It’s All About That Body

You have likely already watched the music video for “All About That Bass”, I know it has been popping up in my facebook feed for over a month now. The beat is catchy, there is a musical reference to JT’s Sexyback in the middle, and the dancing/aesthetic is perfectly adorable. The message of the song is body-positive, and there is a refreshing mix of body types represented in the music video. So, really, what’s not to love? See below:

So why am I writing about it now? While most of the dialogue I have seen surrounding this clip is positive, there is a concerning thread that I have marked from time to time. Somehow, in the movement against photo-shopping and “thinspo”, a charge has been taken up by certain communities that women who are on the smaller end of the body scale are not “real women”. You’ve all seen and heard the phrase “real women have curves”.

As a plus-sized woman (and don’t even get me started on the fact that the designation “plus-size” exists and is something humans have to shop and live by) I can understand and appreciate how this saying may have gained popularity. I spent years (and still spend long moments) agonizing over my body and all of the ways it is not what it ought to be according to the messages I see and hear. However, no matter how genuine and empowering the intention, any time a proclamation is made that “real _________ equals __________”, the truth is that whatever population does not equal that blank is being marginalized. For example, look at what else popped up when I searched for that phrase on Pinterest:

[And don’t get me wrong, I love this model and have shared photos featuring her before. It’s the callous message some user slapped on that I find problematic].

Can you see how this messaging is equally problematic?

I have felt dis-empowered too many times by comparison to want to intentionally perpetrate that dynamic with anyone else. Rather than comparing ourselves to others in order to see what is lacking, why cannot we as humans support each other and recognize the beauty that lies within each of us?

I am not being trite or disingenuous or naive when I ask that question. From personal experience, I have found that in the few moments when I am truly able to drop my judgment and tallying up of individual little bits I am surprised by how beautiful I find everyone to be. Truly. And I’m not talking inner beauty or personality either. I am talking the (purely physical) inherent majesty and artistry imbued in the human body. In all human bodies. Try it.

How ridiculous is it that we judge our body types and shapes according to some arbitrary standard, when we have no control whatsoever over our bone structure? I will add, as well, that body and physical beauty standards differ dramatically by culture, geography, time period…(not even going to touch the sub-cultural influences of so-called gender identity and sexual orientation within all of those other parameters).

Let’s take a look at that music video again. While the verse includes the lyrics I find to be the most important, “Cause every inch of you is perfect/from the bottom to the top”, there are some other lines that are not quite so universally empowering. For instance, the chorus:

“Because you know I’m all about that bass/’bout that bass/’bout that bass/no treble”.

A clever play on musical terms, the bass references plus-sized women, but through other lyrics such as “boys they like a little more booty to hold at night” as well as the booty-grabbing that occurs in the video, it is clear that the “bass” refers also to booty. I’ll admit that as much as I love the song, the first time I watched the video I felt a little sting because of these lyrics. You see, I’ve got the teensiest little bass. I mean, I happen to think that my booty is perfectly adorable, but I have certainly never qualified as having “junk in my trunk”.

Isn’t that horrible? In this body-positive video, featuring a singer that has similar physical attributes to myself, one of the few things I focused on was the fact that I do not feel that I possess enough booty for men to “hold at night”.

(Again–not going to touch on the message of women as sexual objects either, that’s another post).

What is that?!

If I had let it (and have certainly done at times in the past), that tiny little moment could have been enough for me to spiral down the body-shame rabbit hole that leads to the “this-is-why-no-one-will-ever-love-me” oblivion, which in turn is absorbed and trapped by the wet blanket of perpetual self-repugnance.

Luckily, I instead chose to acknowledge the moment as my peculiar little friend, acknowledge its existence, and continue with nodding my head and finger-tapping along. (Thank you therapy).

I have a feeling that this experience is not unique. Indeed, the lyrics that directly proceed the message about body perfection highlight the universality of insecurities, “Go ahead and tell them skinny bitches Hey/No, I’m just playing, I know you think you’re fat”. While not all “skinny” women may think of themselves as fat, there are just as many body expectations and judgments happening on the other side of the spectrum as well–just take another look at the images pasted above.

To be completely clear, I am not saying that we should not be good custodians of our bodies and our health. I have blogged copiously on the subject of my health, my weight, and my body image journey. I am currently working on this area again, and not only have I lost 12 pounds in the last few months but I intend to lose more. What I would posit, however, is that not only are we all beautiful, but our beauty is unique and not dependent on our size. In other words, comparing one person’s beauty to another’s is the surest way to negate everyone’s.

