Under Construction

Sorry if things are wonky — especially with categories and tags. I'm working on my blog theme. P.S. Men Working is definitely my favorite construction sign.


P.S. Apostrophes Dont Matter: Thoughts on Grammar, Grace, and Going Viral

image  via

image via

Anne Lamott says that every writer has a radio station streaming in her head:

“Out of the right speaker in your inner ear, will come the endless stream of self-aggrandizement, the recitation of one’s specialness, of how much more open and gifted and brilliant and knowing and misunderstood and humble one is,” she writes.

“Out of the left speaker will be the rap songs of self-loathing, the list of all the things one doesn’t do well, of all the mistakes one has made today and over an entire lifetime, the doubt, the assertion that everything one touches turns to shit, that one doesn’t do relationships well, that one is in every way a fraud, incapable of selfless love, that one has no talent or insight, and on and on and on.”

And on and on, indeed.

I don’t think this self-talk radio plagues only writers; I think it plagues humans in general, but I’m perhaps most aware of it when I sit down to write and when I know people are reading what I’ve written. Part of me feels as though what I’m saying is the Most Important Thing Ever Said and that I can put it more cleverly than anyone ever. And part of me feels as though I’m a fool for writing at all, that I’m wasting my time and inarticulate and selfish and—what’s worse—that those who patronize me by reading my stuff are also thinking I’m foolish and inarticulate and selfish.


I only bother explaining this because people keep asking me what it felt like to go viral last week. I still hesitate to use the word “viral,” actually. My friends started using the term when they saw my most recent blog post (which, if you haven’t seen it, was about “How to Make Your Last Name Plural This Christmas Season”) on their Facebook news feeds. They kept telling me that it was being shared by their cousins and their mothers-in-law and their coworkers and various other people “who don’t even know you, Kate!”

At first I kept saying, “No, no, it’s getting a lot of shares, but it’s not viral. There’s got to be some sort of threshold for viral, and I’m sure I haven’t crossed it yet.” But that’s the thing about the Internet and social networks—content spreads exponentially. Within a week, it had upwards of 250 comments, 150,000 shares, and 400,000 views. To give you a frame of reference—I’ve been blogging for five years, and prior to this, I’d amassed about 60,000 page views total. So, yeah, I’m no Kim Kardashian, but I guess I went a little bit viral.

How did it feel, then? Well, you know that little thrill you get when you have a new notification on Facebook? Or when somebody laughs at your joke? Imagine that and then multiply it by 400,000. It felt like that. It felt as though the radio station in my right ear was on full blast.

For a recovering approval addict like me, going viral was free crack. People kept telling me how funny and clever and talented I was—how much I deserved the attention—and asking how I was coping with my newfound fame. They might as well have taken a tire pump to my head and just pumped it full of air. Affirmation everywhere!

Truthfully, though, I was ill at ease initially. On Monday, the day the blog post first took off, I got all shaky at work as the notifications started coming in. I learned that my blog had gone down. Server overload. I had to contact my hosting provider during lunch and request a private server and sort that out as well as I could with limited knowledge and limited time. I couldn’t focus, and I couldn’t control what was happening. People, lots of people, were having opinions about me. People were having opinions about me, and I was at work and not free to control or manipulate their opinions. I got a glass of milk and drank it slowly. Calm down, Kate. I went into the office bathroom and got down on my knees. “Lord, forgive me and change me and help me and calm me the frick down,” I said.

But the server switch worked. My blog came back. And over the next couple of days, the page views and the shares kept climbing. Every few minutes, I’d get a new notification on my phone. Texts, Facebook messages, tweets, posts. It got to the point where I couldn’t think about anything except my blog and what people were saying about it. I couldn’t even pay attention to other people when they were talking to me. “I’m sorry, what were you saying? I was distracted, thinking about myself.” If comments and clicks are the currency of the Internet, then I had won the lottery. (Bitcoins might be the actual currency of the Internet, but does anyone really understand those?)

