Finally Finished

I finally finished Anna Karenina tonight. It lost me there in the middle, but came around in the end--mostly.

"He only knew and felt that what was happening was similar to what had happened the year before…on the deathbed of his brother….Only that was sorrow and this [birth] was joy. But that sorrow and this joy were equally beyond the usual conditions of life: they were like openings in that usual life through which something higher became visible. And as in that case, what was now being accomplished came harshly, painfully, incomprehensibly, and while watching it the soul soared, as then, to heights it had never known before, at which reason could not keep up with it." (p. 640-641)

"If goodness has a cause, it is no longer goodness, if it has a consequence--a reward, it is also not goodness. Therefore, goodness is beyond the chain of cause and effect." (p. 715)

Someday I'd like to know a language well enough to read the original work and the translation to compare the beauty and nuances of the word choice. Russian is definitely not going to be that language.

I Know

I've written this for 3 people specifically in mind. I'm sure one of them will never see these words, but I pray he finds them through someone else. For one I hope to say these words through my daily actions. And I hope one I have in mind actually reads this. I care about you all in very different ways. You're all such great people and it makes me sad that you don't know or understand what I do. I'd like you to know what makes my life feel complete. You're all just so friendly and caring; you're so close to living the gospel and you don't even know it. I've tried really hard to cut out as many "Mormonisms" from this as possible in the hopes that you'll better feel what I feel.

I know that I am a literal daughter of God. I know that I lived with Him before I came to this earth. I know that our Heavenly Father has a grand plan for each of us. That's why He created this earth. We came here to experience mortality and gain a body. Our bodies are beautiful and allow us to experience this world and love in ways we couldn't have otherwise. It's another step in our eternal progression. I know that God's great work is to give us the gift of eternal life. This means we will advance beyond our current state and eventually become like God. It is through His son, Jesus Christ, that it is possible for us to continue progressing beyond this earth life. Do you sometimes feel there are things you once knew and that there are things you will see when your spirit departs from your body? I do. This deja vu shows me my true, eternal nature. The idea that people just dissipate into nothing when they die is unfathomable to me. I know that the people we become and the things we learn will carry on with us beyond death. I know that Jesus Christ came to earth to save us. I know that He walked among men and taught us how to live a perfect, joyful life amidst the heartache that inevitably comes from the nature of this life. I know that He healed people's physical afflictions and their emotional pain. I know He can do this now for me and you. I don't understand all the technicalities of the gospel or the nature of God and Jesus Christ, but I know that one day I will. In the meantime, the gospel actually fills in all the gaps in my life. It answers all of my questions, granted not always in the way I want, but where would be the fun in that? My understanding of science is so much clearer with the perspective of the gospel. I also know myself better, and I know I am more successful because I am a part of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. I know that we can have a real relationship with Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ. They understand us and love us unconditionally. I know God is just and merciful. I know that He has restored the gospel of Jesus Christ to the earth through Joseph Smith and that the progress still continues today through a prophet. By the power of God, known as the Priesthood, President Thomas S. Monson tells us what we need to do in the here and now to live a more fulfilling life and to return to our Father. I know that families are essential to God's plan and His nature. I know that we can remain with our families beyond death and that we will see each other again. I know that taken down to the simplest level, everything is about love. A love so deep and so perfect and so complete that I can barely grasp the power of it. I know that's the love that has saved us all from ourselves and our own imperfections. I know that we can have this love for each another. I know I often catch a glimpse of it. Sometimes I have an overwhelming amount of love for people I don't actually know. I know that's a part of being a daughter of God. I know that I have truth in my life because I know God and my Savior, Jesus Christ. I don't know how to tell you how I know. I just do. It's one of those things that I can't deny. I just feel it to the depths of me. I know that God has given us the agency to choose for ourselves. We are in control of ourselves as long as we do not give up this power to choose to other influences and addictions. That's why I don't do a lot of things that are considered normal for people my age. It's keeping me freer and allowing me to be who I want to be. As an American, I have the opportunity to believe what I want to believe freely. I get to use my agency to practice my religion. I choose to be a member of The Church of Jesus of Christ of Latter-day Saints because I know it's true. It's not a philosophy or lifestyle--it's reality. It's not a cultural thing or something I inherited from my upbringing. It's something I gained for myself. I wouldn't live something that I don't understand or gain happiness from. I live it out of love.

For more information on what I believe look here: mormon.org or just talk to me because this is just barely skimming the surface of what I know.

If I had a checklist

I always thought you'd like fish. It either means you'll enjoy taking our children camping or you'll have cosmopolitan taste in restaurants.

And I've given up the six pack abs clause, but I'm expecting to practice the dirty dancing lift every time we go swimming.

We'll argue about global warming and couples Halloween costumes and our children's names.

The thought of taking engagement pictures and then sending said pictures to people we barely know won't make me cringe.

It'd also be great if you're left-handed.

I want a similar agreement to the one they made in From the Hip--I want you to wake me up, but you can't be an overly chipper morning person.

But I think I'll know you're the one when you agree to spend an entire vacation at The Grand Canyon pretending we've time traveled from the 1970s. This is a very extensive dream: we will thrift all of our clothing, refrain from modern slang, and only listen to music that predates the Walkman (preferably on cassette tapes). All the while pretending to be flabbergasted by everyone's gadgets.

These pictures are from my grandparent's honeymoon at The Grand Canyon in the 1950s, but I think they serve as perfect inspiration for this future trip. And I just love how glamorous my grandma is in these shots.

I can't get enough of this.

Because I'm not done thinking about storytelling

"By telling stories, you objectify your own experiences. You separate it from yourself. You pin down certain truths. You make up others. You start sometimes with an incident that truly happened, like the night in the shit field, and you carry it forward by inventing incidents that did not in fact occur but that nonetheless help to clarify and explain." (p. 158)

"What stories can do, I guess, is make things present. I can look at things I never looked at. I can attach faces to grief and love and pity and God. I can be brave. I can make myself feel again. 'Daddy, tell the truth,' Kathleen can say, 'did you ever kill anybody?' And I can say, honestly, 'Of course not.' Or I can say, honestly, 'Yes.'" (p. 180)

I waited far too long to read The Things They Carried by Tim O'Brien.

