Yesterday, I was struck with the dumb luck of finding my journal from 2011. I'm not much of a journaling gal (besides this little piece of heaven that you have the pleasure of reading), and the journal only contained three pages of my thoughts from a span of almost eight months (yeah, that's right: all I had to write about in EIGHT MONTHS was a whole whopping three pages - and they're tiny, journal-sized pages, at that). Those three pages, those eight months, contained some of the catalytic thoughts that catapulted me to the place where I find myself today: a PhD program in the Department of Communication Studies at the University of Iowa.
What a coincidence that I found this time capsule of my thoughts the day before classes started at Iowa. The very first entry contained sentiments about my struggle to figure out what my "next steps" would be - where my life would take me. I wrote:
...I can't figure out the "next step" because I haven't hammered out every single minute detail of the decision. And when I haven't figured it ALL out and it's not perfect, I just don't do it at all. Failure is a foe I like to keep at great distance; I avoid him. Though, by avoiding failure, I also avoid ultimate success. - I stop myself before I start. And it ends now...
I wonder how many steps I've taken since that entry? Do you think I could even count them all? Here I am, starting another great and wondrous chapter of my life NOW - facing it all with relative fearlessness (compared to the crippling fear I felt at the prospect of making a change just a few years ago). Since taking that next step, I have experienced a world of people, places, and things that I never could have had before. The trajectory of my life has changed dramatically, and I am so enamored by this adventure!
This leg of the adventure takes place in Iowa City, Iowa - probably one of the friendliest places on earth. A place where the gas station attendants shake your hand and introduce themselves, asking you to come back again soon. A place where the produce man at the grocery store tells you stories about his mother because your glasses remind him of her. A place where neighbors wave hello, despite not knowing who you are. A place where kids' artwork hangs on garage doors and parents stand by lemonade stands with their entrepreneurial-spirited children. Oh Iowa...
Just a few days before I moved to Iowa, my little brother shared some words of wisdom that are even more poignant now, after finding my journal. He, too, reminded me of some of my own words to provide me with a little perspective about the step I was about to take. He said that he knew I was probably very sad to say goodbye to my friends and my life in Winston-Salem, but he wanted me to look back at my first few blogs from when I moved there: I was alone, I was uncertain, and it didn't feel like home. He encouraged me to think about how much had changed in those two years and how hard it was to say goodbye to a place that had become home. If THAT could happen in two years, he said, just think of what the possibilities are in Iowa. Everything is going to be fine.
So far, he's been pretty right. I'm coming off of the first day of classes here; one in which I was a student AND a teacher. My life here is off to a promising, joyful (and very sweaty) start. Every day is a gift that I gave myself three years ago, when I made the decision to look fear and failure in the face and to challenge what I thought was possible, reasonable, and practical for myself. I feel incredibly lucky, incredibly empowered, and, hopefully, incredibly motivated to keep this old thing updated more frequently. I need to prepare more ammunition for future me to look back on in amazement.
Peace, love, and lemonade stands--
EMILY :)
August 25, 2014
February 8, 2014
Don't Call It a Comeback
It has taken me about a week to figure out exactly which direction I wanted to take this post. After some poignant conversations and experiences with some of my good friends down here in The Dash, I know where to go: I'm taking us in the direction of happiness.
Here's how this all came about: After putting my fingers to the keys a few times already in 2014 (impressive, no?), I realized that my post frequency this semester as compared to last semester has SKYROCKETED! My post rate in the fall was darn near dismal. I posted ONCE last semester - one.single.time. And my first few posts of 2014 have elicited such a great response from you all; I have received nothing but impassioned pleas to keep on posting. Who am I not to give the people what they want? I mean, really.
But wait. Let's not get ahead of ourselves (and let's not doubt for a minute that I'm someone who has to over-analyze every irregularity in her life). What happened in the fall? Was there nothing to talk about? Well, that certainly wasn't the case because I look back and realize that I failed to mention SO MANY occurrences from the fall: The new batch of grad students in my program, visits from friends far and near, a trip to DC, the comings together of the first chapter of my thesis, another birthday, my sister's move to "The Fort," my little bro's triumphant return from Japan - man, oh, man. Okay, not a lack of things to talk about, so... Was I too busy? Get real, Emily, you're always busy. Was I uninspired? I've been uninspired before, and it typically brings about the most delicious rants about "kids these days." Hmm...
So let's explore these poignant conversations with good friends in The Dash. First of all, one of my greatest failures as your beloved blogger is not telling you about some of the great friendships I have developed in the last six months. The new cohort of grad students that joined my program in the fall have been such a bright and shining spot in my life for the last six months. I didn't nickname them for the purposes of the blog, which is a bit of let-down, I know. And I guess that means I have to call them by name and totally forsake their anonymity. Meh, whatever. On to poignant conversations --->
It began with an evening with Rainn Wilson from SoulPancake (and The Office). I accompanied my separated-at-birth, possibly fraternal twin, #twinningsohard, new yoga buddy and classmate, Ashleigh, to Rainn's talk (and it was her birthday - woo!). One of the overarching themes of his presentation was the pursuit of happiness - we all want it, we don't know how to get it, or we look for it in the wrong places, and some of us die before we figure out how to be happy. Rainn's suggestion? Gratitude. Show gratitude, be happy. Be mindful, live in the moment, and be GRATEFUL for that moment. Gratitude, mindfulness, showing kindness to others = keys to happiness? I had to chew on that for a while.
And then a few days later, I engaged in a little heart-to-heart with another dear, new classmate that I failed to tell you about until right now: Hannah. Hannah is a Texas ex with the license plate and Texas Longhorn cowboy boots to prove it. We take classes together, we TA together, we tutor together, we ride the shuttle to campus with Ron together, we spend much of our weekends together, we plan great adventures together, and we share a heart-to-heart conversation here and there. In the meanderings of our conversation the other day, we came to a juncture in which we both acknowledged that we so often depend on something external to provide us with happiness: friends, romantic partners, full social calendars, food, awards and accolades, etc. With Rainn's words weighing heavy in my mind, I thought: NO. These external sources CAN'T give us happiness. I'm the only one who can give myself happiness.
