“I should be over all the butterflies, but I’m into you,”

As I was walking across the snow-covered Diag earlier this week, Still Into You came on shuffle for me for the first time in months. Hayley Williams, lead singer of the band Paramore, described the band’s song as being “about commitment to that one person that you just fall in love with and you have to just choose and you have to work so hard to stay in love.” However, on my sunny, snowy walk, I began to interpret the song in a very different way. After recently coming back from a short break from being in Ann Arbor, Still Into You perfectly summed up how much I am constantly falling in love with this city.

“And baby, even on our worst nights, I’m into you.”

When I was searching for colleges in senior year of high school, my guidance counselor gave me a piece of advice I have never forgotten: “Imagine you are sick, your significant other just broke up with you, and you have two exams and two papers due this week. Go to a college where you will still be happy.” While I’m fortunate that I haven’t had that exact experience, the fact that I have two ten-plus-page papers due in two weeks, an exam in the near future, and am waiting impatiently for my registration date while helplessly watching the classes I planned on taking next semester fill up have not made this past week a stress-free experience. 

“Let ’em wonder how we got this far, ‘cause I don’t really need to wonder at all…”

Yet every single day I am here in Ann Arbor, I find myself being incredibly grateful for the city. Even though there are always ways things can improve, I often catch myself smiling at nothing in particular, simply marveling at the fact that I live here now.

“Yeah, after all this time, I’m still into you.”

After over a year of living in Ann Arbor, I would expect to feel like it was getting “old.” While it is more familiar to me now, that has only increased my love for the city. I am constantly finding new places to explore and new things to do while also making new memories in the more familiar areas. 

“Well, some things just make sense, and one of those is you and I.”

Being in the Big House when we beat Ohio State. Studying day and night while learning more than I ever have before. Coming home exhausted and burned out to a house full of my best friends. Going on a monthly self-care trip to all of the record stores within walking distance. Freezing, but seeing the sun shining on the snowy Diag, filled with other people who love being here just as much as I do. Ann Arbor, “not a day goes by that I’m not into you.”

Listen to Still Into You here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tv7yHglIDsc

My direction for IP has taken a sharp turn. Since the beginning of the semester, I have not let myself consider a medium that is not digital. I developed a lingering fear of working three-dimensionally after my freshman year 3D Studio professor took one look at my project during a crit and said “oh… better luck next time.” I’ve made iteration after iteration of digital work, including illustrations, CAD models, and UX prototypes. Still, my work was missing something. It wasn’t immersive enough, impactful enough, or thought provoking enough. I needed it to be more involved.

During my Sophomore Studio class, I was experiencing some of the same stubbornness. My professor noticed this, and challenged me to make an interactive experience that forced the viewer to feel what it was like to have the dyscalculia, a learning disability that affects one’s ability to comprehend mathematical concepts. I ended up making a ridiculously large, 9 ft x 9 ft x 9 ft tent that housed imagery related to dyscalculia. From clocks without hands or numbers, confusing directions, and a “quiz” that set the viewer up to fail, this was truly an experience that engaged the viewer.

Right off the bat, I told my IP Professor “I don’t want to make another tent.” I was putting my foot down. But, as fate would have it, I had a bout of insomnia that kept me awake until 5AM. My brain was overflowing with ideas on how to engage my audience, and involve them directly in my work. I was coming up with ideas like ocular migraine simulators, depictions of bullying that made the viewer feel as if they were being tormented by schoolchildren, and a simulated classroom experience. None of these projects, however, captured the full breadth of what it means to have ADHD. At least, they didn’t on their own. By the time the morning light started trickling through my window, I knew what I had to do. I had to make the dreaded Tent 2.0.

As much as I lamented my sophomore year professor for making me do that tent, I am grateful for it now. As much as I joke about hating that project, I am so excited about the door that it opened up for me in. Because of that project, I gained valuable experience in creating something larger than life, and in learning how to express my internal feelings in an external environment. I see so much value in making ADHD tangible. Education through empathy has always been a primary goal in my work. Why would I limit my capacity to do that to a 2D realm?