Reading into my Soul

“Your library is your portrait.” –Holbrook Jackson

I came across the above quote a few weeks ago, but I didn’t think much of it. I have a few books at school with me, but not enough to be considered a “library”. So I saved it in my “Interesting Quotes” document in Word and forgot about it.

But this weekend I went home and I found myself staring at the two bookshelves in my room, wondering if it was true. Did my bookshelves reflect me? Would someone looking at those shelves know the essence of Emily E. Sears?

And what I realized is that they would. They would KNOW me, know my interests, know my values, and know what is important to me. My bookshelves are a reflection of myself. They show my past, my present and my future. As cheesy as it sounds, I truly believe my “essence” is contained within those shelves. 

Someone examining the shelves for my essence would first have to notice the sheer number of books. Not only is every space full, but books are stacked on top of each other and there is more than one row of books on each shelf. The mere fact that I have TWO bookshelves in my room shows my love of books. When I got my second shelf, I jumped up and down while my Dad put it together, exclaiming “Now I can get even MORE books!!”

The second thing they would probably notice is the unorganized structure of the books. This would seem contrary to my nature (a total stranger would think I hate organization which is absolutely NOT true), but due to the sheer number of books I have (see above) it is impossible for me to organize my shelves. Books go wherever there is room. But there is one exception—my series of books. Every series that I own goes with its mates. I think the unknown observer would realize that I love series. Within my shelves I have the Chronicles of Narnia, all the Anne of Green Gables books, the Little House on the Prairie series, and Nancy Drew books, among others. I have nearly an entire shelf dedicated to the Chicken Soup for the Soul series (last time I counted I had about 20 of those books from every stage of life).

But the main series on my shelf is (of course) Harry Potter. I have all 7 of the main novels along with 3 companion books. These 10 books sit exactly at eye level—the 3^rd shelf of the first bookcase—the prime spot if you will. One looking at the shelf has to know I am a major Harry Potter nerd (and if they needed any more confirmation, they merely have to turn to the right of my shelves and see the giant poster of the HP Trio on the wall).

My books are reflective of my life. They show where I’ve been versus where I’m going. There are books from high school that I hated reading at 15 that I now love. There are travel guides that I poured over while I was planning my trips to London, Paris, Rome, Alaska, Scandinavia. There are books I received as a child that I still love and will always love no matter what my age. There are books that I currently use and love—books on religion that I study, books on history that now go with my major, books on journalism that still interest me. There are books on my future goals—books on editing, on playwriting, books describing places that I have not been yet but want to desperately. Books on getting published, books on growing up. There are books that I fully intend to pass on to my children.

Most of all, the books on my shelves show my interests. The majority of my books are either Christian fiction/study books, historical fiction and nonfiction, travel books/guides, or romance novels. Doesn’t that just sound like me? Logically it makes sense—why would I keep a book that didn’t interest me? But I just like knowing that those books are “me”. I like knowing that if I had to describe myself without any kind of words I could merely take someone to my 2 bookshelves and point.

Don’t judge a book by its cover, but do judge a reader by the contents of their bookcases.

What People Notice, What People Know

I was thinking about how I recognize people the other day. As some of you might know, I spend a lot of my time at the TCU Wesley Foundation’s house. This house has a parking lot that is often full of cars. I know the cars. I know the people in those cars.

I recognize who is there based on their car. Once I cross the parking lot, and enter the back door, I’m expecting to see a certain person there. If there’s a turquoise car, it’s Abby. A tan car? Bennett. A white van? Taylor. A blue truck? Kelly. If they are not there I feel a bit cheated. Of course in the middle of the day, most people just park there and then go to class. But if I’m walking in for Thursday Night Fellowship at 7 and your car is there, I’m looking for you.

Why are people’s belongings so recognizable? How do we make associations? I feel like a Psych major.

Another example in my life. When it comes to eating out, I’m a “If it’s not broke why fix it?” type of girl. I always order the same things at most restaurants. But this is more about the recognition of my choices. At the Starbucks near Target in Rockwall, I have established a relationship. For the longest time I was A-Grande-Caramel-Macchiato-With-Three-Vanilla-Scones-If-You-Have-Them Girl. The workers KNEW me, knew my order. Why did it matter so much to me? I was associated with my coffee order for the longest time, and I liked that. (Eventually we got on a first-name basis until I went off to college. Now there are new people working there, and my days as A-Grande-Caramel-Macchiato-With-Three-Vanilla-Scones-If-You-Have-Them Girl are over.) I worked at the Target in Rockwall, so I came to that Starbucks often, either for sustenance pre-work or for a OMG-I-Survived-Another-Shift celebratory drink post-work. They knew me because I was reliable, a quality that I both love and hate about myself.