And then, my brain was struck with a lightning bolt (as it often is when I have serious revelations): Perhaps I wasn't blogging in the fall because I was unhappy? Perhaps I could have been happy and, subsequently, could have graced you all with a few more posts, if I had taken a moment to stop and appreciate what was happening in my life. If I had taken a moment to show some gratitude for new friends, the start of a new school year in an amazing place, great opportunities for myself and my family, and a journey that continues to prove itself quite exciting - maybe I could have mustered up some happiness and some posts for the party people out there in the world who survive only on my musings on this little blog o' mine.
Then, my thoughts took another turn. With the lightning bolt that had already struck my brain, the storm clouds came rolling in: So I'm blogging a lot now because there's a lot going on that I want to share with the world, and I'm HAPPY. But what if the happiness I'm experiencing now is still only a product of external factors? Am I happy because I've been admitted to some of the best PhD programs in my field in the COUNTRY, or am I truly happy? Did I create this happiness for myself, or did a few acceptance letters create the happiness? Take shelter, people, the storm has come and it's a doozy.
There's a path I can take to find reprieve from the storm: gratitude. I'm on the path now, and it's actually quite enjoyable. I implore you to try a little gratitude - to live in this moment and cherish all that this moment affords you: shelter, safety, nourishment, friendship, opportunities, experiences, health, a Mountain Dew, and a brand spankin' new iPhone 5c (okay, those last few are pretty specific to my moment, right now, but you get the picture). Hopefully, with this new-found gratitude and happiness, y'all will hear a lot more from me in the coming months.
Peace, love, and some good old fashioned HAPPINESS--
Emily :)
P.S. If you want to hear more about Rainn's take on happiness and what SoulPancake is all about, check out soulpancake.com and one of their many videos:
Here's how this all came about: After putting my fingers to the keys a few times already in 2014 (impressive, no?), I realized that my post frequency this semester as compared to last semester has SKYROCKETED! My post rate in the fall was darn near dismal. I posted ONCE last semester - one.single.time. And my first few posts of 2014 have elicited such a great response from you all; I have received nothing but impassioned pleas to keep on posting. Who am I not to give the people what they want? I mean, really.
But wait. Let's not get ahead of ourselves (and let's not doubt for a minute that I'm someone who has to over-analyze every irregularity in her life). What happened in the fall? Was there nothing to talk about? Well, that certainly wasn't the case because I look back and realize that I failed to mention SO MANY occurrences from the fall: The new batch of grad students in my program, visits from friends far and near, a trip to DC, the comings together of the first chapter of my thesis, another birthday, my sister's move to "The Fort," my little bro's triumphant return from Japan - man, oh, man. Okay, not a lack of things to talk about, so... Was I too busy? Get real, Emily, you're always busy. Was I uninspired? I've been uninspired before, and it typically brings about the most delicious rants about "kids these days." Hmm...
So let's explore these poignant conversations with good friends in The Dash. First of all, one of my greatest failures as your beloved blogger is not telling you about some of the great friendships I have developed in the last six months. The new cohort of grad students that joined my program in the fall have been such a bright and shining spot in my life for the last six months. I didn't nickname them for the purposes of the blog, which is a bit of let-down, I know. And I guess that means I have to call them by name and totally forsake their anonymity. Meh, whatever. On to poignant conversations --->
It began with an evening with Rainn Wilson from SoulPancake (and The Office). I accompanied my separated-at-birth, possibly fraternal twin, #twinningsohard, new yoga buddy and classmate, Ashleigh, to Rainn's talk (and it was her birthday - woo!). One of the overarching themes of his presentation was the pursuit of happiness - we all want it, we don't know how to get it, or we look for it in the wrong places, and some of us die before we figure out how to be happy. Rainn's suggestion? Gratitude. Show gratitude, be happy. Be mindful, live in the moment, and be GRATEFUL for that moment. Gratitude, mindfulness, showing kindness to others = keys to happiness? I had to chew on that for a while.
And then a few days later, I engaged in a little heart-to-heart with another dear, new classmate that I failed to tell you about until right now: Hannah. Hannah is a Texas ex with the license plate and Texas Longhorn cowboy boots to prove it. We take classes together, we TA together, we tutor together, we ride the shuttle to campus with Ron together, we spend much of our weekends together, we plan great adventures together, and we share a heart-to-heart conversation here and there. In the meanderings of our conversation the other day, we came to a juncture in which we both acknowledged that we so often depend on something external to provide us with happiness: friends, romantic partners, full social calendars, food, awards and accolades, etc. With Rainn's words weighing heavy in my mind, I thought: NO. These external sources CAN'T give us happiness. I'm the only one who can give myself happiness.
And then, my brain was struck with a lightning bolt (as it often is when I have serious revelations): Perhaps I wasn't blogging in the fall because I was unhappy? Perhaps I could have been happy and, subsequently, could have graced you all with a few more posts, if I had taken a moment to stop and appreciate what was happening in my life. If I had taken a moment to show some gratitude for new friends, the start of a new school year in an amazing place, great opportunities for myself and my family, and a journey that continues to prove itself quite exciting - maybe I could have mustered up some happiness and some posts for the party people out there in the world who survive only on my musings on this little blog o' mine.
Then, my thoughts took another turn. With the lightning bolt that had already struck my brain, the storm clouds came rolling in: So I'm blogging a lot now because there's a lot going on that I want to share with the world, and I'm HAPPY. But what if the happiness I'm experiencing now is still only a product of external factors? Am I happy because I've been admitted to some of the best PhD programs in my field in the COUNTRY, or am I truly happy? Did I create this happiness for myself, or did a few acceptance letters create the happiness? Take shelter, people, the storm has come and it's a doozy.