And yes, there are times when beautiful is the furthest thing from what I feel.

You want to know what’s funny though?

As a sort of body experiment I’ve been taking some wardrobe risks lately. I decided that I was tired of waiting to wear what I want until I feel that I have carved out a body “worthy” of being shown. So, as a result, I have adopted something I am internally calling “Slightly Skanky Saturdays and Sundays”. All this movement entails is showing more skin than usual, but in a classy Emilie way. Slightly sheer shirts with a hint of bra showing through, short skirts without tights or leggings, and gracefully plunging necklines have all been a part of this experiment. My “racy” looks are likely not even a blip on most people’s wardrobe radars, but for me they have had a profound effect. The most marked instance of success during this experiment happened a few weekends ago when I wore an actual bikini to the actual beach. I frolicked in the waves, ran on the sand, and even had some photos taken to document the occurrence.

What I have found to be the most helpful about these experiments is not what I expected. Yes, I feel beautiful much more of the time now no matter what I am wearing. Yes, I feel empowered when wearing my slightly skanky ensembles. But honestly, the most powerful realization I have had was that I actually think about my body much, much less when I’m not worried about covering it up. That’s right. Instead of the non-stop inner narration I’ve been accustomed to that tracks every inch of clothing, every roll of fat sitting or standing, every slipping strap or seam alignment–instead I am experiencing a new form of freedom.

Do you have any idea how much more enjoyable life is when one layer of background tracking and judgment is removed, even for a moment or two? This is truly heady stuff.

Of course those scripts do not just disappear. After seeing the photo of myself in the full body bikini shot I had an immediate “well, I should do some core work” reaction and chose not to post the photo online. But then I moved on. And that moving on? That is a hugely important and monumental success for me.

As the internet continues to grow as a platform for education and liberation, I want to encourage intentional thought and inclusion versus comparison in our discussions surrounding beauty and body-image. I focus on my experience as a woman because that is what I know and what I have to offer, but I know that body messages and insecurities are not constrained by so-called gender roles. Tragically, they are the demesne of all humans.

Rather than parrot “It’s All About That Bass” as an example of us versus them, I hope all-sized humans can enjoy it as a fun, and meaningful, jam.

And if anyone has a lead on that mint-green hot-pant body suit please send my way–my teensy bass and I would rock it.








I’m Sorry.

“I’m sorry”.

This has been very difficult to admit to myself, but those two words–they are not innocuous. For me, they are extremely problematic. You see, I spend a lot of my time apologizing for taking up space. It has taken me a long while to notice this pattern, or rather to admit to its existence. Despite all of the work I have done convincing and “logic-ing” myself otherwise, I have very strong fears and insecurities.

Particularly in interpersonal relationships, I second-guess and doubt. I doubt myself–my worth, my draw, even my own sharp intuitions that are often frighteningly reliable. I close myself off, and I ignore things because I convince myself that they cannot be true. I assign blame to myself. Always to myself. So I say “I’m sorry”.

Even when I’m not blatantly apologizing, I find a way to minimize my own worth. If my life were an improvisation exercise (outside of the professional arena, but even sometimes there) I would paint a perfect example of establishing low status. It’s painful to watch, and at times feels impossible to stop. Then, I add on yet another level of judgment, and berate myself for my own actions. Rather than extend love, I weigh myself down with guilt and disappointment.

There are so many contributing factors to this pattern, some I can identify and some I cannot. There are many external messages I have internalized over the years that exacerbate this response. Here is some of the dialogue that, unbidden, plays over in my head:

“You’re not good enough”. “You’re ugly”. “You’re selfish–god wants you to be humble. Don’t admit that you’re good at things”. “Why would anyone like you?” “You’re too fat–you’re not desirable”. “You’re too smart–you’re a snob and you think you’re better than anyone else”. “You’re cold”. “You should try to be more like ____________”. “You shouldn’t read so much”. “You’re prideful”. “How dare you ask for what you want?” “Ladies wait”. “You’re so full of yourself”. “You don’t deserve ________”. “It’s all your fault”.

There were all of those moments when I was confident and allowed myself to glow–and was subsequently targeted and trampled on. After enough pain I learned to hurt myself first, so that others could not. I dimmed my glow–I taught myself to apologize for not only my errors but also my triumphs.

“I’m sorry”.

And I’m trying to teach myself not to be.