By Wednesday I was refreshing my stats page just to watch the numbers rise. Load the page. 135,669 views. Refresh the page. 135,690 views. Refresh the page. 135,708 views. Twenty views a second that afternoon. (When does Ellen call?)

I gave up looking at my blog stats for Lent this past year. I didn’t like the effect the numbers had on my heart. It seemed as though they correlated directly with the volume of the radio station in my head. Low numbers, left ear on blast. High numbers, right ear on blast. My worth fluctuated with the page-view graph. At the beginning of Lent, it had been so hard not to look at them. I had been right in the middle of my stupid Bachelor blog series. But by the end of Lent, I felt free. Those stats had lost their grip on me.

This week they sang their siren song again. While praying in the office bathroom on Monday, I had had a flashback to another recent time I’d been on my knees in the bathroom. Last December I got what I think was food poisoning or some sort of stomach bug. It was the first time I’d ever thrown up as an adult—by which I mean, it was the first time I’d ever thrown up without my mom there to hold my hair and bring me a wet washrag and help me back to bed and clean up after me. I was all alone in the middle of the night, feeling shaky and weak, clinging to the cold toilet, throwing up and throwing up and throwing up.

There’s always that moment when you’re throwing up when you feel so awful that you think to yourself, Surely, this is the end. Right? Tell me I’m not the only one who feels this way. I remember lying on the bathroom floor that night and thinking, What if I just die, right here, all alone, from whatever this bug is inside me?

Though reminded of this vomit-tastic moment (sorry) on Monday, I did not stop to reflect on it until later in the week when my stats and my ego were at an all-time high. Never in my life had so many people told me that I was awesome, and in the midst of all of it, I started to feel icky. Icky is the only word for it. Something inside wasn’t sitting right. My heart felt off-center. If that stomach bug had felt deadly, then I knew that whatever was inside me this time was both deadly and damning.

“Lord Jesus, forgive me. Change my little heart,” again became my prayer. It is still my prayer—because the numbers keep rising and the notifications, though they have slowed, keep coming in.

It seemed natural to pray on Monday when I was scared, when the radio station in my left ear was loudest, when the verdict was still out on people’s overall opinions. But it seems absolutely necessary to pray now, when the radio station in my right ear is playing praises on repeat, when it’s tempting to believe that those praises are enough.

I have spent most of my life seeking the approval of others. I was the good girl, the pastor’s kid, the teacher’s pet. Praise and A’s were what I got—and what I always had to get. For as long as I can remember, I’ve tried to drown out the songs in my left ear by working hard to earn enough approval from others to raise the volume in my right ear. Want to know what I have learned? This is exhausting, and it doesn’t work, and both ears are liars.

In the past couple of years, I have experienced a life-altering shift. I’ve realized that the Jesus of my mind—the Jesus of Sunday school morals, of felt-boards and picture books—is not the Jesus of the Bible. The Jesus of Sunday school has the power to quiet the wind and the waves and to tell me to be good. But the Jesus of the Bible has the power to quiet the radio station in my head and to tell me to quit trying so freaking hard.

I think a lot of people don’t think about Jesus but do think about God and picture him as an indistinct frowny-face emoji in the heavens. Their image of him is based at least partially on the fact that they have voices in their left ears telling them they’re screwed up and hopeless, and voices in their right ears telling them they’re doing just fine and are actually pretty awesome and need no help, thank you very much. If these voices have anything to do with an innate sense of God, he must be either cruel and unappeasable or distant, unknowable, and unneeded.

But the more I read about Jesus and the more I grow to know him, the more I see that God is a lot more like the emoji with hearts for eyes. (I’m 25, so deal. This is how I communicate.) Contrary to popular opinion, Jesus didn’t come and die and rise again so that I could still try to be good enough to earn the praise of others. And he definitely didn’t come and die and rise again so that my self-worth could still soar and plummet according to others’ opinions—and my opinions of their opinions. This is, in fact, exactly what he came to save me from—this rickety roller coaster of attempted self-salvation that will ultimately hurtle me off the tracks to my doom.