There's a path I can take to find reprieve from the storm: gratitude. I'm on the path now, and it's actually quite enjoyable. I implore you to try a little gratitude - to live in this moment and cherish all that this moment affords you: shelter, safety, nourishment, friendship, opportunities, experiences, health, a Mountain Dew, and a brand spankin' new iPhone 5c (okay, those last few are pretty specific to my moment, right now, but you get the picture). Hopefully, with this new-found gratitude and happiness, y'all will hear a lot more from me in the coming months.
Peace, love, and some good old fashioned HAPPINESS--
Emily :)
P.S. If you want to hear more about Rainn's take on happiness and what SoulPancake is all about, check out soulpancake.com and one of their many videos:
January 29, 2014
But What Do You DO With Communication?
On a recent phone interview, my interviewer opened the conversation with, "I REALLY related to some of the things that you wrote in one of your essays - that no one really understands what you're studying." We joked about the many times that people have asked us what we DO with a degree in communication; if we intend to be television broadcasters and whether we'd be covering news, entertainment, sports, or otherwise; or if we're doing this just because we like to talk, are good at talking, and want to keep talking and get paid for it. For those of you who have asked me these questions: It's okay; I owe you an explanation. And to all of my fellow comm majors, comm scholars, comm professionals: Sigh.
Since I'll likely post a lot in the coming months about school (because, well, let's face it, I LOVE school), I should probably tell you what in the world I spend all this time, coffee consumption, and energy on. Before we start, though, I must provide a warning: There are many, diverse directions you can pursue with a degree in communication; I represent one tiny little blip on the spectrum of these possibilities. I, by no means, represent what EVERYONE does or can do with a degree in communication. In the simplest of terms, I study communication in personal relationships. More specifically (yet not really specific at all), I really want to know what's different or the same about how people communicate online v. face-to-face, and how these differing communication contexts impact characteristics of the relationships. In order to answer these questions, I don't just read books about it, but I conduct my own research. Someday, I'll be the person whose book chapter someone else reads to learn the answer to these questions. That's what I do.
Now, in doing what I do (which is such a vague phrase, but just go with it), I've discovered that scholar/researcher Emily is a bit of a contradiction to regular life Emily. Let me give you a few examples:
1) Scholar/researcher Emily studies mediated communication - communicating with others via text messages, Google chat, Facebook, Twitter, etc. However, regular life Emily doesn't even own a smartphone. Hmmm...
2) Scholar/researcher Emily is really interested in the adaptation of nonverbal cues in mediated contexts - all the nonverbal cues that are visible in face-to-face communication (gestures, facial expressions, tone of voice, etc.) that aren't quite possible in a text message. She's really interested in this topic because she imagines that it's far less interesting to read this blog than it would be to experience her talking about all of this in person (can you imagine how much arm-flailing she'd be doing by this point?!). And this is one of the reasons that regular life Emily has put the kibosh on online dating for so long: She's just not the same and other people just aren't the same online. I'm afraid I'd be totally lame online! But these days, regular life Emily is changing her tune, and potentially diving into the online dating scene (more to come, my friends; MORE.TO.COME.).
Besides these scholar/researcher Emily and regular life Emily contradictions, I must bring up another instance in which I have proven myself a hypocrite. Please direct your attention to Exhibit A, a post from last spring in which I spewed my rants and complaints about a whole host of stuff (see: "You Know What Really Grinds My Gears?"). In that post, you may recall that I went on a rant about the nonsensical nature of black stretchy pants and boots as a fashion choice. I must admit that I, Emily Michelle Buehler, at this very moment, am wearing black stretchy pants and boots with an over-sized sweater. Crap. I caved. I may need an intervention.
So here are your take-aways, folks:
EMILY :)
P.S. How many times are y'all going to let me talk about myself in the third-person before you get A) really concerned about my sanity, B) really annoyed with me, or C) really confused about who I'm really talking about? Just curious.
P.P.S. Don't EVEN get me started on the difference between communication and communicationS.
Since I'll likely post a lot in the coming months about school (because, well, let's face it, I LOVE school), I should probably tell you what in the world I spend all this time, coffee consumption, and energy on. Before we start, though, I must provide a warning: There are many, diverse directions you can pursue with a degree in communication; I represent one tiny little blip on the spectrum of these possibilities. I, by no means, represent what EVERYONE does or can do with a degree in communication. In the simplest of terms, I study communication in personal relationships. More specifically (yet not really specific at all), I really want to know what's different or the same about how people communicate online v. face-to-face, and how these differing communication contexts impact characteristics of the relationships. In order to answer these questions, I don't just read books about it, but I conduct my own research. Someday, I'll be the person whose book chapter someone else reads to learn the answer to these questions. That's what I do.
Now, in doing what I do (which is such a vague phrase, but just go with it), I've discovered that scholar/researcher Emily is a bit of a contradiction to regular life Emily. Let me give you a few examples:
1) Scholar/researcher Emily studies mediated communication - communicating with others via text messages, Google chat, Facebook, Twitter, etc. However, regular life Emily doesn't even own a smartphone. Hmmm...
2) Scholar/researcher Emily is really interested in the adaptation of nonverbal cues in mediated contexts - all the nonverbal cues that are visible in face-to-face communication (gestures, facial expressions, tone of voice, etc.) that aren't quite possible in a text message. She's really interested in this topic because she imagines that it's far less interesting to read this blog than it would be to experience her talking about all of this in person (can you imagine how much arm-flailing she'd be doing by this point?!). And this is one of the reasons that regular life Emily has put the kibosh on online dating for so long: She's just not the same and other people just aren't the same online. I'm afraid I'd be totally lame online! But these days, regular life Emily is changing her tune, and potentially diving into the online dating scene (more to come, my friends; MORE.TO.COME.).