A Visionary

A few months back I read Irene Nemirovsky's Suite Francaise. She wrote the work of fiction while living the horrors of World War II in France. It was meant to be a saga of life during the war, but she was only able to complete the first two novellas. Because of her Jewish heritage, she was taken to Auschwitz and killed. I often find myself still thinking about how accurate her interpretation and treatment of reality are in her novel. I'm just in awe at how clearly she saw the future.

"He wasn't made for the world that would be born of this rotting cadaver...A brutal, ferocious, dog-eat-dog world." (p. 35)

In one line she sums up a lot of the changes in society since World War II. Everything from Feminism to our culture's obsession with celebrity to the increase in senseless mass shootings could be traced back to the reactions of society at large after World War II. Now it's ridiculous to blame these things on history and the actions of brutal men long-gone, but I see a connection. After the wars of the mid-Twentieth century, many people were better able to take care of themselves and their families. The Baby Boomers grew up with parents who understood sacrifice and wanted to provide their children with hope. In one line Nemirovsky interestingly defines a large part of what became part of the American Dream in the last half of the Twentieth century: the need to succeed monetarily and climb the career laddder. Then I think the Baby Boomers took this hope too far when they taught their children to care for the self too much. Our day to day lives have become so removed from hardship, fear, and the need to rely on others that we can love ourselves too much. We place too much value on self-esteem. It makes us selfish and ultimately delusional.

That was a paragraph that I wasn't intending to write in this post because this was going to be about writing. It was going to be about how I want to work at seeing things as they are. I remember wanting to write about the attacks on September 11th a few months after they occurred. I was still in Sixth grade, and I was going to write a fictional journal from the perspective of a girl whose parents died in the towers. I was so young and naive, but I recognized that it was an event that would radically change the world. I never wrote that story because even though my thinking was juvenile, I saw that I didn't know enough about the nature of man or the attack to do it justice. I want to be able to write about the important things now. I firmly believe that I have to be more realistic to affect anyone with the stories I want to tell. Because important things are happening every day, and I'm lucky enough to have the time and ability to write them.

Sometimes I have a great fear that my whole way of thinking is incorrect. That I will wake up one day and realize I've built up too many false ideas and that the way I've constructed the world has to change. I know I'm not completely wrong about everything. I have my faith in God and His Son to lead me in the right direction. And I can be wrong about things; it means I can change. It means I can be who I aspire to be. My hope is that my main thought process holds up over time though. I want my words to mean something to me in 50 years. I hope that I tell the stories that need to be heard. I hope I can see the world clear enough to know them.

I learned a lot about writing from Irene Nemirovsky. Her notes and outlines are published in the back of the book, and I love the way she was able to critique herself. I'd like my journaling to be more like that. I also love that she wrote things just for herself, especially this poem:

The Wine of Solitude

by Irene Nemirovsky for Irene Nemirovsky

To lift such a heavy weight

Sisyphus, you will need all your courage.

I do not lack the courage to complete the task

But the end is far and time is short.  

A New Chapter in the Mormon Romance Genre

So I was going to post something really important, but I couldn't get the words right, so instead I wrote this.

I've been thinking about what the Mormon equivalent to online erotica would be, and I think I've got it. Celebrity conversion stories. It's fan fiction with the added element of the celebrity joining the church so you get your happy ending. A perfect marriage of the internet and obsessive Mormon girls.

My favorite story involves meeting Shaun White on a plane, getting snowboard lessons, going to the Olympics, and being interviewed by Barbara Walters about him joining the church and our marriage. Right now I'm not sure I'm invested enough to take the time to do that story justice, so here's a few rough snippets from my would-be novel about my musical soulmate. Picture an expanded version of this with several scenes in church foyers.

Welcome to the Brink

It was too simple, really: us meeting. I'd just seen your show and was winding through the streets trying to remember where I'd parked my car. You walked right passed me, and then turned and asked for directions.

Why you kept talking after I told you the bar was just around the corner still baffles me. But for whatever reason, you invited me to join you. In that moment I froze--mostly with fear--and tried to choke out a yes, while moving my head up and down.

I think you instantly regretted that invitation when I ordered a Diet Coke. You deny it now, but I saw your eyes go flat. And then you remembered you were in Salt Lake City.

"Are you Mormon?" you asked with raised eyebrows.

"Yes."

The air was momentarily tinged with awkwardness, but it dissipated the moment a radical fan-girl came and kissed you full on the mouth.

You blinked, trying to hide the cringe, and I bit my lip to keep from bursting out laughing.

And then, after you politely shrugged her off, we were friends. All it took was the ludicrousness of the moment to make you a real person and not a celebrity musician to me. I don't remember what else we talked about that night. Mostly about National Parks and motorcycles and how hot we like our salsa, I think. That was the beauty of it. It was easy and I didn't have to think about what to say next.

At the end of the night you kissed my hand, and as you turned to walk away, you rose the napkin I'd written my email and phone number on as if to salute the night.

Shaking my head, I walked away not quite believing any of it had happened.

...

It took you a month and a half to send me that first email. I'd written that whole night off as a grand legend to tell my future children, so I had no idea what to think when I saw your name in my inbox. The blood rushed to my fingers in anticipation as I clicked on the email.

Do you like the cinema? And what are your thoughts on Hawthorne?

I probably stared at the screen, knitting my eyebrows together, for a full nine minutes. I couldn't decide if it was the most ridiculous email ever or the most ridiculously perfect opening I'd ever heard.

I love films. The pictures are a highly underrated art form. As for Hawthorne, I don't understand the appeal of The Scarlet Letter, but I suppose I can't judge the man on one novel. 

We emailed fairly regularly until you came and took me to that movie at Sundance. You loved that the writer took lines from Shakespeare, Friends, and The Simpsons to tell the story of The Scarlet Letter. I thought I'd love it and really wanted to, but I still just don't understand the power of the story.

You came and saw my very average house. I tried to invite you to church, but you didn't accept. That didn't scare you off though. I think it led to our deep conversations that ultimately cemented our relationship.

...

When you took me to the Grand Canyon, I felt a change. It was a turning point in my confidence. For some reason, I felt strengthened to be myself completely and to be a better Latter-day Saint. It was all or nothing and I had to have it all.

Smiling down into the ruddy abyss of the Grand Canyon, I whispered, "Welcome to the brink."

...

"You're coming to LA this weekend," you told me without even saying hello on the phone.