I grew up hearing about grace and not really knowing what it meant. In fact, I think the skill set that makes me good at understanding grammar is the same skill set that has made me terrible at understanding grace. To be good at grammar, you must remember rules and spot errors. Those are basically the only skills that you need. If I take those skills and turn them inward and look at my own heart instead of at paragraphs and punctuation, my immediate instinct is to try to clean up the mess. A little red ink here, a little red ink there, a second draft, a third draft, a fourth draft. We’ll go over and over this little heart of mine, and eventually we’ll get it free from error and ready to turn in on judgment day.

But this is a self-defeating pursuit. The most grievous, glaring error of all is the prideful assumption that I don't need grace—that I have what it takes to clean myself up and that I don’t need Jesus to do the cleanup for me.

So what did it feel like to go viral, you ask? It felt like a reminder of what life would be like without Jesus. It felt like a glimpse of a life in which I still had something left to prove. And after that? After that, it felt like grace. Grace because I remembered what I’ve been saved from. Grace because I remembered that I still need Jesus now, today, to keep me from seeking approval from those who can never provide me enough of it.

And it also felt a little bit like regret. Because if I’d known that 400,000 people were going to listen to me last week, I never ever ever ever ever ever ever ever would’ve talked about grammar. I would’ve talked about grace.

I know the Internet doesn’t work like that and that there’s no sense in wishing I’d chosen a different topic. If the topic of my post had been different, the content would not have spread. But I guess I wish I’d managed to work this in somewhere—that in the grand scheme of things, apostrophes don’t dont matter, but Jesus does.

This life is more fleeting than a viral fad, and the only thing worth knowing is the God of grace.

“I once thought these things were valuable, but now I consider them worthless because of what Christ has done. Yes, everything else is worthless when compared with the infinite value of knowing Christ Jesus my Lord. For his sake I have discarded everything else, counting it all as garbage, so that I could gain Christ and become one with him. I no longer count on my own righteousness through obeying the law; rather, I become righteous through faith in Christ. For God’s way of making us right with himself depends on faith.” – Philippians 3:7-9

Blog Ketchup

Get it? Ketchup? Catch up?

Get it? Ketchup? Catch up?

I know what y'all must be thinking: "Oh em gee, Kate, it has been so long since you have blogged! How am I to keep on living without regular doses of your wit and updates on your whereabouts?"

Well, I'm sorry. And I'm flattered. And, frankly, a little freaked out. I mean, it's just a blog for heaven's sake. And look at that picture. It's of ketchup. Don't you have anything better to do with your spare time? (Just kidding!)

On Thursday I had a job interview in Louisville, and the interviewer asked what I did in my spare time, and I said "Go to weddings." This may or may not have been the most appropriate answer for a job interview, but it was nothing if not accurate. (I have also missed a few weddings lately, which saddens me greatly and furthers my anger toward all the scientists who have not yet invented teleportation and time travel.)

Going to weddings, catching up with friends, and starting to apply for jobs are basically the only things of note that I've done since coming home a month ago. I've also been chewing on some blog post ideas and then failing to follow through with them. I've decided to provide a list of the posts on tap both (a) to pique your interest and (b) to motivate myself to start or finish them.

Pending/potential posts: 

1. On leaving Columbia

I frequently find myself writing this post in my head while driving, but I don't know if I have the emotional capacity to type it all out yet. If you haven't heard, I've decided to stay in Kentucky. I have peace about the decision. But I didn't get real goodbyes in Missouri, and I didn't get to say thank you as much as I should have.

2. Recent weddings

Basically an excuse to post pictures of fun times with all the friends I miss so dearly.

Make it stop, Miley.

Make it stop, Miley.

3. Glamour & Grammar & Miley Cyrus

The way Miley Cyrus has been using pronouns recently is almost as interesting/disturbing as the way she's been wearing her hair recently. (Also, it's been too long since I've written a Glamour & Grammar post.)

