Published: November 7, 2026 by Jerrid Lee Miller

I come from a different, strange intersection of life. I am Indigenous—a Cherokee Nation citizen. I’m in my 40s and have been a practicing archivist for twenty years. I’m a student. I’ve also been a pipe-hitting, ground-pounding 11 Bang-Bang infantryman in the U.S. Army, also known as a grunt.

Once you know who you are, you need to know where you are going. Call it drive. Call it a moral compass. Call it what you will.

I’ve been incredibly blessed to be published, to attend school, and to have worked full-time as a Language Archivist for the Cherokee Nation. And let me tell you a secret: it’s all by design.

It’s a combination of what you bring to the table, your insight, your ability to juggle chainsaws, and sacrifice. Oh, and taking life’s artillery fire. All for others!

Sacrifice? Yes, sacrifice. That’s when you think you have it made, and life looks at you and goes, “Uh-uh.” It’s the metaphorical anvil being dropped. Your last five dollars go toward paying the bills. You have your last bit of energy, and life throws up another roadblock: a power outage, something misread or misheard, or a mistake.

What I am saying is, take a minute and be the archival cool.

The archival cool is making time for yourself and making time for others. It is giving all you have to give to the circle of people around you. They are your supporters, your champions, and your fans. If you expect nothing in return, it’s selfless.

It’s selfless service. It sounds cliché. It sounds old-fashioned. But hear me out.

Archives, and the field as an institution, were built on the ivory towers and silos of the preceding Victorian and Gilded Ages. Documents and their preservation were meant for the exclusive use of elites and scholars. Those silos represent an “I” mentality—perhaps the vanity of their benefactors and perhaps a selfishness about sharing them.

The dawn of digitization changed things in its own way. What was once restricted to a class could be accessed by the masses. Audiences changed from “I” to “we.”

But those silos still stand—not through open discrimination or elitism in their obvious forms. We all have our internal silos, silos that guard our best, our hearts, and our potential.

My dad died a few days ago, and I resigned from my job to care for him. I had nothing to gain from him except time and memories.

And that’s what I am saying: when you open your heart, give your best, and do without expectation, it shows in the profession. People can smell bovine excrement.

Just give what you have to give, in the way that you can give it. That shows, and it glows. If you can see and respect people in the way they want to be seen and hold them in high regard, it builds bridges of collaboration. Silos crumble; bridges are built.

People see that, and it’s not self-serving. It’s about everybody else. And that’s archival cool.