Besides these scholar/researcher Emily and regular life Emily contradictions, I must bring up another instance in which I have proven myself a hypocrite. Please direct your attention to Exhibit A, a post from last spring in which I spewed my rants and complaints about a whole host of stuff (see: "You Know What Really Grinds My Gears?"). In that post, you may recall that I went on a rant about the nonsensical nature of black stretchy pants and boots as a fashion choice. I must admit that I, Emily Michelle Buehler, at this very moment, am wearing black stretchy pants and boots with an over-sized sweater. Crap. I caved. I may need an intervention.
So here are your take-aways, folks:
- I need to upgrade my phone
- You should look forward to posts about my online dating adventures
- And someone save me from the stretchy pants
- Oh, and now you know what I do (sort of)
- So stop asking me if I want to be on TV. I don't want to be on TV (but I kind of want to be on TV - in a reality show about my ridiculous life, NOT as a broadcaster)
EMILY :)
P.S. How many times are y'all going to let me talk about myself in the third-person before you get A) really concerned about my sanity, B) really annoyed with me, or C) really confused about who I'm really talking about? Just curious.
P.P.S. Don't EVEN get me started on the difference between communication and communicationS.
January 25, 2014
Fashion Plates and Fellowships
Do you ever stop to consider the immense number of people who are cheering you on through your life? There's a whole gaggle of people who want you to succeed, who know you'll succeed, and will be there to celebrate (and knowingly say, "I told you so") when you succeed. These are people near and far, people young and old, people who you spoke to five minutes ago and people you haven't seen for five years. And celebrating with them is so much dang fun. Their compliments and well-wishes and I-told-you-so's make you feel like a million bucks.
And then you start to wonder - am I giving back proportionately to what I'm getting from these people? Do they know I'm cheering them on too? Do I make their life's victories unforgettable? Do I make them feel like a million bucks? Do I tell them, "thanks," even when there's not some huge accomplishment to celebrate? Each day of my life, am I showing appreciation to these people who make my life so dazzling, so fulfilling, so enriching, and so sitting-on-top-of-the-world amazing?
So let's talk about my mom (who will probably be the first one to read this, the first one to tell me she read it, and she will cry when she reads it; don't make me call you that word, Mom):
My mom is awesome.
Sometimes, I try to let her know that all of MY accomplishments that SHE is so proud of actually come from HER. I didn't just fall onto this earth and teach myself everything I know. I didn't appear in this world with an innate sense of how to be a good person. I was raised by two awesome parents and a whole slew of other family members who helped shape me into this young lady you see before you today. She probably won't accept credit for any of this because she probably doesn't think that she was really trying to do any of what I'll give her credit for; and maybe that's true - maybe she didn't try to instill a love of learning in her kids, maybe she didn't intentionally sit down and create a plan for how she would make her kids grow up to be good people, maybe none of this was a conscious effort. Maybe the fact of the matter is that my mom is such an amazing person that she doesn't have to try to impart those qualities unto her children: she just does. She exudes kindness, curiosity, enthusiasm - and we followed her example.
So thanks for reading to me when I was a kid. Thanks for taking me to the library for story hour and letting me buy books whenever the Scholastic book orders came home in my book bag. Although I didn't understand it as a kid, thanks for all the educational field trips we took: nature centers, museums, parks. Thanks for setting an example for the way I should treat other people. Thanks for encouraging my curiosity with painting projects, homemade crayons, quilting, bedazzlers, Play-doh, Fashion Plates (man, I loved Fashion Plates!), crafts with Grandma, and all sorts of other stuff. Thanks for letting me play outside and make up songs to sing to myself. Thanks for my siblings who joined in a lot of these shenanigans and continue to challenge me (mentally and otherwise). Thanks for letting me be involved in a million activities and driving me back and forth from so many of them. And thanks for putting up with the perfectionist little kindergartener Emily who erased her mistakes until she burned holes in the paper - and continuing to put up with perfectionist Emily to this day. Thanks for being the first person I call when I get good news because I know you'll be the most excited and most proud of anyone I call.
Speaking of phone calls and good news: I thought this was the best way to share news with a bunch of people who care about what I'm up to (because there just aren't enough hours in the day to call/text all of you). In the last 48 hours, I have learned that I am accepted or offered a phone interview at nearly all of my top choice PhD programs. I have been awarded a fellowship at one school, in competition for a fellowship at another, and awaiting to hear more from others. I am ecstatic, and I feel as though years of hard work, once again, has paid off. I also feel incredibly grateful to all who have led me here, in one way or another. Expect to hear more updates, as my decision process progresses.
For now, I must leave you to prepare for a phone interview, at which point I'm super grateful for my dad who has taught me everything I know about socializing with strangers. He might not know that he's charismatic, but he is, and I'm glad to have learned that trait from him. By golly, I was blessed with two pretty rocking parents. Go hug your parents, if you can, y'all! Or hug your kids! Life is good.
Peace, love, and Fashion Plates--
Emily :)
And then you start to wonder - am I giving back proportionately to what I'm getting from these people? Do they know I'm cheering them on too? Do I make their life's victories unforgettable? Do I make them feel like a million bucks? Do I tell them, "thanks," even when there's not some huge accomplishment to celebrate? Each day of my life, am I showing appreciation to these people who make my life so dazzling, so fulfilling, so enriching, and so sitting-on-top-of-the-world amazing?
So let's talk about my mom (who will probably be the first one to read this, the first one to tell me she read it, and she will cry when she reads it; don't make me call you that word, Mom):
My mom is awesome.
Sometimes, I try to let her know that all of MY accomplishments that SHE is so proud of actually come from HER. I didn't just fall onto this earth and teach myself everything I know. I didn't appear in this world with an innate sense of how to be a good person. I was raised by two awesome parents and a whole slew of other family members who helped shape me into this young lady you see before you today. She probably won't accept credit for any of this because she probably doesn't think that she was really trying to do any of what I'll give her credit for; and maybe that's true - maybe she didn't try to instill a love of learning in her kids, maybe she didn't intentionally sit down and create a plan for how she would make her kids grow up to be good people, maybe none of this was a conscious effort. Maybe the fact of the matter is that my mom is such an amazing person that she doesn't have to try to impart those qualities unto her children: she just does. She exudes kindness, curiosity, enthusiasm - and we followed her example.