"We just got back from Vienna; I'm not letting you fly me anywhere else."

"Then pay for the ticket yourself. I don't care. You're coming."

So I paid my way to sunny Los Angeles. When you picked me up at the airport, I knew you were excited about something. I tried to get it out of you, but you just picked me up into a gripping hug and told me it was nothing. You were just "happy to see me."

I wasn't buying that sentimentality from you, but I dropped it. You know how I love surprises.

You performed that night, and made me stand right in the middle of the crowd. "You'll give me courage. Now that I don't get drunk every time I perform, I need it."

So I danced and enjoyed the music and loved that I was supporting friends. I love when the crowd begs for an encore. I was looking around at everyone who had been bonded by the beauty of the music, when you said, "This one goes out to the strangest girl I know."

I whipped my head back to the stage and met your eyes with a stunned look. You winked and smiled that crooked smirk I can't resist. 

It was the most beautiful acoustic encore I've ever heard. I stopped dancing and just stared at you. I was completely floored by the song you debuted that night. The song that you'd written for me; for us, really. And then I started crying when you started the last verse with the words "welcome to the brink." I can't believe you heard my words. And I mean really heard them, because the song captures what I meant so well. It's a yielding out of love and pure desire. It's about making the decision once and for all and jumping in full force.

As soon as you finished the show, you jumped off the stage and came to me. I was still in the center of the room, unable to move. I reached up my hand to pull you into a hug, but stopped somewhere in the middle and dropped my hand. The things that had been building up combined, and I knew for sure that we were in agreement that we weren't just friends anymore and I didn't know what to do. And then you kissed me. 

...

As you like to say, you tried Mormon dating for 3 weeks. I think we had some of our greatest days during that time, but you couldn't give me everything that I wanted. And frankly, I don't think it was enough for you either. You couldn't give me the eternal marriage I'd always known I'd need. We weren't headed anywhere that would lead to a fairytale life for either of us. The day I decided to end our romantic relationship, the sun shone into your hair, and that's mostly what I remember. The image of you slightly turning away and squinting in the sun as I told you that I couldn't do it any more and we had to go back to being just friends. I was worried you wouldn't allow the change, that I wouldn't get to experience life with you in any way. Instead I got an "I'll try."

...

We were actually pretty good at being "just friends." We still went on vacation with the band. I'm thinking of the trip to Bryce Canyon. Have I ever told you that I love how much you love Bryce Canyon? You get all boyish and excited about it. On one such camping trip, the rest of the band went to take pictures, and we stayed back to get dinner going.

The red rocks through the smoke of the fire were beautiful, and I smiled as the wind ruffled my hair. I caught your eye as you were lounging in a chair, whistling a song.

You grinned, "Get over here."

I shook my head and skipped over, looking at you quizzically.

You pulled me onto your lap, grabbed my cheeks, and just looked at me.

"I'm ready, " you finally said.

"For what?" I whispered.

"You. I'm ready to know what makes you so complete. You know I'm scared of too much happiness but I love you too much not to explore something that makes so much sense to you. Sometimes I think I can feel it, especially when I'm discussing real things with you, but it's not enough. I need to figure it out for myself."

"You know a lot will change if you know what I know."

"Yeah, but it will be worth it. And I'll get to keep on loving you."

...

It's been four years since we first met on the street, and next week I'll get to call you my husband. You told me once that it took a long time for you to feel like you were joining the church because you felt it was the truth and not just to keep me in your life. Let me tell you, it was worth the wait.





Okay, I think this definitely takes top prize for being the most ridiculous thing I've ever written. And I wanted to make it flowery and metaphor-ridden, but I can't bring myself to waste more time on this. Like all great Lifetime original movies, hopefully it's awesomely bad. 

Happy Halloween!

Lately, this lyric in particular has been stuck in my mind. 'Cause I'll write songs and you write letters.

I hope you enjoyed your Halloween. I saw Deep Love a folk-rock opera and absolutely loved it. It was grotesque and beautiful and made me wish I could sing. Oh, and own metallic leather pants.

Call of the Feral

I didn't have friends in high school. People tend to say things like this, but in my case, it's true. I had habits and acquaintances. Nothing more. I would sit at a lunchroom table on days I wanted to play the game and listen to these people talk about what they'd done that weekend. And inevitably they'd ask what I'd done.

"Not much. Hung out at home. Went to a movie with my family." Every week more or less the same response.

And I always sat there wondering how no one noticed that I was never there for any of the out-of-school activities.

I only blame myself for those lonely days, so if you knew me then, don't be offended. Because I know you tried. I had too high of expectations. I blame my idyllic childhood self and Saved by the Bell for that.

In order to survive the life I'd carved for myself, I proclaimed myself an eccentric. Granted, I think I've always been quirky, constantly in the pursuit of eras that are long gone and probably never existed out of literature, but I took it to another level. No one could ever understand me, so why should I try?

And then I went to college and started to wipe the delusion from my eyes.

Despite having friends that I feel privileged to call mine, I often felt separate from most people.

It's a running joke that I'm the forgotten one. The one hiding in the corner, always the last to be discovered. One time in particular has always stayed with me. For one FHE activity, we played waterballoon volleyball. Of course it was a partner game, and I was the odd person out. It shouldn't have been a big deal, but for whatever reason it was. That night I realized that I might be overcompensating. In order to not show my fear or my shyness, I might appear to be fine. Content with being a solitary, instead of the quaking little girl in the shadows I see myself as.

I just can't believe that I fooled anyone for a second. That makes it sound like I'm weak. That I wasn't okay alone, but that's not true either. I was handling it. In the clinical sense, I was mentally healthy and led a functioning life.

Despite having the best friends I'd been craving, the feeling of separateness persisted and fueled my philosophy essay the following year.

It's one of the few pieces of writing I'm truly proud to have authored. I've since lost it because my computer crashed, so it might not have been as brilliant as I remember, but it was something that had been a long time coming.

I set out to write about how much can be gained by being a solitary. I felt a need to prove that I was somehow okay, maybe even better off, because I had spent so much time alone in high school.

The theme revolved around feral children.

My obsession with feral children stemmed from what else but a TLC documentary. Instantly, I was so desperate to learn about their human spirit and their experience with learning. In some ways, I felt like I had exiled myself so long that I was a feral child in terms of my social ability.

