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How the story begins, 22 years of character building

December 3rd



Entering this dark, cold, but cheerful month, I wanted to take the opportunity to set a challenge for myself. A blog post a day to keep my cluttered thoughts away.


I am aware that it is already the third of December, but better late than never.


I thought I would start by explaining a bit about my life and how I came to where I am, and who I am under the stacks of reels and hours of rowing.


I think I will start by saying this is a long story, including around 14 moves and some 15 school changes across several countries, so stay with me if you care to enjoy a little walk down memory lane as I unravel my emotions and the foundation blocks of my character.


I was born in Portland, Oregon, in the USA, in 2001 to an American mother and a French father. For the first year of my life, I grew up in a small house near the river that separated Portland and Vancouver, Washington. On my first birthday, my parents moved into their first house near downtown Vancouver. This house will go on to be called the 2 Trees house. See, with all the moving we did, my sister and I would make up names that fit the house because, at that age, we barely knew what an address was. This house had two huge bushy trees right in front of the entrance.


My sister was born in 2005, and that's when the memories started to become clear. It's as if her birth marked the beginning of my life as well. I can remember back to the day of her birth, but before that, not much is clear.

My parents decided not to put us in school for a few reasons, but mostly because they did not believe that the education we would get behind a desk would be as rich as the education that life gives up. They were not wrong, but man, did it take me a while to understand that.

One day, my mom led me downstairs to our basement, where she set up a table and chairs and decorated the walls with little felt planets she had made. This was my very first memory of the mom schooling classes. It developed into about an hour every morning at the breakfast table with my dad teaching me math and French history, but I refused to stay seated for more than 1 hour. The outside garden was always calling my name. My fairy houses needed attention!

Soon, school became weekly play dates with other children my age, who played with the same weird blocks as I did. With time, it became a once-a-week kindergarten. I would later find out that all these weird toys and kids were in the same Waldorf education system as I was.


This is all I have for tonight, but the story is far from being done. This is only the beginning of why I never, or rarely, sat behind a desk before the age of 14.


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