A Letter to My Younger Self

Dear Sixteen-Year-Old Emily,

First off, let me prove to you that this letter really comes from your older self: your favorite thing you've drawn since high school started is actually just a crummy sketch of Pete Scheck and a saxophone. (And let me sort of reassure you, after such public embarrassment, that until publishing this letter, you never told a soul about that.)

#tbt to being sixteen.

Hello, 2017!

Happy New Year, everybody! I have high hopes for 2017, even though 17 is a prime number and I have an irrational dislike for prime numbers. (Judging by the responses to my poll, very few people share this optimism, but then again, I didn't get a statistically-significant sample. (I guess there's no such thing as ex-social-scientist. Ok, enough with the parenthetical remarks!)) In the nine or so hours that it's been 2017 in my time zone, nothing bad has happened yet, so I suppose it's already off to a better start than 2016, at least on a global level. Personally, 2016 was actually a pretty stellar year!

While I know it's something of a cliche to make New Year's resolutions, I've always liked making (if not always keeping) them. Thus, in the spirit of trapping myself through public accountability, I'm going to share a few of mine with you, as well as some photos from our Vegas honeymoon!