Finding a good introduction to a text always seems to be the hardest part of actually writing something. It’s even a little harder if it will be the first blurb of words in the editing world of this platform. But here we go, this is my first blurb.
My parents gave me a double name, but I go by the short version of it since I was a teen: Lisa. I am deeply passionate about everything connected to learning and creativity. I have experience in instructional design and learning and development, a sweet spot for pop culture, and I was diagnosed with ADHD at the age of 34.
I am curious about new technology, new work, agile frameworks, and mostly about people and their stories, thoughts, feelings and experiences. I like how data helps with understanding things, but I also tend to rely on my heart for final decisions. I thrive when working in a team, love exploring different perspectives, am great at being organized in a work context, but really bad at keeping my kitchen clean.
And right now, I am learning to learn again, which is also where everything comes together:
With the stories I will share on this platform, I want to explore how being a late-diagnosed neurodiverse person connected dots for me and gave me new riddles at the same time. I want to dive deeper into concepts related to new work and L&D and how to make a workplace a place of growth for everyone. And mostly, I want to explore where everything written in this text until now connects, probably dropping one or two Taylor Swift quotes along the way.
Starting to Unwire
But while my output on this platform will mostly focus on connecting my thoughts, ideas, and personal insights to professional topics, I am also very much about people and their stories.
Therefore I will not dive into my CV at this point (but I will certainly write about the hurdles of my academic career at a later point). Instead, I will end this intro by giving some insights into my personal thoughts and share a text I wrote when I turned 30 and was absolutely unaware that how my brain is wired would explain a lot to me 4 years later:
Lately, I was flipping through some old photos. From when I was a teen. From when I finished school, moved cities, started university. From when I was at concerts, on holidays, visiting people. From when I colored my hair pink and got my first tattoo at age 16. Those photos were all about places. Places and people I met.
People I met at festivals, concerts, or on the dance floor of a dark and smoky club. On long, (drunk) summer nights, during a stroll through the city, or on a long train ride. At friends’ places, at parties, or because we missed the same train home.
Sometimes all we shared was a glance. And sometimes it was more than a summer. We shared long conversations at kitchen tables and fries at 5 in the morning. We shared numbers, drinks, and car rides. Ice cream and sweaters. We sang our hearts out at concerts and got caught in summer rains. We shared advices, fears, and dreams. We shared songs and stories, adventures, and some sleepless nights. It was short and intense with some. Deep and messy with others. Some left me heartbroken. Some I left heartbroken. And sometimes it was all of it together.