So thanks for reading to me when I was a kid. Thanks for taking me to the library for story hour and letting me buy books whenever the Scholastic book orders came home in my book bag. Although I didn't understand it as a kid, thanks for all the educational field trips we took: nature centers, museums, parks. Thanks for setting an example for the way I should treat other people. Thanks for encouraging my curiosity with painting projects, homemade crayons, quilting, bedazzlers, Play-doh, Fashion Plates (man, I loved Fashion Plates!), crafts with Grandma, and all sorts of other stuff. Thanks for letting me play outside and make up songs to sing to myself. Thanks for my siblings who joined in a lot of these shenanigans and continue to challenge me (mentally and otherwise). Thanks for letting me be involved in a million activities and driving me back and forth from so many of them. And thanks for putting up with the perfectionist little kindergartener Emily who erased her mistakes until she burned holes in the paper - and continuing to put up with perfectionist Emily to this day. Thanks for being the first person I call when I get good news because I know you'll be the most excited and most proud of anyone I call.
Speaking of phone calls and good news: I thought this was the best way to share news with a bunch of people who care about what I'm up to (because there just aren't enough hours in the day to call/text all of you). In the last 48 hours, I have learned that I am accepted or offered a phone interview at nearly all of my top choice PhD programs. I have been awarded a fellowship at one school, in competition for a fellowship at another, and awaiting to hear more from others. I am ecstatic, and I feel as though years of hard work, once again, has paid off. I also feel incredibly grateful to all who have led me here, in one way or another. Expect to hear more updates, as my decision process progresses.
For now, I must leave you to prepare for a phone interview, at which point I'm super grateful for my dad who has taught me everything I know about socializing with strangers. He might not know that he's charismatic, but he is, and I'm glad to have learned that trait from him. By golly, I was blessed with two pretty rocking parents. Go hug your parents, if you can, y'all! Or hug your kids! Life is good.
Peace, love, and Fashion Plates--
Emily :)
October 7, 2013
A Good Identity Crisis
Having spent 16 hours of my weekend in the car, I've soaked up my fair share of the top 40 hits that any radio station from here to Ohio has to offer. There are a few lines from the chorus of one particular song that are really sticking with me, and they're brought to you by Avicii--
So wake me up when it's all over
When I'm wiser and I'm older
All this time I was finding myself
And I didn't know I was lost
These four lines seemed quite appropriate, as I've been asking the question, "Who am I?" quite a bit lately - and for various reasons.
First, I've asked "Who am I?!" with absolute joy and utter shock at the power of my own determination in accomplishing my goal to run a 10k. I hardly recognize myself anymore, as the former #1 opponent of running is now putting in about 20 miles per week. I own sneakers that aren't manufactured by Nike. The sole playlist on my iPod contains only songs that are 128-140 beats per minute. I own a stopwatch. I eat complex carbs and lots of bananas. While writing this, someone posted a link to an article about running on my Facebook wall. And I don't skip workouts - because they're what I most look forward to. Who is this person? Where did she come from? When is she running a half-marathon? Can I be friends with her?
I've also mulled over and over and over the "Who am I?" question as I begin crafting personal and academic statements for my PhD applications. Quick aside for a life update: I'm applying to about seven programs. Said applications are due between December 1 and January 15. Seven essays to write for the first three programs, many of which require me to ask myself, "Who am I?" and articulate my response to this life-haunting question as succinctly as possible. How do I capture myself in 500 words or less? How do I distinguish myself from other applicants? What's worth reading? And is it inappropriate to mention my undying love for bacon and chili cheese coneys? (Sadly, I am fully aware that bacon and chili cheese coneys should not make the cut. If you have any suggestions about how I break the bad news to them, let me know. Maintaining those relationships is very important to me.)
And today, I had the awesome privilege of filling in for my professor, who's out of town, which meant lecturing to the full class of 90 students (typically, I teach 15-30 students, and only on Fridays). How appropriate that I would be lecturing on self-concept and identity construction amid my own incessant grappling with the big question: Who am I? Which reminds me to tell you that teaching is going really freaking well. In addition to my TA duties, I've been tutoring several students. If they had to describe to you who I am, they'd tell you that until I upgrade my phone to the 21st century, it doesn't even matter. They may provide a lot of unsolicited commentary on my life, but it provides really hilarious relief to my daily grind; I wouldn't trade them for the world (despite the fact that they've called me boring, a cartoon character, possibly crazy, and told me that my life doesn't seem real).
The first six weeks of my second year at Wake, as a whole, have left me asking, "Who am I?" on several occasions, as I simply feel like a totally different person compared to who I was last year. I know people. I walk across campus and wave to familiar faces rather than quietly encountering a sea of strange ones. Someone actually said to me, "You know EVERYONE!" My surroundings are familiar. I'm busy, but I haven't cried yet. I've allowed myself to have fun (and, at times, too much fun - which is SO MUCH FUN). I finally feel more like my old self, yet better and wiser than my old self.
I guess I woke up. And I guess you could say, "All this time I was finding myself, and I didn't know I was lost." Oh, thanks Avicii, you took the words right out of my mouth. Now, if I can put some words in Avicii's mouth, I think all of this means that who I am will always be a work in progress. And as long as there's always progress, I'll be a pretty happy camper. As a matter of fact, I might be so happy, so different, and so enlightened that I might actually enjoy camping by the time all is said and done.
Peace, love, and my dumbphone--
Emily
So wake me up when it's all over
When I'm wiser and I'm older
All this time I was finding myself
And I didn't know I was lost
These four lines seemed quite appropriate, as I've been asking the question, "Who am I?" quite a bit lately - and for various reasons.