And I’m sad that this script is still so activated in my life.

And I’m angry.

I do not need to be sorry. Not for existing, not for thriving, and not for wanting to spend my time with others. Not for admitting that I do want.

And I’m trying to believe that.

And to forgive myself when I do not.

I’m still sorry.

But I’m learning, painstakingly, not to be.


A Greater Capacity

It’s funny how intentions, once thought, can bourgeon into life.

With a lot of hard work, of course.


In addition to work and school, and homework, and more work and school, I’ve also been doing a lot of personal challenging and growth lately. Not in a debilitating my-entire-world-has-been-pulled-from-under-me work like I went through in undergrad, but fine-tuning work that may look more subtle, but has been groundbreaking for me. In case you are wondering, I highly recommend therapy to everyone. Not just because I’ll want clients one day, but because it is ludicrous that we are encouraged to check up on all parts of our body regularly except for the one part that is the most complex and least well known–the brain. As introspective as a person is (and if you know me you know I’m all about introspection), the fact of the matter remains that an outside eye is crucial to separating reality from misinterpretation.

As envious as I am of those people who don’t have 4.5 hour classes on summer evenings, I am absolutely loving my graduate program. In addition to the coursework, role plays, and facilitating I am also finding the experience to be opening me up in so many ways. I am writing plays, poems, prose, and songs; practicing my instruments, and even getting out of my hermit sanctuary much more often than I used to. I may not have enough hours in the day, but I am making the most of them.

Certainly, it isn’t rosy all the time, but over all I have found such grounded peace and happiness. The world around me isn’t as solid. Things are whirling around. There are a lot of things I’m worried about (such as my eventual internship), but worried on an exterior plane. Even while confronting painful insecurities and memories, on the deepest level I know that my life is congruent with my needs. At this time, I am doing what I am supposed to be doing.


In addition to unearthing things I had thought long managed or forgotten, I am also gaining somewhat clearer insight into certain projects that I want to work on. I have several writing projects, as well as certain areas of scholarship I would be interested in in the future. I don’t know the timeline, location, or logistics but I am still very sure that eventually I will pursue a doctorate. Of course, I am open to knowing that life always changes, but this seems very important to me.

I’ve also found over the last year several things about myself: being close to my family is much more important than I used to think, I value roots, it is very difficult for me to be vulnurable yet important that I learn how to be so, and I don’t function well in a messy environment despite what my surroundings may at times indicate to the contrary.


I do have one complaint however; as I try to open up and lower my shields, I’m finding all sorts of stray energy from all over darting in. Has this always been going on and I just never noticed it or allowed it to affect me, or are people sensing that I’m not running around in a tunnel of my own making anymore and responding accordingly? Every day I’m finding myself surprised by the intrusions (however well meant) and have not yet found a way to navigate this shift. That’s ok, I expected turbulence. I suppose that I shall just have to deal with it one way or another.

Ok you extraverts and energy-drawers–how do you deal with the constant intrusions without shutting yourself off? Maybe it’s just learning how to finesse access, and something that will come with time. I am confident that I will develop the skills I need in this area eventually.


The final thought I’d like to leave with today is that I am finding within myself a greater capacity for empathy. Or, rather, less selective empathy. This is a blessing, albeit at times a heavy one.





A Holistic Approach to Self-Care

I have a new resolution/mantra/life approach, and it is this: “stop volunteering for things”. Now before you start judging me as a heartless, horrible person please take the time to understand the context. You know by now that I am a go-getter who likes to be involved in a lot of things. I am a doer, and I rarely say no to activities. However, there comes a certain point where enough is enough. For instance, I had a month straight of 0 weekends (through a combination of work and volunteer obligations) and somehow at the end I was utterly exhausted. A novel concept, yes? I have finally made the decision that working full time and going to grad school full time is quite enough for one person to handle. Does this mean that I will never pitch in at extra events when needed? Of course not. But it does mean that I am going to be much more mindful of what I say yes to, and will try not to actively seek anything extra out. In addition to not joining new groups (outside of work) or volunteering for additional things, I am going to be more mindful of scheduling in time to decompress with friends. I’ve entered a stage in my life where I am wanting to spend time with others more than I have before, and while I still need time to myself to recover I also equally need one-on-one time with others.

