As I read the latest review of my new book, I stumbled across the word historian and paused. “Historian? Me? Nah.”

“Yecheilyah Ysrayl is a renowned author and historian known for her commitment to uncovering and sharing the untold stories of Black history. Her expertise and passion for the subject matter are evident throughout the book, making it a credible and authoritative source of information.”

-Vigil Honor, Amazon Review

“Wow,” I thought, an eyebrow raised. Really? Me? He can’t be talking about me. I am no one’s historian.”

When I think of a historian, I think of a person with a wall crammed with degrees from every university on the planet and a vocabulary that would terrify the most seasoned thesaurus. I see an elderly person who is wise and perceptive about how the world came to be. They sit down to write 500-page books and devour scholarly articles for breakfast.

And let’s not talk about memory.

Historians, I suppose, have perfect recall and spiritual compasses that allow them to travel from portal to portal and retrieve relics from the past. These folks recite information like a machine. When I think of a historian, I think Neil deGrasse Tyson.

But me?

I can’t even remember where I left the remote half of the time.

While I did well in history class, I wasn’t too interested in it. It was just a class to get through, but nothing I thirsted for outside school. I didn’t seek it out like I did books. I didn’t eat it up like I did poetry. I didn’t love it like I did literature.

Ahh. There it is. Books. It always comes back to books.

My love for reading, particularly about my people’s history, has led me to write about it. Writing about it has led me to research it. Researching it has led me to document it. Documenting it has created in me a fascination to share it.

I got a revelation while watching a podcast episode with Donni Wiggins and Jessica Dupart, and I found myself laughing at Dupart’s candor. She dropped a few F-Bombs and talked about her life growing up as if she and Wiggins were sitting in their own living room. She doesn’t speak corporate or exhibit the characteristics that someone might consider appropriate to be a CEO, yet she runs an 80 million-dollar business.

While I didn’t finish the entire episode, watching it made me think about how dope it is that in today’s world, people are redefining what success looks like just by being themselves. I realized I never considered myself a historian because I didn’t think I knew enough. (I also dislike titles)

I was also clinging to an aged stereotype.

I learned I don’t have to look like that old-school, white male version of what a historian was once thought to be to qualify as such.

It didn’t occur to me that writers are historians, too, documenting history and archiving them into books that live forever.

According to Google, “a historian is a person who studies and writes about the past and is regarded as an authority on it.”

“Her expertise and passion for the subject matter are evident throughout the book, making it a credible and authoritative source of information…”

Well now. I suppose historian doesn’t sound too bad after all.

“The book’s storytelling approach brings history to life, making it accessible and engaging for readers of all ages. Ysrayl’s narrative style ensures that the experiences and contributions of Black Americans are not just facts to be remembered but stories to be felt and understood.”

-Vigil Honor, on Black History Facts You Didn’t Learn in School by Yecheilyah Ysrayl