First, I've asked "Who am I?!" with absolute joy and utter shock at the power of my own determination in accomplishing my goal to run a 10k. I hardly recognize myself anymore, as the former #1 opponent of running is now putting in about 20 miles per week. I own sneakers that aren't manufactured by Nike. The sole playlist on my iPod contains only songs that are 128-140 beats per minute. I own a stopwatch. I eat complex carbs and lots of bananas. While writing this, someone posted a link to an article about running on my Facebook wall. And I don't skip workouts - because they're what I most look forward to. Who is this person? Where did she come from? When is she running a half-marathon? Can I be friends with her?
I've also mulled over and over and over the "Who am I?" question as I begin crafting personal and academic statements for my PhD applications. Quick aside for a life update: I'm applying to about seven programs. Said applications are due between December 1 and January 15. Seven essays to write for the first three programs, many of which require me to ask myself, "Who am I?" and articulate my response to this life-haunting question as succinctly as possible. How do I capture myself in 500 words or less? How do I distinguish myself from other applicants? What's worth reading? And is it inappropriate to mention my undying love for bacon and chili cheese coneys? (Sadly, I am fully aware that bacon and chili cheese coneys should not make the cut. If you have any suggestions about how I break the bad news to them, let me know. Maintaining those relationships is very important to me.)
And today, I had the awesome privilege of filling in for my professor, who's out of town, which meant lecturing to the full class of 90 students (typically, I teach 15-30 students, and only on Fridays). How appropriate that I would be lecturing on self-concept and identity construction amid my own incessant grappling with the big question: Who am I? Which reminds me to tell you that teaching is going really freaking well. In addition to my TA duties, I've been tutoring several students. If they had to describe to you who I am, they'd tell you that until I upgrade my phone to the 21st century, it doesn't even matter. They may provide a lot of unsolicited commentary on my life, but it provides really hilarious relief to my daily grind; I wouldn't trade them for the world (despite the fact that they've called me boring, a cartoon character, possibly crazy, and told me that my life doesn't seem real).
The first six weeks of my second year at Wake, as a whole, have left me asking, "Who am I?" on several occasions, as I simply feel like a totally different person compared to who I was last year. I know people. I walk across campus and wave to familiar faces rather than quietly encountering a sea of strange ones. Someone actually said to me, "You know EVERYONE!" My surroundings are familiar. I'm busy, but I haven't cried yet. I've allowed myself to have fun (and, at times, too much fun - which is SO MUCH FUN). I finally feel more like my old self, yet better and wiser than my old self.
I guess I woke up. And I guess you could say, "All this time I was finding myself, and I didn't know I was lost." Oh, thanks Avicii, you took the words right out of my mouth. Now, if I can put some words in Avicii's mouth, I think all of this means that who I am will always be a work in progress. And as long as there's always progress, I'll be a pretty happy camper. As a matter of fact, I might be so happy, so different, and so enlightened that I might actually enjoy camping by the time all is said and done.
Peace, love, and my dumbphone--
Emily
August 24, 2013
Ogres Are Like Onions
When it comes to siblings, some people are the youngest, some are the oldest, some are in the middle, and some don't have any at all. I'm fortunate to have a few, and, as I've mentioned previously, they're all pretty awesome. My "little" brother (quotation marks used around the descriptor, "little," as the young man was blessed with considerable assets in the size department), in particular, was the topic of conversation a few weeks ago. In an attempt to emphasize how much younger he is, I was struck with a memory: a memory of a simple, ordinary event in my life that I think encapsulates my relationship with my little brother very well.
It was a Friday night. Mom and Dad were out, and I was charged to babysit my little brother. Shrek had recently come out on video; it was THE must-see movie at the time, especially for someone my little brother's age, who was just a little guy when the movie was released. I was old enough to drive, and I remember taking him to rent the video and to pick out our own snacks for the night. We spread a blanket out on the living room floor and enjoyed the movie and our snacks like we were at a drive-in. Every bit of that evening seemed like such a luxury - like we were at the movies at home. Just Ben and me. Looking back, I don't really remember being upset that I had to sacrifice a Friday night to babysit him. That might be my rose-colored glasses speaking, but I'm fairly certain that I adored that "little guy" (again, little guy seems an inappropriate moniker for someone with whom I could share clothes when he was 7 and I was 14). In fact, I recall creating a video at the end of my senior year of high school, highlighting the most important parts of my life, in which I called him, "the sunshine of my life." Pretty sure I'm not exaggerating this time.
Somehow, since then, we've shared similar affinities - for music, movies, people, social issues, senses of humor, etc. Did our similarities grow out of moments like that? (Does he even remember that?) Which brings me back to the origin of the Shrek story: illustrating how much younger my little brother is. When you have a sibling that much younger, you not only FEEL like you have power in shaping who they become, but you're more AWARE of it. In retrospect, I see that my other siblings and I shaped each other - our experiences, our personalities, our sensibilities, our pet peeves (to reference an earlier post, again, sorry Erin) - but with Ben, there's an awareness that it's happening in REAL TIME. I wanted him to take advantage of every missed opportunity of my own, to learn from my mistakes, to learn from my successes, to heed my advice, and to have a life that was just as amazing as my own, if not better. Sometimes that annoyed him (remember your college search?). Sometimes it challenged and motivated him (let's talk about test scores and graduate school). Sometimes he didn't even know it was happening. Sometimes I didn't even know it was happening.
Although we're quite similar, I can't take much of the credit for who he is. Ultimately, he's pretty uniquely Ben. I've never known someone so academically-minded: from the chapter book he wrote as a pre-teen to the books on ancient Asian civilization that were on his Christmas lists as a teenager and the aspirations he has for his graduate studies. Not-so-secretly (at least now), I hope that my doctoral and his master's program bring us to the same institution... a girl can dream, right? The things he thinks about - well - I don't know if anyone else has the same thoughts. I've had the pleasure, the last few years, of sharing in his successes - which seem to crop up, left and right. He's an incredibly impressive young man. I cannot begin to express my admiration and pride in the young man he has become.