My own health, in general, is going to be a huge focus for me in the coming months. I need to be more holistic in my approach to self-care. Travel season completely derailed the fitness progress I had made running last summer, and I never seemed to have the time or energy to pick things back up and focus on myself. Instead of things slowing down as I was back home, I just seemed to be in an endless cycle of signing up for more things and becoming more run down. Because of this I feel less fit than I have in quite some time, and I have noticed that the negative body-image messages I fought so hard to reprogram a few years ago are popping back up again in full force. It’s funny, isn’t it, how when we think the work is done the same problems reappear to torment us yet again? Turns out our stuff never completely goes away, we just become better at coping with it. Rather than falling into the hole of negative self-talk, I am making the decision here, now, today to be proactive and make the change I need in order to be happy and healthy. 

So this decision to stop taking on other volunteer work is very important for both my mental and physical health. I need to have the energy to focus on maintaining physical activity as well as healthy eating,  in addition to the time to prep for both things. While I am certainly not where I was junior year of undergrad where I began that first health journey, I definitely feel like I have lost more progress than I would have liked. That is ok though. We are all humans, and as such, are allowed to go places on our journeys that we may not have expected to. Like the cycle of change, each “misstep” is really just a change in trajectory, not a step backward. We can never move backward–and that is comforting.

In addition to a commitment to regular exercise and an awareness of my eating, I also need to practice mindfulness regarding my thoughts, feelings and reactions. Rather than being angry or disgusted at my internal thoughts (more negative energy) my mission is to learn how to acknowledge those thoughts and messages; giving them the attention they need in order to be fulfilled and float away. This is very difficult. But I am committed.

At the same time, too, I welcome support and encouragement. I would love to build a network/community of those who are going through a similar journey, or a different one but are willing to share. I welcome workout buddies (however I need to plan things in advance as my schedule is quite full, and as an introvert I do need time to mentally prepare myself for plans). I also ask for moral support as I am going to begin watching the office goodies and refreshment outings.

Finally, I am also committed to getting regularly scheduled practice and writing time back into my days. I was in quite the funk yesterday, and much later than I should have I decided to sing through some musical theatre books and practice the piano. Just like that, I had the most amazing next two hours of the evening. Quite simply, when my artistic needs are not being met I become depressed. The fix is simple, so rather than giving into these feelings of depression I will try to be better at taking the steps to meet my needs. I have resigned myself to the fact that it is likely I will not have the time to perform until I finish my masters degree, but this does not mean that I cannot be writing and singing and playing my instruments on my own time. As long as I prioritize having my own time.

It is hard to remember that as a multi-dimensional person I have multi-dimensional needs, but I am committed to a holistic self-care approach. I invite you to examine what needs are and are not being met in your life, and to take the steps necessary to meeting them for yourself. After all, we do our best work and are our best selves only when our needs are first met.

Wish me luck, and let me know if you need any encouragement!



Full Moon Moments

In Developmental Theory we discussed the concept of the “full moon moment”, or a time in which we are shining with accomplishment. In that moment, if caught at the right time, praise and acknowledgment can help propel us forward. Or, if not caught, can lend to an even deeper need for acknowledgment, as well as developmental stagnation. I think I’ve been very fortunate in this area. There are so many moments that, when I look back, have helped guide my trajectory in a positive way. I know my strengths. I also know many weaknesses. I am so often surprised at how many people are able to rattle off weakness after weakness, but are stumped when prompted to list their strengths. There is also a difference between a true confidence, and an area of sensitivity hiding behind hubris. This is not to say that I am free of those moments–I certainly have as much ego as the next person. I also know what it is like to be genuinely confident without being enslaved by ego.

I am grateful that I have had many advocates, many supporters. In addition to family members, my encouragers have most often been educators. People who meet me now are often surprised that I am an introverted observer, and was once painfully shy. That is until they see me at a party, or, heaven forbid, in a potentially flirtatious interaction. The tremendous personal growth I have made is due to a lot of hard work, but also due to the potential others have recognized in me. I am lucky. Without those honest but unexpected nudges, I know I would not be where I am at currently. Teachers from elementary to high school to college and beyond have lent me the courage I needed when I did not have it, as well as the permission to know what I am good at. I also know the feelings that occur when my full moon moments are denied or deflated. Again, and I cannot say it enough, I am so grateful that those experiences have not formed the majority of my meaning-making.

