environment. 

Brown accepted me with a transcript that wouldn't get a second look in today's admissions climate. What I found there was exactly what I'd hoped for: friends who took ideas seriously and themselves less so, and the freedom to follow my curiosity wherever it led. 

As an undergraduate, I stood in that same Maya scholar's house as an anthropology student, surrounded by archaeologists and graduate students. While I didn't become a Maya epigrapher, I am grateful for what my education taught me: how to pursue curiosity seriously and how to look for patterns beneath the surface.

I want every student I work with to find more than an acceptance. I want them to find the right community, where their curiosity is welcome and their people are waiting.

I live in New Jersey with my husband, daughters, and dog. I paint murals, am teaching myself to play the mountain dulcimer, and serve on the board of a local community theater, where I also act, direct, and do scenic design. I also belong to a women's group that researches, writes, and presents papers for fun.