I remember it clearly, the moment of self-discovery.

I was walking on campus by the Kennedy Center, and as I was crunching all of the impossibly large leaves under my feet, the spark lit, and I knew I'd been so utterly wrong.

We need relationships and connections! We cannot become much without interaction with other things, and most importantly people. The entire time, I was lying to myself in the dark in order to justify the way I lived my life.

There are accounts of feral children who were unable to feel extreme temperatures. One boy, found in France, would put his bare hands in the fire in order to eat a potato; his body couldn't even react to the pain because it never could afford to. In the same sense, I'd made myself numb because I thought I couldn't afford to be alone after an honest try. I was okay being a solitary because I'd conditioned my vulnerability out of the picture out of necessity. Or so I told myself.

That time of intense study of human nature and principles of learning shaped my social approach going forward. I'd survived basically alone, so I knew I could do it again if I had to, but I also knew that it's a stagnant place to be. It's very easy to grow tired of yourself if you spend too much time a part from the rest of the world.

Now I'm better at explaining myself and accepting that people often won't understand where I'm coming from, but they won't dismiss me either. I hide less. I don't always let the feral child in me run away from people.

With the move, I've had the pleasure of meeting new friends. The other night I said I was shy to one of them, and he adamantly disagreed with me. I have to say I'm still pretty shocked by this. Although I no longer feel like the helpless feral child, I still think I come off as a timid--like to the point of being pitiful-timid sometimes.

Maybe I faked it so long I made it? I can't seem to decide because the call of the feral is still strong in me, but I know I'm firmer in showing my confidence. All along I genuinely liked the core of myself, but I wasn't strong enough or smart enough to share it with others.

It's a work in progress, but at least I'm not still lost in the forest, the only one able to hear the falling trees and my own voice.

At 23 & 1/2

I own real furniture. Not just those cheap bookshelves from Big Lots.

Because I can't wake up on time, I have to shower at night.

I have 17 pairs of boots and an entire drawer designated for tights and leggings.

Sometimes I think I'm smarter than I give myself credit for.

I have to jump to get on my bed. And I'd really like for someone to explain to me why making one's bed became such a standard practice. I think it's a pointless chore.

I'd like to wear hats more.

Jellyfish are still my favorite animal.

Lately, people haven't been hearing the sarcasm in my voice...and I haven't really been correcting them.

I've always known that the real struggle would be figuring out what I really wanted to do with my life, not in the achieving it part. I'm still on step one.

The last three episodes of Dawson's Creek are just waiting for me to watch them, but I can't seem to do it. It's too soon to say goodbye or goodnight. Plus I need to prepare myself for the exorbitant amount of tears that will flood my face.

Nothing sounds better than picking up everything and traveling anywhere and everywhere for a year. I can't decide if that would be a voyage of self discovery or if it'd be plain running away.

I'm in the middle of reading Anna Karenina.

I wish that I could call myself an artist.

Today's Obsession: Keaton Henson's "Lying to You"

I really wish I was still in my Sex and Gender class because I have so much to discuss about this song and video and how it pertains to gender roles and expectations in society. I'll spare you my essay though and let the art speak for itself.

A message That I'm Sending Out Like A Telegraph

Sometimes life seems rather fickle. Or maybe it's just me. I'm probably the one fluctuating. Today I've just been thinking about how strange it is that I live in a house that I haven't seen all of. Apparently there is a sun porch in back? I've lived here a month, and I've only been in the backyard once, for about five seconds. I also think it's bizarre that I think about people who were the most important people in my life at least once a day, but I hardly ever talk to them. I lived with people for more than a year, and I only know the basics of their lives. It's weird that sometimes I have a hard time remembering some of my roommates' names. I saw them nearly every day for crying out loud! I hate that I don't know what my friends' houses look like or if it feels like home. I don't know their day to day schedules or how they feel about things. I guess I just wanted you all to know that I love you. And you probably don't know [wish I was better at that]. But I do. I really do.

The Jess Steele Phenomenon

I've been waiting for something for a long while now. I call it "The Jess Steele Phenomenon."

A while back, my cousin and I were looking through my dad's old yearbook and were instantly taken by Jess Steele.

He was alarmingly intriguing. We needed to know everything about him. He wasn't on any teams or a member of any clubs. We speculated that he was probably too cool for high school and was in some college rock band. I mean look at that hair. My dad and her mom went to school with him, but neither of them really knew him. My dad thinks he may have been the older brother of a special needs guy in his grade. This adds immensely to his charm. All it took was this one yearbook photo to convince us we appreciated everything about the real Jess Steele. It was a shame we were a generation late.

I actually had this picture as my phone background for a few years. Creepy? Very. But it reminded me not to settle for anything. I would find my own Jess Steele. 

As much as I'd like it to be a man, my next Jess Steele could be a new passion or book. Last Christmas, it was this box.

My mom got me a necklace I'd liked from a Christmas ad, and it'd come in this most perfect box ever. The color is a little distorted in these pictures, but seriously everything about it is immaculate. I couldn't stop talking about it or let it go. A tiny, sparkly box made my Christmas morning. Side Note: I'm going to remember this anecdote next time I need to produce some evidence to prove my standards and expectations aren't too high.

I'm looking for a little magic. Something that makes me want to scream and jump up and down. I'm hoping for the real deal. The Jess Steele Phenomenon.

On the Threshold

I moved to Salt Lake City! It was time to move on and out of my parent's house, but it's making me really, very sad. It's proving harder to grow up than I expected. But I'm very calm about the whole thing. Which I am very grateful for.

And I have to say, I am pretty excited about this cute house I moved into. It has the essence of Dawson's Creek in it. I'm going to sit on the porch and ponder the idosyncracies of my young adult life and lament that my soulmate isn't around to save me. I'll probably cry some too. My landlord lives right down the street, and she seems to take care of the house and everyone in it. She will be the Grams to my Jennifer. And it's like Pacey to move forward alone, to take a stab at life without the support of people you've loved and known your whole life. (I just wish I had a Joey and Dawson to always go back to.) The wood doors remind me of Joey's dorm room and my bed reminds me of Potter's B&B, so maybe some of her will rub off on me, and I will run into my Eddie or Pacey. I don't want to wait for my life to be over.