I wish I was better at affirmation and acknowledgment. I am a recognizer and encourager of strengths, but I am not good at the gooshy stuff. As a matter of fact, flowery affirmation still makes me uncomfortable when directed at me (even though I appreciate it later). While I can intellectually see other’s emotional needs, I am not always equipped to meet them. I am an excellent listener, and I can be steadfast in times of chaos or need. I am not an empathizer. It is my mission this year to be more cognizant of other’s full moon moments, so that rather than squashing them with a correction or dry joke (no matter how entertaining) I can be a nurturing element in their lives. I’m not a social worker, I have to be jealous of my energies because I am so easily depleted of them. I am an educator at heart. I am an encourager. I want to help others help themselves.

So, as cheesy as this sounds, thank you to my supporters. Thank you to my teachers (in and out of the classroom) and supervisors who have recognized my talents before I have, to my advisors who have encouraged my interests and drawn out my talents and personality. Thank you to the community members and family and friends and advocates–for your patience with my areas that need growth but mostly, thank you for the gift of knowing me. This is a gift I will always cherish, and hope to pass on to others:

The gift of self-knowledge, the gift of self-worth and self-respect, the permission to honor the self as one would honor others.

So often in the culture of care, the self is the one person not taken into consideration. Which, unfortunately, depletes the self’s ability to care for others.

It is not selfish to think of oneself.

It is self-hurting and disingenuous not to.

Sincerely, Emilie

Rough Sunday

I will preface this by saying that I hope you all know I try to think and speak positively, in order to be uplifting rather than depressing. However, there are certain days that this cannot be maintained. Today, for instance, is an example of how things can go just a little bit wrong–and eventually completely overwhelm. Yes, I know, #firstworldproblems, but if you’d like to know why I’m sitting on my couch listening to indie music, burning incense and licking a spoonful of nutella, this has been my Sunday:

The story began, actually, on Thursday when I had my windshield replaced. That, in itself, was a month-long ordeal that I shall not go into describing here. What I will say is that that windshield had been cracked for three years, and I was proud of myself for finally taking care of it. I knew that I also needed an oil change, and was looking forward to being on top of my car maintenance, rather than behind. This morning, in addition to cleaning and homework, I had it on my to-do list to get my oil changed. I had also recently read that you can shine your headlights by scrubbing them with toothpaste, so I decided to try that today as well. I grabbed a rag, and then realized that I was actually almost out of toothpaste. I googled some more and saw a suggestion about using vinegar, but then remembered that I had some small toothpaste tubes in my travel toiletries box. (Yes, I have a travel toiletries box. You would too if you had my job). The winterfresh with baking soda worked just as promised, and I am hopeful that I will have brighter lights at night.

So, headlights scrubbed, I printed out an oil change coupon and started Suzuki. I was horrified to be greeted by what is colloquially known as the “check engine light”, but my manual refers to as the “emission” YOUR CAR IS GOING TO BREAK TO DEATH “something” notification light. I mean really, I don’t remember what it was but the description in there is frightening. Knowing that I was due for an oil change, I checked my oil level. It was at about half, so I went into an auto store to purchase some oil and top the levels off in hopes that the problem would be resolved. There were some mechanics working in the parking lot, and since I hate it when people make me feel inferior, I drove back home to pour it in. Only took me about two minutes to find the little latch to pull in order to open the hood (I clearly do that a lot), and then I poured the oil in and measured again. Full! Of course I set the cap on the hot engine (like you’re not supposed to do) and then dropped it in the grass. I waited for a few minutes and then headed to Lowe’s since I needed some things there, hoping that the oil would fix the problem.

I went to Lowe’s for the express purpose of purchasing two things: rust-oleum high heat paint for my BBQ, and those disposable de-humidifier dry-rid things that hang or sit in the closet. I found the spray easily. Perhaps too easily. The  chemical/cleaning aisle was full of products, but there was no dry-rid to be found. Clearly the spring rains had prompted everyone else living in old units to purchase the items I needed before I was able to get them. I was a little disappointed that the products I needed were out, but I shook it off. After all they would be re-stocked soon, and I could always come back. But when I got back to Suzuki and she was still steadily displaying the check engine light I started to panic a little and made the choice to go down the google rabbit hole.