Lest you think my days of building relationships with restaurateurs are over, I would like to inform you that at Red Cactus I am now Chicken-Taco-Plate-With-Flour-Tortillas-And-Double-Rice Girl. I’ve got two more years to get on a first-name basis.

I guess my point is, whether you like it or not, people know you by the things you do and the things you own. If you always drive a blue car, people know. If you get the same meal, people notice. Even people you might not expect to. People notice the good things you do and the bad. So be aware.    

If I Were A.....

So I want to restart my blog. Maybe I need to put up a refresher eh?


If I were a month, I’d be May (my birthday month and still cool enough to be Spring)
If I were a day of the week, I’d be Friday (because I like the anticipation of the weekend, and Friday night is always my 'fun' night)
If I were a time of day, I’d be morning (Like 8-9 am. I'm definitely a morning person when I go to bed on time!)
If I were a planet, I’d be Earth (All the rest are too hot or too cold. I feel like Goldilocks, but Earth is 'just right'!)
If I were a sea animal, I'd be a seahorse
If I were a direction, I’d be South (I love warm weather. I'm definitely a Texan now.)
If I were a piece of furniture, I’d be a footstool
If I were a liquid, I’d be Dr. Pepper
If I were a gemstone, I’d be a diamond
If I were a tree, I’d be a dogwood tree
If I were a tool, I’d be a level
If I were a flower, I’d be a daisy
If I were a kind of weather, I’d be warm and sunny (75 is good)
If I were a musical instrument, I’d be a violin 
If I were a color, I’d be light blue
If I were an emotion, I’d be excitement
If I were a fruit, I’d be a peach
If I were a sound, I’d be the wind
If I were an element, I’d be earth
If I were a car, I’d be a Volkswagen Bug!
If I were a food, I’d be spaghetti
If I were a place, I’d be the woods
If I were a material, I’d be cotton
If I were a taste, I’d be sweet
If I were a scent, I’d be vanilla
If I were an object, I’d be a pen (see below)
If I were a body part, I’d be fingers (writing is my passion)
If I were a facial expression, I’d be a incredulous look (something I do often)
If I were a song, I’d be one of Beethoven's symphonies
If I were a pair of shoes, I’d be flip-flops

What If?

Have you wondered what your life would be like if things had played out differently?

Earlier this week, I was up late and Facebook creeping on people when on a whim I looked up my next-door neighbor from Missouri, Katie. I moved away from Manchester, Missouri to Texas when I was 7, but Katie and I saw each other a couple of times until we were about 10. So I haven't talked to her in a decade.

Her profile was private, but I could see she graduated from a high school in Manchester and was attending Maryville University in St. Louis. Even though her profile was private, her pictures were accessible for some reason, so I looked at them. She had gone on a trip to Spain senior year. I looked at her friends, and looked at all the names that had graduated from her high school in 2009. What would my life be like if I had never moved from Manchester? How many of those people would have been my friends too? Would have Katie and I stayed best friends? Would have I gone on that trip to Spain, instead of to Paris and London?

I know one thing: I'm almost 100% sure I would have gone to Mizzou (the University of Missouri) if I still lived in Manchester. After all, I wouldn't been used to Texas heat and the school would have not been that far away from me. I considered Mizzou in my current life, but ultimately fear of cold and fear of being far away from my immediate family scared me off. But I do admit Mizzou is the top Journalism school in the country.

But would I still love Journalism if I lived in Missouri? I mean what made me love Journalism? It was because I loved writing, but I can't remember a specific moment when I fell in love with writing. Even in Missouri, I loved words—because my mom, an English major, read to me every night. That has nothing to do with location. That's pure maternal love.

But there's one more instance where I think What If????

When I was a sophomore in high school, my Mom got a job offer in Vienna, VA and my family (very briefly) considered moving from Rockwall to Virginia. My mom ended up not needing to transfer, but I still wonder...What if I had spent my last 2 high school years in Vienna? Would I have come back to Texas for college or stayed on the East Coast? Would those 2 years been great (new friends! new house!) or terrible (I'm the new girl! Cry...)? The following summer, my church choir went to Vienna on a choir trip (by pure coincidence!). I remember staring out of the window as we drove around the town, and trying to picture learning how to drive on those roads and going into those shops and eating at those restaurants. We performed at a Baptist Church, but I remember driving past the Methodist Church and thinking, "I could have gone there..." Ultimately, I am sooo glad we didn`t move to Vienna, but still I wonder what my life would be like right now if....

I guess I have an overactive imagination. I mean, why am I even thinking about this? I love my current life—I love Texas, I love TCU, I love the friends I have in Texas. I love heat and hate snow. Yet I wonder if my current desire to live in Chicago is because I want to recapture some of the life I might have had in Missouri.

Maybe I should go into Psychology….I love overanalyzing things.

But still….what if?