4. My fave podcast

A few months ago I started listening to a life-changing podcast, and I've been wanting to blog about it this whole time. BUT the list of things I want to say about it keeps getting longer as I work my way through more and more old episodes. I'm not even going to tell y'all the name of the podcast right now (though most of you who know me in real life have already heard me talk about it). I want to make you wait to listen to it until I can preface it with the intro it deserves.

5. ABC Family dramas


I'm not sure whether this deserves its own blog post, but as I have mentioned before, I have a thing for ABC Family shows, and there is a new one that I like.

6. The Bachelorette

I'm almost done with a post about The Bachelorette. Go ahead and get excited.

7. Job interviews & first dates

I know that first dates are not supposed to feel like job interviews, but — let's be honest — job interviews feel a lot like first dates. Upon leaving that Thursday interview, I started making a mental list of the similarities between the two. (Example: Both require me to try far too many combinations of the items in my closet. Also, both make me unreasonably sweaty nervous.) You will get to read said list once I flesh it out.

8. Job search in general

I have some other thoughts about job searching/being a grown-up/this thing called the in-between.

9. Running

Maybe just a little update on the progress of my legs and my running.

Also I need to update my blog header. I am no longer a graduate student, so obviously I need to scratch that out. Maybe I'm just dawdling because "Musings & general excitement of a 20-something wastrel" sounds terrible.

Anything else I should write about? I'm open to requests.

A bunch of little blog posts mushed into one.

1. Back in Missouri

Drove back to Columbia last Saturday after another tearful goodbye. My brother rode with me to keep me sane. It was dark by the time we pulled into town and still dark when I said goodbye to him at the airport the next morning. The darkness somehow exacerbated by sadness, and I was a mess until I got to church and remembered why I had loved this city. "I'm so happy you're back!" were literally the first words that greeted me when I walked in the door. And then I got a hug, and, oh, I could've just crumbled into it.

Skyping with (most of) the fam on my first day back in Como.

Skyping with (most of) the fam on my first day back in Como.

The back-and-forth-ness of graduate school has done such a number on my heart. Being away from my family and Kentucky friends weighs on me so heavily, and so much of me just wants this semester to fly by. But I know that when it comes time to leave my Missouri friends in May, I will be an absolute wreck — a giant tear duct in human form.

2. Semester shock

Classes are over, so this semester I'll be occupied with my professional project (which is like a big internship, but we're not supposed to call it an internship) + my assistantship + my master's research. I would be excited if I weren't so anxious. I love my professional project so far. It's really the prospect of doing my research on top of it that sounds impossible. Let's not talk about it.

3. Sabbath

Speaking of not talking about it, my roommate, Bekah and I are taking Sundays off this semester. Shocker, right? I read this book over Christmas break, and it made me want to cry. Not because it is sad — it isn't — but because it reminded me of how tired I am and have been throughout my entire college and grad school career. The main reason I dreaded this semester was that I was so beyond worn out and beaten down last semester. I just couldn't do it any more. So, despite my uncertainty about how all my work will get done in the next few months, I've decided that none of it will get done on Sundays.

Oh, and I bought a "luxury sleep mask" at Walmart for $4. It is hot pink — fuzzy on one side and satiny on the other. It makes me feel very restful. And luxurious, duh.

4. Reading

Speaking of books, I have a problem, y'all. I have a problem with starting books before I finished my last one and then not finishing them. My bedside table is now host to nine books that I'm "in the middle of." A few of them are even from interlibrary loan, which means I went out of my way made a librarian go out of her (his?) way to get them for me.


Maybe thinking I can finish non-school-related books in grad school is setting my hopes too high.

4. Smoothies

In the same way that I am the type of person to start a book and never finish it, I am the type of person who pins a lot of things to Pinterest and then never makes said things. But I saw this green monster smoothie pin last Tuesday, and I went out later that day to get the ingredients. I have made it three times since. I have a feeling it is going to be my new go-to meal. It feels indulgent, but it's oh-so-easy to make and oh-so-good* for you. The perfect combination!