Why I Left Provo

I left because I wanted to be the one to start the leaving. Somehow, I thought it would be easier if I initiated the breaking. Because I felt like I was the only one who would think twice about leaving and would have stayed just to be near the people who know me best. I left because I thought I was ready to stand on my own. When I said goodbye to Provo, I was at the top of my game, and I was sure I was ready to initiate the next experiences and relationships in my life.

But I didn't anticipate the lost feeling that came with graduation and the realization that I was rushing growing up for no reason. Because really I can't think of a single reason for my stagnant year at home.

Other than the practicality of saving money, which I honestly don't care very much about, this sometimes feels like a waste of a year.

My confidence was eaten up in the days of nothingness. It sometimes seemed like college never happened, that I was never the person I loved when I was at school.

Maybe the leaving didn't work because too many people I love were still in Provo. It's not fun to experience so many new things if you don't have anyone to tell. I mean really tell--in a way that goes beyond talk, just catching up, or common courtesy.


Maybe there isn't a reason for my geographical location this past year. I'm okay with that.

I guess I just wanted some clarity because I felt so strongly that Provo and I were done with each other that I thought something big was brewing.

That's yet to come to fruition.

A few weekends ago, I was visiting Provo, and I found myself missing it. It had been my home for so long, and I'd forgotten how safe the entire city felt.

But I don't want to go back. I need a good fight. I've got to conquer something real to feel on top again.

I was an Asian tourist at work today.

I'm not even going to explain myself.

Independence Day 2013

On this celebration of our Nation's beautiful independence, I would like to declare that I am almost ready to give up the complete independence of single-hood. Because whoever You are, I want to find You. Soon, if possible.

I'll be waiting with a van akin to this one. But really, what better way to travel from sea to shining sea.

The last night in Peru, I couldn't sleep because I didn't want to leave. I had found a peace in the rustic lodge outside of Puerto Maldonado, and it sent me into a state of pure happiness. So amidst the hum of the cicadas in the jungle, I listened to my iPod trying not to mourn what I would say goodbye to in the morning. And luckily I found what I needed to send me home content:

A few lines in his song.

"So are you gonna stay in the place where you started or do you wanna hold my hand in the middle of America?"

I guess this is turning into a letter to the inevitable You. So, the answer will always be yes. Let's see this gorgeous country we call home together. Because I am so proud and grateful and ultimately awed that I get to call myself an American.

Current TV Addictions

I can honestly say I enjoy Call the Midwife just as much as What Would Ryan Lochte Do? I cried during this entire scene of Smash. And I can't believe I don't have any new Doc Martin episodes to look forward to.

The End of an Era

My room has been essentially untouched for a decade. With the exception of a few additions and
boxes from my college stuff, this is how my room has looked since I was thirteen. I have slowly started to let go, but not before I captured all the knick-knacks that used to mean so much. I think I might be a hoarder...

I was once so proud of how I strung those hearts that I cut out of The American Girl Magazine.

 

                                                                                                                                                                           

A lot of these magnets once called my middle school locker home.

I wish I had a stop-motion video of how my room evolved over the years. I miss the huge bean bag chair, $15 exercise machine from DI, the Barbie house, and the gymnastics and space shuttle posters [the only other ones I had] that once graced my walls.

"Sometimes you are aware when your great moments are happening, and sometimes they rise from the past. Perhaps it's the same with people."
                              --James Salter, Burning the Days 
                                                           [As quoted in David Nicholl's One Day, which I happened to read at just the right time last summer.]

we'll be back soon/you're my favorite one

My sister and I decided that Mikel Jollett from The Airborne Toxic Event is my musical soulmate. (Jesse McCartney is my acting soulmate, in case you were wondering.)

Last Friday, we went to see them play at The Depot in Salt Lake. I was ecstatic!

The band that opened for them was horrible. Like ear-bleeding bad. As I listened and laughed at the delusional frontman, I started to get scared. What if it didn't live up to my expectations? I was worried that I dragged my sister to a concert with an effeminate male reeking of pot dancing ridiculously and the worst sound system ever, with nothing redeeming to find.

But the racket of the first band eventually came to an end, and our ears were left ringing.

As soon as The Airborne Toxic Event took the stage, I had a feeling the night would end well.

I've yet to meet a song of theirs I don't like. Seriously, I can't get enough. It's the violin and bass (and the bassist--a little obsessed) and Jollett's ragged voice. But mostly it's the lyrics.

Literary. Profound. My own thoughts, but prettier. They even use the word feral.

At one point, Mikel Jollett (the main singer and writer) started to climb on the speakers and reached up to grab a speaker bar, like he was seeing if he could hang and swing on it. It's dumb, but it's something I would do, and it only made his stories more like my stories.

It was the best show I have ever been to. It was one of those nights that lets you live in it for a while longer because it knows you belong there, in that one particular moment. So I savored and sang to every song.

They played two encores, one of which was acoustic, which just unhinges me.

I think a lot of people think their lyrics are depressing and cynical. And I get that. But that's not what I hear.

I've always loved this by Oscar Wilde found in the preface to The Picture of Dorian Gray: "All art is at once surface and symbol. Those who go beneath the surface do so at their peril. Those who read the symbol do so at their peril. It is the spectator, and not life, that art really mirrors."

In the songs I heard last Friday, I see glimpses of myself. And it's beautiful. The reality of fully feeling, even when you just feel damaged. There's a hope in that. In realizing that you have to mend yourself. I was a little disappointed they didn't play one of my favorites at the concert; it's one of my pep talk songs. "Strange Girl." We traded blindness for some wisdom and some lines around the eyes. But you just act like it was a fact of life. It didn't come as a surprise.

Some things aren't black and white. And happiness is one of those things. The music from The Airborne Toxic Event reminds me that reality is an often astounding paradox. And I choose to see love in the symbols.

Now go get lost in their YouTube channel.

At 22

I should hate that I always have dirt under my fingernails, even when I've spent the day reading or just hanging around indoors, but I love it. It makes me feel adventurous.

I have zero interest in owning a smartphone.

I have this insaitable need to own all my favorite books. I am close to finishing up my collection (for now). After psychoanalyzing myself, I feel this stems from a basic instinct to be remembered and to leave some kind of mark on the world because no one really knows all of me, and right now it's not looking like I will be adding my genes to the pool anytime soon. Somehow I feel that the sum of the pages could let people know who I am.