And as you can imagine, I'm a little verklempt at this point. Ben leaves TOMORROW for Japan, and I'm not with him to send him off. For the next four months, I hope he proves to be a giant among his peers - both in terms of physical stature and the quality of his character. If I've learned anything about him in his last 21 years on this earth, he'll do exactly that. Cheers to you, little brother! May your journey to the other side of the world only enrich the amazing and interesting life you already lead. I wish you safe travels, rich experiences, and an expedient return (for my sake, not yours; for you, I hope it feels like forever before you have to come back)! For the rest of you: if this ode to Ben has piqued your interest, you can read HIS blog too! It's just as funny and much more loquacious. Check out his adventures in Japan at theosakatriangle.blogspot.com
And to steal once more from Shrek because it seemed appropriate--
You're on your way...
Peace, love, and ogres--
EMILY
It was a Friday night. Mom and Dad were out, and I was charged to babysit my little brother. Shrek had recently come out on video; it was THE must-see movie at the time, especially for someone my little brother's age, who was just a little guy when the movie was released. I was old enough to drive, and I remember taking him to rent the video and to pick out our own snacks for the night. We spread a blanket out on the living room floor and enjoyed the movie and our snacks like we were at a drive-in. Every bit of that evening seemed like such a luxury - like we were at the movies at home. Just Ben and me. Looking back, I don't really remember being upset that I had to sacrifice a Friday night to babysit him. That might be my rose-colored glasses speaking, but I'm fairly certain that I adored that "little guy" (again, little guy seems an inappropriate moniker for someone with whom I could share clothes when he was 7 and I was 14). In fact, I recall creating a video at the end of my senior year of high school, highlighting the most important parts of my life, in which I called him, "the sunshine of my life." Pretty sure I'm not exaggerating this time.
Somehow, since then, we've shared similar affinities - for music, movies, people, social issues, senses of humor, etc. Did our similarities grow out of moments like that? (Does he even remember that?) Which brings me back to the origin of the Shrek story: illustrating how much younger my little brother is. When you have a sibling that much younger, you not only FEEL like you have power in shaping who they become, but you're more AWARE of it. In retrospect, I see that my other siblings and I shaped each other - our experiences, our personalities, our sensibilities, our pet peeves (to reference an earlier post, again, sorry Erin) - but with Ben, there's an awareness that it's happening in REAL TIME. I wanted him to take advantage of every missed opportunity of my own, to learn from my mistakes, to learn from my successes, to heed my advice, and to have a life that was just as amazing as my own, if not better. Sometimes that annoyed him (remember your college search?). Sometimes it challenged and motivated him (let's talk about test scores and graduate school). Sometimes he didn't even know it was happening. Sometimes I didn't even know it was happening.
Although we're quite similar, I can't take much of the credit for who he is. Ultimately, he's pretty uniquely Ben. I've never known someone so academically-minded: from the chapter book he wrote as a pre-teen to the books on ancient Asian civilization that were on his Christmas lists as a teenager and the aspirations he has for his graduate studies. Not-so-secretly (at least now), I hope that my doctoral and his master's program bring us to the same institution... a girl can dream, right? The things he thinks about - well - I don't know if anyone else has the same thoughts. I've had the pleasure, the last few years, of sharing in his successes - which seem to crop up, left and right. He's an incredibly impressive young man. I cannot begin to express my admiration and pride in the young man he has become.
And as you can imagine, I'm a little verklempt at this point. Ben leaves TOMORROW for Japan, and I'm not with him to send him off. For the next four months, I hope he proves to be a giant among his peers - both in terms of physical stature and the quality of his character. If I've learned anything about him in his last 21 years on this earth, he'll do exactly that. Cheers to you, little brother! May your journey to the other side of the world only enrich the amazing and interesting life you already lead. I wish you safe travels, rich experiences, and an expedient return (for my sake, not yours; for you, I hope it feels like forever before you have to come back)! For the rest of you: if this ode to Ben has piqued your interest, you can read HIS blog too! It's just as funny and much more loquacious. Check out his adventures in Japan at theosakatriangle.blogspot.com
And to steal once more from Shrek because it seemed appropriate--
You're on your way...
Peace, love, and ogres--
EMILY
July 23, 2013
Sometimes the Hardest Thing and the Right Thing AREN'T the Same
I was raised in a household in which we didn't take the easy way out of anything. If you could do it yourself, make it yourself, find it yourself, you did because the easy way was (and is) usually more expensive. Nearly all home improvements were of Dad's handywork. As kids, my siblings and I pulled our share of nails out of old two-by-fours so Dad could reuse the wood; that ALWAYS made for a fun Saturday afternoon (insert eye roll). Even something as simple as Hamburger Helper - I hadn't even seen a box or tried a bite of that stuff until I was in college. My mom made EVERYTHING from scratch. Mac and cheese from the box was a rarity. Clothes were made, patched, hemmed by Mom. If not, they probably came in big old boxes from one of my other cousins: hand-me-downs. Let me tell you: there was NOTHING more exciting than getting a big old box of clothes shipped from my cousin in North Carolina. It was like that part of the world held all new fashion treasures that West Central Ohio had yet to see. Going through those boxes was a dream. All that being said, taking the easy way is not really an option for a Buehler.
And this has surely carried through to my adulthood; it's certainly pervading my current situation. In three days, I will be moving for about the 12th time in the last 10 years. Yeah. Let that sink in for a moment: 12 times in 10 years. Now, the first 10 of those moves were either within the village of Ada, or they were back and forth between Ada and Anna; those moves were no big deal. About eight of them didn't really involve furniture, either. Fortunately for me, back then, I had lots of friends and family around to help. For my last three moves or so, in particular, I had my dear friend Z to help me, and this girl LOVES carrying heavy stuff. I've seen her tote a 36" TV - you know, one of the old ones that's just as deep as it is wide - across an intersection from one apartment to the next like it was a basket of laundry. She did it all just for some Padrone's pizza and my friendship (and don't even get me STARTED on the fact that I can't reward myself for ANYTHING with Padrone's anymore). Everyone should have a Z in his/her life (and if it's MY Z, you're even BETTER off, because she's amazing).