*What is the correct way to punctuate that? "It's, oh, so easy..." "It's oh, so easy..." Set off interjections with commas, right? But that looks so weird. Sticking with hyphens...

4. Running

Speaking of things that are good for you but also wonderful, I have been running more and more lately!

Er ... I wrote that sentence last week when I was all excited to tell y'all how much better my legs have been doing. Today I sat back down to work on the blog post I left unfinished, and that sentence is mocking me. My left knee has been hurting again. Aching hips are keeping me awake at night. Before this week, I was running great, and now I'm in pain again and trying not to be discouraged.

Here's to hoping this setback won't last long. I'd had at least two months of doing really well before this. Boo, you know? BOO AT PAIN.


Apparently retailers think that people have already given up on their new year's resolutions, so they have discounted workout wear. Snatched up this cute pink running jacket for TEN DOLLA NO HOLLA last week. Talk about a score. Pictured right before I hit the pavement in 19-degree weather. I told you I love running.

5. Pop culture


So much good stuff going on in pop culture lately, you guys. I have thoroughly enjoyed the return of Downton Abbey and The Bachelor, and I want to see Les Miserables approximately a thousand more times.

In related news, I want to marry a barricade boy. They're just so studious and masculine. I know Les Mis isn't primarily a love story, but the scene in which Jean Valjean basically passes the torch of protecting Cosette on to Marius made me swoon and long for times past. You know, times in which men were men and women were women.

6. Dating

Speaking of men and women being men and women, this article, "The End of Courtship" that ran in the NYT recently was totally singing my life with its words and killing me softly with its song.

"Traditional courtship — picking up the telephone and asking someone on a date — required courage, strategic planning and a considerable investment of ego (by telephone, rejection stings). Not so with texting, e-mail, Twitter or other forms of 'asynchronous communication,' as techies call it. In the context of dating, it removes much of the need for charm; it’s more like dropping a line in the water and hoping for a nibble.

'I’ve seen men put more effort into finding a movie to watch on Netflix Instant than composing a coherent message to ask a woman out,' said Anna Goldfarb, 34, an author and blogger in Moorestown, N.J."

I thought this was a problem unique to Christian culture, but apparently I was wrong. Read the article, marvel at its accuracy, and weep for our future.

7. Blogging

Look whose blog hit 50,000 views this week! Little old me. Thanks, everyone! Thanks for reading and putting up with the fact that I began four paragraphs in this post with the words "speaking of." You are all the best.


Triple Digits

As a 9-year-old I dreaded the idea of hitting double digits on my 10th birthday. I actually remember crying about it to my parents. Ages 0 through 9 had been so wonderful. Who knew what my next decade held? So my parents humored me. After my mom made my birthday cake (white on white, always), my dad icing-ed "9+" onto it in his signature bubble letters. And they let me be 9+ until I felt ready to call myself 10. (Which, by the way, was before my 11th birthday. I was never 9++.)

Workin' those corduroy overalls.

And even though I once hated the idea of double digits, I'm super excited about reaching triple digits — in blog followers, of course! (I've said for a while that once I hit 100 followers, I will let myself feel less weird about the fact that I write about my life on the internet. So here I go attempting that.)

Just wanted to thank everyone who reads and (I hope) enjoys this blog. It has been such a fun outlet for me.

In celebration of reaching 100 followers, here's a look at what kind of posts are ahead:

  • More Glamour & Grammar
    • Glamour & Grammar & Gavin DeGraw
    • My Personal Grammar Gaffes (alternate title: A Whole Nother Side of Me)
    • Cooking for One (alternate title: Cereal for Dinner)
    • Weekly Roundup Series
      • A Friday series in which I post links to the best things I've found online that week.
      • Letters to Boys
        • A series in which I write brief letters to the entire male population of the world. (Because there are just some things that guys need to know but for some reason do not know. For example, there are better options than hair gel.)

So come along with me as I muse and enthuse and too frequently share more than should be shared. And thanks again for all your support!