Liz LeCrone was born and raised in Jackson, Michigan. That is where her story starts, in a modest house in the middle of the woods with a lovely middle-class family. She stayed there for the first seventeen years of her life before heading some thirty miles north to get a college education at Michigan State University.

 

Like many adolescents, Liz thought she would find herself in college. And sure, she found bits and pieces here and there. But no, college is not the magical compass we all hope it will be. Probably because we continue to find ourselves—and learn, and grow—long after our official education has come to an end.

 

So Liz continues the search for herself, for the things she loves, the people she cherishes, the places she feels at home. She has spent a week here and there traveling with her family, at conventions for the industry in which her father thrives. She got a thorough education growing up, and she owes that to her parents (Thanks, Mom and Dad). Most of what she knows of perseverence she picked up from her sister. She is by far the strongest person Liz knows.

 

Liz lived outside of San Francisco one summer, interning at a startup and figuring out what it meant to be on the other side of the country from the only life she'd ever known. Apparently, she figured it out, because the next summer she headed for the opposite coast and interned in New York City. You could say she found different pieces of herself in both cities.

 

But Liz LeCrone has never found that over-arching thing to call herself. She's been drawing since she was old enough to hold a pencil, but she still wouldn't introduce herself as an artist. She has a dual major in marketing and journalism, but while she is experienced in both fields, she is neither a marketer nor a journalist. She hasn't been a soccer player in years, and she is, sadly, not a child anymore.

 

As Richard Buckminster Fuller once said, “I live on Earth at present, and I don’t know what I am. I know that I am not a category. I am not a thing—a noun. I seem to be a verb, an evolutionary process – an integral function of the universe.”

 

Liz likes that notion. "I am a verb, a human who reads and loves and lives and does as best she can," she says. "That is the most I can say about myself, and I like to think it's enough."