Okay, so we're about 60 hours from Emily's 12th move. Why another move? Why couldn't I just stay put for once? Well, I'm gaining a roommate in a few weeks, and we simply must have more than one bedroom (although if you know me well, you know where my real bedroom is and what my so-called "bedroom" is actually used for). This move won't be bad either. To give you an idea of how simple it will probably be - I can see my new apartment from the window of my current apartment; my stuff needs to go out, down one flight of stairs, across the parking lot about 20 yards, and up two flights of stairs to its new home. OF COURSE, my mind is programmed to do all of this the hard way. My thought process: "If I put in a few full days of my hardest work, I can do this all by myself. I'll just need help with the furniture." Chuckle. Just plain chuckle. Come on, chuckle with me, people.
At this point, I'd like to apologize if you're a close friend or family member. This do-it-yourself/do-it-the-hard-way mentality should only cause ME pain and suffering, not you. It's this sort of thought process that compels me to ask you if you can/will help me move, and I should NOT be asking you to help me lug a couch up two flights of stairs in the late July heat of North Carolina (especially if you're my even more stubborn and headstrong dad, who will probably never take the easy way out of anything). Thus, after the urging and advisement of various parties, I have chosen to take the EFFICIENT route: a crew of professional movers. Rationality has won this round (and charm won the second round, in which it got the moving company to knock a few dollars off their quote).
For the next 60 hours, then, I'm staring at a pretty bleak and lifeless apartment full of boxes, with which I was tempted to build a fort before I so eagerly filled them with all my possessions (you'll notice that I also took the easy route on the boxes - thank you, Home Depot). Things will be pretty calm until Friday, when I'm expecting a whole crew of people to get everything out of one apartment and into another within the course of one day: movers, the Internet guy, the washer/dryer guys, and my dear cousin, Stacie. And you know, it seems that she and I have come full circle: from big boxes of hand-me-downs shipped from her when I was a kid to the big boxes of my stuff that we'll transport this weekend. It's all about the boxes, baby. Maybe if this move goes super smooth, with little effort on Stacie's and my part, we can return to our childhood ways and make a fort out of the boxes after we unpack everything; now THAT might be one of the perks of efficiency.
As a final note, I hope the moving guys appreciate the ice cold Gatorade and nutritious granola bars I'm using as a sort of peace offering to them. It's no Padrone's pizza - that's for sure - but I think it'll do the trick.
Peace, love, and hand trucks--
Emily
And this has surely carried through to my adulthood; it's certainly pervading my current situation. In three days, I will be moving for about the 12th time in the last 10 years. Yeah. Let that sink in for a moment: 12 times in 10 years. Now, the first 10 of those moves were either within the village of Ada, or they were back and forth between Ada and Anna; those moves were no big deal. About eight of them didn't really involve furniture, either. Fortunately for me, back then, I had lots of friends and family around to help. For my last three moves or so, in particular, I had my dear friend Z to help me, and this girl LOVES carrying heavy stuff. I've seen her tote a 36" TV - you know, one of the old ones that's just as deep as it is wide - across an intersection from one apartment to the next like it was a basket of laundry. She did it all just for some Padrone's pizza and my friendship (and don't even get me STARTED on the fact that I can't reward myself for ANYTHING with Padrone's anymore). Everyone should have a Z in his/her life (and if it's MY Z, you're even BETTER off, because she's amazing).
Okay, so we're about 60 hours from Emily's 12th move. Why another move? Why couldn't I just stay put for once? Well, I'm gaining a roommate in a few weeks, and we simply must have more than one bedroom (although if you know me well, you know where my real bedroom is and what my so-called "bedroom" is actually used for). This move won't be bad either. To give you an idea of how simple it will probably be - I can see my new apartment from the window of my current apartment; my stuff needs to go out, down one flight of stairs, across the parking lot about 20 yards, and up two flights of stairs to its new home. OF COURSE, my mind is programmed to do all of this the hard way. My thought process: "If I put in a few full days of my hardest work, I can do this all by myself. I'll just need help with the furniture." Chuckle. Just plain chuckle. Come on, chuckle with me, people.
At this point, I'd like to apologize if you're a close friend or family member. This do-it-yourself/do-it-the-hard-way mentality should only cause ME pain and suffering, not you. It's this sort of thought process that compels me to ask you if you can/will help me move, and I should NOT be asking you to help me lug a couch up two flights of stairs in the late July heat of North Carolina (especially if you're my even more stubborn and headstrong dad, who will probably never take the easy way out of anything). Thus, after the urging and advisement of various parties, I have chosen to take the EFFICIENT route: a crew of professional movers. Rationality has won this round (and charm won the second round, in which it got the moving company to knock a few dollars off their quote).
For the next 60 hours, then, I'm staring at a pretty bleak and lifeless apartment full of boxes, with which I was tempted to build a fort before I so eagerly filled them with all my possessions (you'll notice that I also took the easy route on the boxes - thank you, Home Depot). Things will be pretty calm until Friday, when I'm expecting a whole crew of people to get everything out of one apartment and into another within the course of one day: movers, the Internet guy, the washer/dryer guys, and my dear cousin, Stacie. And you know, it seems that she and I have come full circle: from big boxes of hand-me-downs shipped from her when I was a kid to the big boxes of my stuff that we'll transport this weekend. It's all about the boxes, baby. Maybe if this move goes super smooth, with little effort on Stacie's and my part, we can return to our childhood ways and make a fort out of the boxes after we unpack everything; now THAT might be one of the perks of efficiency.As a final note, I hope the moving guys appreciate the ice cold Gatorade and nutritious granola bars I'm using as a sort of peace offering to them. It's no Padrone's pizza - that's for sure - but I think it'll do the trick.
Peace, love, and hand trucks--
Emily
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