Courtney's Weblog
Dear Nashville Friends at Christmastime,
I have something to tell you:
The Peanuts + 2 Million Pounds of Ice = My Dream Come True.
I’ve never been to the Opryland Hotel to see the lights during Christmas. And this year their ice sculpture display will be based on Charlie Brown’s Christmas. (Megan, you know my love for Charlie Brown.) This is my official request: Can we do this? I know the price is a little steep ($22-24) … but seriously, people.
Love,
Courtney G. Shultz
For many years now, I have resisted labeling myself as a type-A personality. As I move closer and closer to my 25th year on this blue marble, I realize that, yes, in fact, I am pretty much as close to obsessive-compulsive as you can get without being completely destructive.
For example, I recently found out that my when I visit someone’s house, I should probably let them know that I’m wearing shower shoes not because I think they are gross … but because I cannot take a shower without them. It is completely obsessive-compulsive. I can’t deny that. I wear them in my own shower, in my parents’ shower, and my grandma’s shower (and that lady keeps a clean house). Little quirks like this has helped me come to terms.
Recently, however, this sort of type A behavior as hit an all time high level as I have been trying to prepare myself for graduate applications (round 2). Although the process requires you to be meticulous and organized, it sort of became all I thought about for the past couple of months. This has a positive side to it, of course. I’m feeling more prepared for this as I’m getting things done (Letters of Recommendation packets finished tonight! Woo!). And I’ve thought very seriously about this next step and the schools that I should apply to. These are all good things. Bad things: I’m sure that everyone who is not in Ellis 8 that I talk to on a regular basis is ready for me to have the freaking things in so that they won’t have to hear about it anymore!
All that said, I was able to get things in perspective this weekend. Nashville has a way of providing me with this … well, the people in Nashville. It’s just that sometimes I need a little reminder about what life is really about. Is it about GRE scores and applications and transcripts? Well, for me it is … but only partly. These are things that are actually very important to me … and, luckily, I have really good friends and family who understand that. But what is more important?
Planning a surprise party across state lines with Mr. Larson.
Pretending I am in Athens, while all the while sitting at Portland Brew with Bethany.
Giving my best friend a hug after seeing the look of surprise on her face after I walked through her yard to greet her.
Seeing Dawn give her first knitting project to her boyfriend.
Singing the Benediction at church.
Sitting on Megan’s back porch and acknowledging that we are a little family … pooch and all.
To know that although my future is uncertain right now … and it is something that is (in some respects) out of my control … it is okay. This keeps me from going over the edge. Because there will be people in my life who will keep me grounded. And will give me a place to lie my head as I roll into Nashville.
I’m sitting in the Columbus Airport. Thank goodness for modern technology because I am about an hour early for my flight. And who doesn’t want to be that kid … sitting in the airport, Mac on her lap, and typing a blog. I mean, really. Who do I think I am? Too bad I didn’t buy Starbucks before I sat down.
It is raining and dreary in Ohio. It rained all day yesterday, but I was holed up in my apartment fight, what I believed to be, the H1N1 virus … commonly known as “Swine Flu.” I didn’t have time to be sick. Things are just moving too fast. Way too fast. I actually can’t keep up.
This weekend: Austin, TX
Next weekend: Cramming for the GRE, which I’ll have to take again the following Wednesday.
The weekend after: GRE Subject Test
The weekend after that: Finals Weekend
In between all of this I need to write 3 more 10 page field reports, grade, make more lesson plans, get Letters of Recommendation folders together, start my Statement of Purpose, clean up my writing sample, etc., etc.
But this weekend, I’ll be in Austin. I’m going to present a paper at a conference there … and I’m actually really excited about it. I don’t want to make a huge deal about it … but I’m kind of proud of myself for being invited to present there. I feel a little bit out of my league. But I’m excited.
Luckily, I’ll be one of the first to present tomorrow morning. Then I can enjoy the rest of the conference on Friday afternoon and Saturday. On Sunday, I plan on finding some cool shops to explore and read in a coffee shop. It will just be nice to be all by myself and explore and, hopefully, get some things done.
And, as an added note, my mom is letting me borrow her camera so I can take some pics of the “Live Music Capital of the World.” 
(* The Rostocker Weihnachtsmarkt. Where I experience my first authentic German Christmas Market after pretending to go home after an exchange student outing, rode the train to the next stop, and then jumped out to walk a mile back to experience it by myself. It is also where I bought a sweet winter cap that I still wear to this day.)
Still, still, still,
Weil’s Kindlein schlafen will.
Die Englein tun schön jubilieren,
Bei dem Kripplein musizieren.
Still, still, still,
Weil’s Kindlein schlafen will.
Schlaf, schlaf, schlaf,
Mein liebes Kindlein schlaf!
Maria tut dich niedersingen
Und ihr treues Herz darbringen.