I learned that the light could be caused by anything from a loose gas cap to failed parts that could cause the car to stall and die forever. I got out and checked the gas cap. Rats–it was tight. I also learned that some stores will read the code that corresponds with the light for free. (I should mention that it was at this point I also learned that auto lights are tied to error codes that can be read. I am obviously very knowledgeable about auto mechanics). So I jetted on over to Auto Zone across the street from Lowes, also across the street from the other auto place I had purchased the oil from. They read my error code and told me what it was. Then, after I stared blankly at them, they explained that something was up with the oxygen sensor by the catalytic converter (does that sound vaguely like a real thing? I may have gotten that wrong). I was instructed to start by doing a fuel cleaning, as that could alleviate the problem, but if after a week the light was still illuminated I should contact a mechanic/the dealer to see what needed to be serviced. I also asked, twice for good measure, to make sure that if I waited a week to try this first thing if my engine would implode or explode or kill Suzuki for good. They said no, but that if I drove around for 6 months or a year I could cause irreparable damage to my catalytic converter (yup, I need to google that too). So I bought some fuel injector something from them, and crossed the street once more to Oil Can Henry’s for an oil change.

The car in front of me finished within minutes, and I was impressed at how quickly I would be able to get my oil changed. Then the worker knocked on my window and told me that since it was a first-come first-serve basis I needed to back up so that the car in the other line who had been there first could get in front of me. I was a little confused and overwhelmed by the car stuff, so rather than swap places with them, I pulled up behind them after they went in. Which would have been fine, except that the car in the left stall then finished I had to swap places with two other cars again because this time I was the first-come.

I decided that as long as they were changing my oil, they could do the fuel cleaner injector whatnot and I’d just save what I purchased for later. So that was going to take some time and be a bit more expensive. But then my transmission fluid needed replacing (and I actually believe them because I’ve never done it and I have put a ton of miles on poor Suzuki), and the air filter, and light bulbs for the license plate (again–surprise to me that my license plate needed light bulbs), so I got all of that and the cleany-mabobby. When the greeter announced to the mechanic in the pit that I was getting the injector whatnot the mechanic groaned and said “really?” I am not certain if this is because the mechanic didn’t like the type of work the required, the mechanic wanted a break, or if I am an idiot and no one really needs to buy the cleaning thing. Whatever. So they got the process started, and as he had to continually ask me questions I kept my window rolled down. This led to freezing cold air and rain coming in, for the better part of an hour.

The oil change went smoothly, as did the transmission fluid. The hang-up actually occurred in trying to change my license plate light bulbs. The mechanic took the entire back of the hatchback door off in order to access the light bulbs. At this point he also dropped a bolt down into the hole, and had to recruit someone to find it. He also dropped the inside of my door–a plastic panel–and that made a large clattering sound. He had to go back inside the main hut twice to find different tools, and at one point had someone look up my car in their database in order to figure out how to get the covers off of the bulbs. By the time the bulbs were replaced and my door was back in one piece, there had been a total of three mechanics consulted. There’s a dumb light bulb joke in there somewhere.

Impressively effusive clouds of white smoke came out of my exhaust for a while when the cleaning fuel was injected, so whether it was really cleaning out my system or was a cleverly conceived chemical reaction, I enjoyed it. Keeping your engine at 2000pms is kind of difficult when there are weird fluids being pumped through. So after a freezing hour and close to $200 later I was sent off on my way with the instructions to go fill up my tank and then drive on the freeway for a while.

I filled up, shivering, and needing horribly to pee. I figured I could drive to the mall exit and back and then head home, but I needed a coffee in order to warm me up. It was also three pm and I had yet to eat lunch. Anyone who knows me knows this is not a good idea. So, hangry, with a full bladder, and developing pneumonia I decided to go through the Cutter’s Point drive thru and get some hot coffee. I didn’t get close enough to the window, and kept having to lean out in order to pay. I also had to ask the barista to put a dollar in the tip jar from my change, because I couldn’t reach. Speaking of change, I unzipped the back pocket on my wallet knowing that since I paid in cash I would be getting some coins back. Which is a mystery to me why, a few seconds later, I thought it would be a good idea to flip my wallet over and look at the inside, thereby depositing the contents of my change-pocket into my lap. I think I was able to get all of the coins back into the wallet before the barista could notice, and I headed off to the freeway.

On the road, I decided I should swing by Cost Plus World Market as I hadn’t been there in a while and I shouldn’t waste a trip to the Westside. With that intent in mind, I drove right past Cost Plus and almost drove past the second entrance to the parking lot as well. Where I did turn led straight to Staples, and I thought “perfect!” as I needed some more matching stacking trays for my desk at work. I wanted to browse a little bit longer, but was driven by the brain-distracting need to visit the restroom to check out as quickly as possible. I was developing schemes of finding even a fast food restaurant where I would buy something for 99 cents so that I could use their bathroom, but as luck would have it someone came up to ask for the bathroom as I was paying. Of course there would be a bathroom in the store–why didn’t I think of that?