More than anything, I want to play the role of the girl-next-door in a teen drama, preferably set in a quaint coastal town.

For some unfathomable reason, I am still not sick of Gotye's "Somebody That I Used to Know" and never change the station when it plays.

I can't help but watch The Breakfast Club every time it's on TV.

One day I would like to receive an old fashioned love letter in my mailbox.

I think I'd like to be involved in politics, but don't know that I like any of the career steps that would take me there.

When it comes to people flying, I think it's possible that it's possible.

Today while watching home movies, my dad said that I hadn't changed much. We were watching a scene of us at the park. I was ten and hanging upside down on the playground. He meant that I hadn't really aged physically, which was a nice exaggeration, but I think it's more true of my personality. Luckily I am more camera shy and have straighter teeth, but I can still play. I love that I can let myself be naive and just have fun.

One of those days...

I woke up that Summer morning excited for the day. It was the designated day for a cousin trip to Lagoon. I love Lagoon--it's a fair with all it's white-trash splendor, just with better roller coasters. But right from the start, I should have known lady luck was against me that day. The one day I have set all-day plans, is also the only chance I have to see a friend passing through Utah. Conflicting plans are my downfall. Has been since I missed Bug Day in kindergarten, and my mom tried to make it better by giving me a knock-off Pocahontas Barbie.

But I digress. After loading up the car with all the little cousins, everyone yelling at me for not parking close enough to the entrance, and meeting up with the rest of the family, the day seemed great. The lines weren't long. We even saw a group of Mennonites going on the roller coasters. But as fun as the younger kids are, we wanted some time away. We tried to hand them over to their dad, but that didn't work out--he didn't seem to care where his children were or if they even checked in.

So we ended up in line for the chairlift to the other end of the park with all the little kids in tow (ages 7 to 13, so really not that little, and one 15-year-old stuck in the middle).

My cousin, who I think was 9 at the time, demanded that I ride with her. It's funny, but she has always liked me best, for no apparent reason. As we took off on the relaxing ride, she turned to me and said, "Want to know a secret?"

"Sure."

"Are you sure you can handle it? It's kind of gross."

"I think I can handle it."

"I'm going commando."

"What?!" I could't stop laughing. She then explained that she didn't have any clean underwear (she was on vacation, visiting Utah), and that she had tried to wear her little brother's pull-up (like took it off of his body), but it was too bunchy under her pants. It was even funnier because she had a hole in an unfortunate part of her pants. She surprised me again by making a lesbian joke just before we got off at the other end.

We rode all the rides and babysat in the scorching sun until we had lunch and somehow pulled off getting a table just for the cousins with a high school diploma. The kids inevitably got restless though, so we headed out into the heat. It was unfortunate that Rattlesnake Rapids was closed; there was no chance of cooling down.

My favorite cousin and I, as the oldest, decided that we should look through the museums in the pioneer section. All the kids started complaining. I tried to explain to them that they could go out on their own, but I guess they didn't believe me because they suffered through all the historic shops with us.

Eventually, they wore us down, and we headed back to some other rides. For some reason, Lagoon has gotten ridiculous about letting you take bags on rides. It's really stupid. Anyway, my favorite cousin (the one just a few months older than me) had a small purse with her. Instead of hiding it on the side of the ride and hoping nothing gets stolen, she decided to stuff it up the back of her shirt. It looked like she had some sort of back brace or growth, both of which would probably prevent someone from riding The Spider, a roller coaster that spins your car while going along the track. We were trying to look natural and not laugh, but we were probably failing miserably. But when it was our turn to board the ride, the employees manning the rides turned away at the best possible moment. We slipped in effortlessly.

Then I grew tense when the teenage boy looked at us and said, "Want to know why you two are my favorite?" We just sort of stared at him. "Because you look the best."

Relief and laughter flooded out of us. I thought he was going to say something about us thinking we could sneak things past him. It was great for a teenage boy to poorly flirt with both of us at the same time.

After accepting that we weren't going to get out of babysitting, the day flew by. Soon the bright lights were coming on and it was time to head home. Coordinating with my uncles took forever. No one was answering their phones, and we never made set plans. Luckily, we kept track of all the little kids and we could finally leave the park.

I ended up taking all four of the older cousins, a thirteen-year-old, an eleven-year-old, and the nine-year-old. It started out on a great note.

The hilarious 9-year-old cousin somehow started telling us all this hilarious sassy, witty stuff, and somehow said, "I am 75% sexy."

"What's the other 25%?" I asked.

"Ugly." She said so matter of factly.

Jokes and songs lasted for another ten minutes, until the thirteen-year-old started complaining that she didn't feel well. (Small moral of the story: don't eat a cinnamon roll as big as your face and a whole thing of chocolate milk if you haven't eaten anything all day.) We tried to tell her that it wouldn't be too much longer, but she was on the verge of a major freak out. So I took the next exit, and found the closest gas station. She ran inside.

We were stuck there for awhile and bought tums and a water bottle, so we wouldn't feel bad for using their bathroom. Eventually, we coaxed her out, and made her be by the window seat just in case. Just as we were heading back on the freeway, she freaked again. So I pulled over to the the side of the road, and she got out. We were there for about ten minutes until she calmed down and agreed to get back in the car.

After about ten more minutes of driving, she said she was feeling better, and was even back to laughing. But then it was the 9-year-olds turn to cry.

She had to use the bathroom. I asked if she could wait ten more minutes until we got to the cousins' house where she would spend the night. She said yes, but then we got stuck in late-night construction. And she started screaming that she couldn't wait.

It was horrible timing. Right in the middle of the industrial part of South Salt Lake near the sketchy parts of town, but I pulled off as soon as I could. And then there weren't any gas stations or grocery stores. Every street only had offices or auto parts stores. Finally, I pulled off in a tiny stretch of weeds near some neighborhoods, and told her this was the best option if she really really had to go right then.

My other cousin got out with her, offering to help. Then we heard a menacing dog barking, and it seemed to be getting closer. The previously sick cousin yelled, "Get in the car! It's a dog!" They both jumped in the back seat, imagining an attacker on the pursuit. I sped off.

And luckily we found a 7-11, and didn't have to resort to a scary-looking Mexican mart. Most of the cousins piled out to use the facilities. And I have to say, I was proud of the eleven-year-old, he kept it together the whole time and didn't even complain.