Schlaf, schlaf, schlaf,
Mein liebes Kindlein schlaf.
* Ladies and gentlemen, boys’ choirs kind of weird me out. But I wouldn’t be an eighty-year old German lady without letting you hear what the song sounds like. Why do I want it to be Christmas time? Also, this song probably doesn’t sound as beautiful to those who think German is a “hassliche Sprache.” But humor me.
Bin ich verruckt? Vielleicht. Vermisse ich Deutschland? Naturlich. Obwohl meine Freunde kennen es nicht, ab und zu, ich weider nach Deutschland im Winter fahren mochte. (Und … ich glaube dass ich zu veil von das Sprache verlernen habe!!!)
I’ve lost my ever-loving mind.
In the Lord, I’ll be ever thankful.
In the Lord, I will rejoice.
Look to God –
Do not be afraid.
Lift up your voices; the Lord is near.
Lift up your voices; the Lord is near.
It feels like it was just yesterday – and forever ago – that I filled out applications for graduate programs. Fall 2007. Can you believe that? I can’t. Last night, as I was trying desperately to fall asleep, I let anything that could run across my brain just go: “the tooms” (I’ll only refer to it by that nickname, by the way), the birth of my first nephew on a clear December night, AT, Brad’s cabin, Fanning Hall. One memory leads to another … and then finally … I’m so overwhelmed that I just stare at the ceiling. Probably not healthy. Whatever.
And now, it is autumn again. And I am contemplating the next step. Again. I feel like the life of a young academic is filled with this strange sense of uncertainty. I only have control over which schools I decide to apply to and how much effort I put into my applications. And after that, well, I won’t have any sense of control until early March 2010. Bummer, right? I’m trying not to be freaked out about my prospects, but, let’s face it, I am freaking out.
But if there is something I’ve learned (not to over-sentimentalize) from staring at the ceiling after contemplating the beautiful and the terrible, it is that things work out the way they should. And while I’m doing my best and stressing and overanalyzing the path that my life may take post-Athens, OH, I’ll end up where I’m supposed to be. And I’ll have family and friends to help me cope.
Until then, I will be reading and writing and researching and teaching and grading. And every weekend will be filled with something until I find solace in Winter Break (God bless it).
I don’t know if everyone out there knew, but getting older is tough. I’m finding that the mid-twenties are tumultuous. And I thought that John Mayer was joking when he sang about having a “quarter-life crisis.” I know that if anyone older than 40 reads this, they’ll probably laugh and shake their heads and say that this kid has a lot to learn. I agree with them.
But this summer was markedly different than any other summer I’ve had to date. And I think it’s a good thing. We’re trying to be taken seriously in our respective workplaces, even though we are young (and most of us are female … double whammy). We’re trying to figure out how to lead financially independent lives … and we are slightly embarrassed to admit that our parents are still helping us out with something. We are trying to regain or maintain curiosity and enthusiasm. We are cooking and sewing and singing and writing (and writing) and reading (and, oh, reading), canning, composting, gardening. We are moving. We are finding healthy, stable relationships. Our friends have become our families.
This summer, as it turns out, was my first adult summer. It was the summer of driving around in a 15-passenger van with Dawn, yelling at Iraqi men who didn’t take me seriously, and laughing with Rup, Ram, and Mitra. It was the summer of navigating my role of best friend to those in relationships. (And even though Nard called me the “fifth wheel” on the wrong day, I pretty much embrace that role at this point.) It was the summer that began with a vow to cut back on the smokes … and ended with a vow to cut back when I go back to OU. It was a summer a making time for Bongo Java mornings and Gilmore Girl nights. It was a summer of working on academics … even though I wasn’t in school. Because, as it also turns out, submitting to conferences and planning a syllabus and studying for the GRE are the parts of my job that I don’t get paid for during these off-months, but the parts that I’ll gladly do in preparation.
And it was the summer of ignoring the fact that I don’t actually live in Nashville until a week or so ago. I didn’t talk about it much with even my closest friends until recently, but the underlying fact that I probably won’t be returning to Nashville for an extended period of time for the next few years is disheartening. Because it is still my home. It is my community. And it is hard to figure out how to deal with this. And I won’t really know anything about what to think until March rolls around and I hear back from Ph.D. programs.
But in the meantime, as I am packing my belongings and rolling up the pallet of my bedroom floor, I will hold onto a few things. There will a bed in a little house in East Nashville waiting for me. And some seats at the Taproom or the Brew for a random group of friends. And pew, surveying Egyptian Revival Art, lined with those seeking alongside me.
I am not thinking about the fact that I am going back to school in a few weeks. I refuse to think about it. It’s not that I don’t want to go back to school. In fact, I am a bit excited to get back to my “real life” of studying and teaching and hanging out in Ellis 8. When I started school last fall, I would have never expected that I would be enjoying my work and have new friends by the end of the 2008-09 school year. But here I am … not afraid to go back. Weird.
