Let Me Tell You About my Hyperfixations. Please Sit Down.

Back in the day, I could turn any conversation—no matter how innocent—into a TED Talk about my special interests. You’d say, “Nice weather today,” and suddenly you were 45 minutes deep into an unsolicited lecture on ancient civilizations or bench press numbers.

High School: The Mesoamerican Enthusiasm Era

Back in high school, my hyperfixation was Pre-Hispanic Mesoamerican cultures—Aztec, Maya, Olmec, you name it. And by “hyperfixation,” I mean:

Did I memorize Nahuatl deities like other kids memorized Pearl Jam lyrics? Yes.

Did I write an entire mock epic about the fall of Tenochtitlan for fun? Also yes.

Did people stop inviting me to lunch because I turned casual conversations into awkward history lectures? …Possibly.

It wasn’t that I didn’t notice their glazed expressions. It’s that I couldn’t stop. They needed to know about temple alignments and ritual ball games. It was important.

The CrossFit Years: No One Was Safe

Then came my late thirties, where I briefly fell into that special interest vortex known as CrossFit.
Yes, CrossFit.
I went from quiet home body to the world’s most overzealous WOD evangelist.

I was that person. You know the one.

But somehow worse, because I had autism-powered enthusiasm and zero understanding of when to stop talking about AMRAPs and how many grams of protein are in a can of tuna.

I was unstoppable.
I brought paleo muffins to group work sessions. I used the term “functional movement” unironically in casual conversation.

It was a dark time.

The Sad Social Realization Phase

Eventually, I started to notice that people… weren’t into it.
They’d say things like:

“That’s cool, but I’m not really into history/exercise right now.”

“Can we talk about something else.”

“Please stop explaining kettlebell swings during the funeral.”

So I learned to tone it down. Suppress. Repress. Compress my excitement into tiny internal fireworks that go off when someone accidentally mentions anything vaguely related to my current interest.

These days, I’m a master of restraint.
I nod politely.
I let people talk about things like weather or sports or their child’s milestone as if that’s somehow more important than the colour theory behind my french aesthetic polymer clay earrings.

But inside?
Inside I’m dying to talk about my current hyperfixation; arts and crafts - wax, clay, gold leaf, soap.

Which is to say: I have become a goblin who hoards washi tape, I put gold foil on things that shouldn’t be gold foiled, and I have strong opinions about paper grain direction.

I can explain the chemical process of saponification.

I can give you a three-hour seminar on the emotional arc of crafting a single earring.

I have become one with my clay drill.

But… I don’t usually share. Because society has informed me that most people only want the 30-second version. (And even that’s pushing it.)

Thank goodness for my pets.  They're my emotional support listeners.
I have three dogs and one cat, all of whom have never once judged me for monologuing about candle wick fabric.

The dogs wag and nod as if they absolutely understand the drama of switching gilding glue brands.

The cat glares at me, but in a way that says, “You do you, freak.”

None of them tell me to wrap it up.

None of them back away slowly when I say, “Want to see my felted animal Christmas ornament collection?”

I sometimes still find myself going on a bit too long about my special interests at inopportune times.

I’m not trying to dominate conversations. I’m not trying to bore you.
I just genuinely think everything I love is the most interesting thing in the world, and I want to share that joy with someone.

If you ever actually want to hear about the hidden symbology in my product label layouts or why I think gold is the new neutral of the craft world… just ask.

And clear your schedule.