Finally, we were back on the freeway. I just kept telling everyone ten more minutes, ten more minutes. But of course, we ran into more construction and stop-and-go traffic.

Just when I thought we were almost in the clear--I could see the exit--the car stopped functioning. I couldn't push the gas pedal, and the brake was only sort of working. Luckily, traffic was only crawling at ten miles an hour. Of course this happens right when we were calling the parents to give them an update, and they heard me say the car is breaking down before my cousin hangs up. I kept thinking that I could maybe coast to the exit and not have to deal with pulling over, but there was no way I could last that long. So I turned off into the shoulder and restarted the car, praying that it would start like normal.

Thankfully, it did. We called the parents and let them know we would have the children to them in a few minutes. At this point, the younger kids were silent, fighting off sleep and trying not to lose their patience, but the older cousins were laughing. There wasn't anything else to do. What should have taken 45 minutes had taken over 2 hours--and so much had gone wrong!

As we pulled into my cousins' neighborhood, this song came on the radio:

It was the perfect ending to the day. We all started singing and laughing. It was pure kismet.


Author's Note: This would be a much better rendition of the story if I believed in using children's names on the internet and disregarded internet privacy and personal information rules. If I had the patience and time to give everyone nicknames and characterizations, you would understand why this day is now one of my favorite stories.

I'm almost an adult.

Last week was full of firsts.

I finally got a passport!

And I bought my first car! It's nothing too exciting: a 2003 Toyota Highlander. And the color is a little bit grandmaish, but it will do because I got a killer deal (as long as nothing too major repair-wise pops up). I am really proud of myself for making a reasonable decision though and holding off on my lifelong dream of owning a 1960s Ford Bronco.

When I met the older gentleman selling the car, he asked if I knew how to drive. At first I thought he was making a joke, but no. He seriously thought I was sixteen.

Words

I have a hard time letting things go. Not getting over things, just letting them go. It takes me so long to let people in, I tend to hold on hard and fast when time inevitably changes circumstances. I have another blog that's just for me. And truthfully, the few posts on it are so much better. The writing unabashedly tells the full story and captures the gritty emotions that exist in anything worth reading. But I can't share them with anyone. Even though I wrote them a year ago, it still feels too soon. I am scared that in another year those words will still be too tender to share--that I haven't brushed myself off and found new things to experience and write about. I am terrified of ensnaring myself in yesteryear.

Nirvana

This Summer, while on vacation in New York City, I attended a Manhattan ward. It ended up being a great experience. Not only was it a fantastic place for people watching, the talks and spiritual side of things just elevated me. The Sacrament meeting felt like girls' camp testimony meetings--a conversation instead of a lecture. At the end of the meeting, bypassing tradition, the organist got up and changed the closing hymn to "O My Father."

Calling himself the "Van Halen of Church organists," he had the congregation sing together on the first verse, the women would sing the second verse, men only on the third verse, and then we would all sing together on the last verse. I really took his counsel to connect with the lyrics. I had never caught the profound wisdom of "O My Father." [The version I have linked is by no means my favorite, but this man makes me really happy, and I just feel like this song needs the warmth of a male voice. And I am not really a fan of the Tabernacle Choir--is that horrible? I just don't feel like you can connect to the words and true meaning with a choir.]

Yet ofttimes a secret something
Whispered, "You're a stranger here,"

I needed to be reminded that I am a daughter of God, and that I can develop an everlasting relationship that will help me understand the here and now.

I guess I needed this reminder again because this was what I kept thinking about while watching Ocean Heaven at BYU's International Cinema a few weeks ago.

 

It is an incredible film. See it if you can! It is one of those movies that you come out happy, despite sobbing through it all--it's an accurate representation of life. 

The father in the film eventually realizes that he has to teach his son to be self-relient. It's the best way he can show his love because it will last when he is gone. It was such an allegory for me.

Then, at length, when I've completed
All you sent me forth to do,
With your mutual approbation
Let me come and dwell with you.

Life on earth can be so hard. There is so much we don't understand; we're often like Dafu: afraid and stuck in our own, limited perspectives. But we are so loved my heavenly parents. We struggle because it's all worth it and because we can do it. During the movie, I kept thinking why didn't the dad teach his son these things before? Dafu was capable of so much more than he could outwardly demonstrate. I turn this on myself, and I know I can be so much more.

I've always loved Romans 8. "And if children, then heirs; heirs of God, and joint-heirs with Christ; if so be that we  suffer with him, that we may be also glorified together. For I reckon that the sufferings of this present time are not worthy to be compared with the glory which shall be revealed in us." (Verses 17 and 18--there is a footnote that changes in us to to us, but I like this better when I need comfort.)

That's what an incredible parent does--loves in the way that we need it most. Loves us as we fail and often flounder, when it would be easier for him to just do it for us. Accepts and understands us, but pushes us to our full potential. I can't wait to try to be this kind of parent! But in the meantime, I am going to remember that I have parents loving and preparing me. I already have the forever kind of love I am so desperately in need of.

It's Valentine's Day!

"I wonder how well she sleeps at night and what kind of dreams she has. I wish I could step into them like she steps into mine."        

                      --Isaac Marion, Warm Bodies, p. 142

                   

via

Set the Scene

I recently bought this gossip bench at a cute local antique shop, and I am obsessed.

I can picture the old apartment with original, rich hardwood floors in which this will look perfect. It's a space that screams me. And I can't wait.

Now I just need to decide which city to search for this apartment. I'm thinking San Francisco, New York, Portland, or Seattle. And part of me would like to make a pilgrimage out of moving to Wilmington.

Who wants to move with me?

"The past is never dead. It's not even past."
                      --William Faulkner

Gumption

When the movie Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close came out, I wanted to see it in the theatre so badly. The book had reached into by soul, rearranged some of my deep-seated thoughts, and left me blown away in the best possible ways. I was so stirred and transformed by the metaphors and imagery. I felt that the transformation to the big screen would not be as powerful, but just as moving. Things just mean more to me in the theatre--the atmosphere and upright position of the chairs adds to the experience of being taken with the story. In a way, the darkness makes me more willing to be vulnerable to the empathy. Plus it was a movie I wanted to support.