[I would like to mention, for the sake of attention to detail, that I had to repurpose an extra seat liner into toilet paper because there was none to be found. Additionally, the seat seemed to be unbalanced, because any shifting around led to the seat also shifting and threatening breakage.]

Still cold, but slightly less miserable, I finally made it to Cost Plus. After only two minutes in housewares, I reached out to pick up a jar that I was considering for the cotton swabs in my bathroom, but did not notice that the lid was askew. The white ceramic lid, of course, went crashing to the floor and broke into three pieces. I stared at it for a couple of seconds, cried out, “this day!”, and then put the pieces into my basket. Disconsolate, I walked around the store putting a few impulse purchases into my basket–nutella included–and sheepishly handed the broken item to the cashier. Either she was genuinely nice or she could sense the mounting emotional breakdown, because she took it away very kindly and told me no problem. It was about that time I noticed I must have cut my hand on one of the jagged porcelain bits. In my mental haze I was embarrassed and anxious, and actively tried to hide the cut from her view because I didn’t want her to be grossed out. In retrospect…I should have told her to be careful when handling the porcelain and warned her there may be a teeny bit of blood on it. Hungry brains are not thinking brains.

I’m back home now, much poorer, but I have eaten a sandwich.

The stupid light is still on, and I do not want to think about the type of work or money that might be required if the expensive cleaning thingy doesn’t fix the problem.

I have a happy lamp at work, I have a feeling I should probably get one for home too.

I guess when written out it’s a fine day. Maybe I’m pmsing, or maybe I’m just distraught because after fixing the windshield I didn’t even get a week without an auto problem. Either way, it’s been a rough Sunday.




Ladies and gentlemen, you may have noticed that somehow March is halfway over. This means that not only is spring just around the corner (and it could not come soon enough), but that my two-year anniversary of living on my own is just around the corner. My cozy little home has become more so with the addition of dark bookcases, candles and other decorative knick knacks. In the past year I have switched my bedroom, moved my instruments out to the living room, and created a beautiful office nook in the back room. I have replaced my computer, and hope to replace my windshield if my appointments do not continue to be cancelled. Creating beauty in my surroundings makes me very happy. I have always been such a nester, making myself at home no matter where I am.

Comfort and stability to me are more important than adventure or excitement. I suppose that thought should come as no surprise to me, but over the last year these things have become very clear. I am still a dreamer, but I dream in ways that are different from many of my peers.

The pursuit of knowledge is my favorite kind of adventure.
I do have some desires.

I would like to find ways to perform, both with music and theatre. I dearly desire to direct again, and to be more active in writing and submitting plays.

I dream of the day in which physical fitness is not a fight or chore, but second nature. Knowing that most of my hobbies are stationary this day may not soon come to pass, but it is a pretty thought.

Mostly, though, I’m grateful for this lovely life.


In Which Emilie Writes to You from a Magical Space-Age Computing Device

I am writing to you on my wonderful new all-in-one computing device, and I must admit the 23″ touchscreen makes me feel as though I am really writing to you from a spaceship. Any moment now I could go into hyperdrive and leave this planet far, far behind. I am quite particular about my keyboards as well, and this wireless one is smooth, but still provides a satisfying mini-thud sound whenever I punch a key. Then when I start typing really quickly (like right now) I look like one of those “hackers” in spy movies that mash the keys on a computer and somehow manage to make the lights go out. I’m pretty much a typing prodigy. In addition to this computer, I am also expecting a surface pro to arrive early next week. Now that the model 2s are out, the originals are on sale. I was able to purchase both my all-in-one and the surface pro for the same amount I was considering spending on a MacBook pro. Additionally, both of my units will be able to run Office 13 Pro which is superior to the Office ’11 available for MAC users, and I will be able to write on my surface pro in class just like I would a notebook. I am giddy over my refund-enabled purchases, and will now be able to write papers for grad school without having to worry that my computer will randomly shut itself off at any moment, just for a lark.