But I am not thinking about going back because I hate leaving Nashville … despite being OK with traveling back to Athens. This weekend is reminding my why I loved my life so much here: Reading and studying and hanging with Dawn at Ugly Mugs. Randomly participating in a worship service at Christ Church Cathedral. Spending the morning in East Nashville at the Tomato Festival with Megan. Eating dinner with Chuck and Cindy. Celebrating Geoff and Ann’s birthdays this evening. I love it. And I will miss it. And I will especially miss my core group of friends: Megan and Dawn. I already know that the hardest part of leaving Nashville will be not seeing Dawn for 40+ hours a week. Or sitting on the front step of Megan’s for a late night chat. They both know me the best. And we can be honest with one another. And be aware of when the other needs to just sit quietly. And know when one or both of just need to hear an encouraging word. They even will drive 10 hours to lend me moral support when I need it the most. I’m pretty damn lucky. If I think about going back to school, I have to think about these things. So I will keep ignoring the countdown. (But maybe work on my syllabus anyways. ) And when Fall rolls around, I’ll hope to see them in my neck of the woods. Heart, friends. Heart.
I’ve felt kind of down the past couple of days. It’s time to buck up and get on with it. And so this post is possible just for me … to remind myself that life is pretty freaking awesome and worrying about the petty things doesn’t help anyone.
- Andrew knows my grandparents and will hopefully have memories of them someday. Anyone who is lucky enough to know the love of my grandparents are quite blessed.
- I have a great summer job where I am working with one of my best friends and actively (trying my best) to help refugees have a good experience when they land in Nashville. Not to mention that putting in an exhausting 10 hour day doesn’t make me dread the next day. Everyday I’m excited to go to work.
- My best friend has the patience to sit with me in silence and waits until I finally admit whatever has been bothering me. She probably knows me the best and still sticks by me despite that.
- Geoff Little is self publishing a book of his short stories. I’m immensely proud of the creativity of my friends and their willingness to put their work out there.
- I made great friends during the first year of grad school. I honestly wasn’t expecting this … but I’m really glad it happened. And I miss them and our inside jokes. It’s good to know that I won’t be totally dreading Athens when I have to leave the Nash.
- Little Oliver. I haven’t met my new nephew yet. But the thought of meeting him makes me SO excited.
- I’ve made a new friend since being in Nashville. I’m really glad that we’re getting to know each other better.
- My car is working again. (And here’s to hoping the Classy Lady doesn’t breakdown on me while I’m driving refugees around the slightly shady parts of Nashville.)
- I ran into Rebecca Smith last night at Portland Brew. She is someone that I admire a lot … getting to talk with her for a second was really a pleasant surprise.
- My parents always listen to my ridiculous rants and stories. And always offer encouraging words to get me through.
- Sleep. I haven’t been able to do a lot of it this week. But I’ve finally worn myself down physically and emotionally … I think I’ll get a good night’s sleep after I finish this post. I can’t wait.
Today is Father’s Day. And after reading Megan’s wonderful tribute to Chuck, I thought I would follow suit. Several parts of her posts reminds me of my own relationship with my Dad. The day I called to thank him after being told that the bank teller had never seen a 24 year old with such a high credit score. The days of my very early childhood when my mom and dad rearranged their toddler’s sleep schedule so my dad could see me despite working second shift. The encouragement I’ve been receiving from him since we all figured out that there was a good chance I’d try my hand at professional academia (I’m thinking this happened around the age of seven or so).
It’s not to say that my Dad and I have had the easiest relationship. Or that we haven’t had are share of disagreements, arguments, or disappointments. But when it comes down to it, my Dad is a good man … who loves his family more than anything.
When I was born, my mom was very sick after the labor. In fact, we both almost died. (This is what happens when your baby is a month over due and the doctors don’t think it’s a big deal.) My aunt recently told me some of the details of few hours after I was born.
My Dad called her, crying because he didn’t know what to do. He couldn’t see his wife and was scared to be the one handling this child – his first. (He was 23 at the time. A year younger than I am now. I imagine that he was a lot like Seth.) But my aunt, the older sister that she is, told him that he had to get it together and remember that he was ready to be a father. So the story goes that my Dad changed my first diaper, fed me my first bottle, and held me while my mom was trying to pull through.
I know that my Dad still vividly remembers these first tumultuous, yet special, days with his young family. (I understand this more as I watched Andrew make an indelible impression on my brother.) And I also know that he’s lived the words that he always uses to encourage me when I’m doubting myself: “Courtney, you know what you need to do. Now you just need to do it. You always do.” I get this determination and sense of responsibility from my Dad … and I know I wouldn’t be the person I am today without it.
Thank you, Dad. Happy Father’s Day.