Well, no one would/could go with me. The timing never worked out with those who wanted to see it. And I asked the friends that I thought would go just to go with me, but I always got a no.

So I went to the movie alone. I sat in the back of the nearly empty theatre, sobbing. I am so glad I went through with what I wanted. I got the experience I was hoping for.

It's one of the decisions I value most. I didn't go by myself to wallow. And I didn't go consumed with spite. I did not want to go alone, but after an honest effort to get someone to go with me (even trying to get friends to go out of pity by reiterating that I would, in fact, be going alone), I just went. Embarrassment and fear became irrelevant because I was living the life I wanted. Being my own friend and ally.

I think it is strange that going to the movies alone is such a big deal. (It had always been one of those bucket list sort of things for me.) Going to matinees seems acceptable, but going at night--especially on the weekends--carries so much stigma. Why do you need someone to go with you to sit in a dark place where chit-chat is frowned upon? Of course, it's nice to have company, but being alone shouldn't hold me back. It shouldn't keep me from being the kind of person I want to become.

One of My Curses...

“...I have noticed that when things happen in one's imaginings, they never happen in one's life, so I am curbing myself.” 
                   --Dodie Smith, I Capture the Castle

I can never curb myself.

Fit

I have edited and deleted this post so many times because I am not certain I should share it with the world. As you will soon read, I don't think this topic should get as much air time as it does, but I am hoping that organizing my thoughts into a chain of words, that are acceptable enough for others to read, will allow me to unravel the idea in my head, and I can leave it all behind. This post is about body image and my own feelings about what can be done to eradicate this eater of accomplishment and health in women.

Usually, I am happy with my body. I would even venture to use the word confident--which is rare for me. But sometimes I encounter issues with myself that just lead to further destruction.

The day before Thanksgiving, I was getting dressed after taking a shower, and I didn't like the way my thighs looked. They just seemed completely unacceptable. I have no idea how they should be changed or what my perfect idea was, but what I saw in the mirror wasn't it. And then I put on my size 0 jeans and they were loose in the waist. That's when I felt selfish and stupid.

How was I not okay with my body?! I am so blessed with good genes, health, and the ability to be active.The doubts just fostered more doubts. It's vicious. I felt what I know are lies eat up the confidence that I gain from feeling like a more-than-decent person.

The media gets blamed a lot for poor body image and eating disorders, but I think this is too easy. We are making it a scapegoat and ignoring the real issue. Honestly, I am beginning to think that the perception of the media's influence on body image is one of the Adversary's counterfeits. If he can get us to believe that we don't have very much power in how women feel about themselves or how women should look, he has gotten us. I think the true source of body image issues lies in our need for love and a place in the grand scheme of things. We have to believe that we can change things. We can't place blame on anyone else or anything because then we don't have the power to make change. We can't mend ourselves.

It is kind of terrifying to think that I have no idea what will lead me to be 100% satisfied with my body. I know it will probably never happen while on this earth. My greatest distress comes from the fact that I have no idea what my body really looks like. Measurements and dress sizes don't paint an accurate picture of the whole effect. And I know my own head messes with my perceptions in horrendous ways. I take it as a good sign that I don't aspire to have the legs of a certain celebrity though. It allows me to realize I am feeding my own dissatisfaction; I have control. And I think I have come up with an answer for myself.

Don't think about it.

It seems hard. And sometimes it is. But I spent a lot of the Summer in a swimsuit in front of boys, and I didn't think about it. I was happy and had a lot of fun.Questioning myself didn't cross my mind.

And I think it all comes down to the contentment in my life. I am choosing that word because happiness is often fleeting and transitory, but being content is sturdy and more trustworthy. All Summer, I felt good about who I was and the friends I have and where I thought I was heading. When I realized I had no plan and was heading home, I let the little platform of contentment I created chip in places. Questioning just leads to more questioning.

So I am going to work at not thinking about it. I am going to find the things that make me love life, and in-turn myself. And I am going to try not to talk about it because it inevitably makes it worse. I understand this post doesn't offer a solution to obesity in America, but it has helped me understand my own needs. Right now it really all comes down to finding my place in this world.

"Where are you now? Do you ever think of me in the quiet, in the crowd?"*

A Place in Thy Memory

            Gerald Griffin (1803-1840)

A PLACE in thy memory, Dearest!

  Is all that I claim:

To pause and look back when thou hearest

  The sound of my name.

Another may woo thee, nearer;

  Another may win and wear;

I care not though he be dearer,

  If I am remember'd there.

Remember me, not as a lover

  Whose hope was cross'd,

Whose bosom can never recover

  The light it hath lost!

As the young bride remembers the mother

  She loves, though she never may see,

As a sister remembers a brother,

  O Dearest, remember me!

Could I be thy true lover, Dearest!

  Couldst thou smile on me,

I would be the fondest and dearest

  That ever lov'd thee:

But a cloud on my pathway is glooming

  That never must burst upon thine;

And heaven, that made thee all blooming,

  Ne'er made thee to wither on mine.

Remember me then! O remember

  My calm light love,

Though bleak as the blasts of November

  My life may prove!

That life will, though lonely, be sweet

  If its brightest enjoyment should be

A smile and kind word when we meet

  And a place in thy memory.

*From Mumford and Sons' "Where Are You Now?"

The Stuff I'm Made Of

Last night while I sobbed silently while finishing The Fault in Our Stars (I highly recommend it!), I realized how much I relish those moments. When everyone is asleep and I can't stop reading by the dim light next to my bed but I don't want it to end and leave it all behind. (I get really attached. On my way to work, I had to force myself not to think about my favorite lines of dialogue, so I wouldn't start crying.) As I reveled in the solitude that makes me feel like there are people who are made out of the same stuff as me, I thought about how these late nights with books won't last forever. For one, I don't know that I would be as engrossed with someone sleep-breathing next to me, and then when I have kids, I will probably be too exhausted (or just wiser with my time). But those thoughts were before I got out of bed to get a Kleenex. Stupidly, I let myself see the trailer to Mama play in my head as if it were happening in my hallway. I ran to my bed as soon as I could, sliding to the middle to avoid any hands reaching out from under my mattress. I had to fall asleep listening to nice songs to keep myself from the terror. And then that left me wishing for the days that I can crawl into bed, wipe my tears, and not be afraid because someone will be there that will understand what I am made of. Or at least want to.