Grad school is pretty much my life right now, that and work. Hello the next three years! On top of two classes, I also am required to meet with dyad partners every week outside of class to discuss the movies and books we read weekly. Oh, I also need to research different private practices in the area, because as a part of my program I am required to attend a certain amount of therapy sessions. If you have any recommendations, be sure to send them my way! Turns out it’s somewhat difficult to get approved for billing through GroupHealth when your initial reason for therapy is “grad school requirement”. (Sidenote: I do think it will be a very valuable experience, and all therapists should be going through therapy as well, so even though I joke I am taking it seriously). Don’t get me wrong, I love being in the classroom and am very excited about both the field and also the new friends I am making, but I am afraid I am in a sort of bartering system with myself where I either get to A) spend some time relaxing B) spend some time exercising C) Spend some time socializing or D) spend some time cleaning but I cannot ever seem to fit in more than one. I will get better, I’m just a little out of practice! (Ok I need to interject here and go back to the whole subject of my magical space-age computing device and let you know that I am so ecstatic right now!)

In order to help simplify my life a little I thought I would attempt to address my never-ending bag lady problem by sewing myself a custom bag big enough to carry everything. I ordered the most adorable fabric from Spoonflower (if you have not explored that website you are missing out on life) and have begun making it. The end goal is to create a giant, quilted tote. The lining is sewn and the outside is cut and waiting to be sewn. The quilting, straps, pockets and other embellishments are still under consideration. I fear, however, that I may have made a slight miscalculation. This current dilemma was actually brought on by a remark one of my dyad partners said to me after we had our last session. She merely mentioned that I might not want the most giant bag (my paraphrase, her words were definitely more elegant) as it would be rather heavy. Now, ever since she said that, I’ve been staring at my beautifully prepared lining thinking, “it’s too big”. I think I’m just having a brief emotional crisis that I shall ignore and continue on. I mean, 21″x17″x7″ isn’t an unreasonable size for an over-the-shoulder bag, is it? I mean it’s big, but is it too big? I will be carrying files, textbooks, a surface, my wallet, a water bottle, snacks and dinner. You know what? No, no I’m not going to doubt myself. If it ends up being hilariously large I’ll just use it as an overnight bag and make another school bag of more moderate proportions. After all, you can never have too many bags. Ok, crisis averted. Kind of.

Except the more bags I make, the less far I am getting from the moniker “bag lady”.

Who am I kidding? I’ll always be a bag lady. I’ll just make sure to always have really, really cute bags.

So cute that you’re going to start carrying more bags just so you can be more like me.


Clearly I need those therapy sessions.


To summarize, in closing: School, work=my life. School+work=lots of bags. New bag+school+work+computing devices=awesome, resigned, bag lady life.





And We’re Off to a Really Great Start

I just know that 2014 is going to be a solid year–I’m already having a jolly time. This morning I woke up at 5:30 and then snoozed until 6:00. I love a good snooze. After acknowledging that the morning was rolling away, I popped (read: rolled) up and got ready. I had just enough time to shower, do my hair and makeup, make and eat breakfast, make coffee, and get into the office before 8am. I was the first one there! That hasn’t happened for a while. So the morning was just delightful.

Later on I ate the lunch that I had packed myself (oh yes, I ALSO packed lunch before leaving home) and then headed over to my Dentist’s office for my teeth cleaning. I had forgotten when my appointment was, but luckily the office always confirms the day before. I arrived with a few minutes to spare, so was surprised when the receptionist greeted me with a strange look instead of a friendly smile. Things felt a little weird. “Two o’clock, right?” She didn’t even bother to use words, just lifted three little fingers and shook her head at me. So…I drove back to work. Which was good, because I ended up running into about three different fires that needed dousing. Which was also bad, because as I was straightening things out I glanced up at the clock and realized I was about to be late for my actual appointment. At this point I dropped some files off mid-conversation with a coworker and rushed off while squeaking, “I’m going to miss the dentist!” Of course I arrived promptly at five minutes before my appointment and the receptionist and I giggled over my second appearance of the afternoon. I then got to spend the next half hour relaxing in the comfortable dental chair and getting my teeth cleaned as my dental hygienist complemented my complexion, inquired after my work and shared happy holiday stories. Such bliss!

I finished out the work day (plus some more to make up for the dentist adventure), and got a reminder call about my haircut tomorrow. I wrote down the time just to be safe. When I got home I made mango-mint chicken with bean salad, paid my rent (after having to fix the year on my check…oops), and made my lunch for tomorrow. And requested an eye appointment because my prescription is about to expire.

Oh yes! And I got to take notes on my brand new clipboard-folio in the office, inspiring jealousy around me. Nothing like brand new office supplies to make a girl happy.

All I’m saying is that whether the events of this year are commonplace or extraordinary, it’s the attitude that can really make the day.