Brunch with my Demon

I spoke with my demon today—the one who has haunted my thoughts and dampened my spirits lately. We didn’t meet in battle, nor did I face him with courage and strength determined to rid myself of him forever; it was more of a cautious get-to-know-you over brunch situation. I don’t think I had ever looked at him before, at least not like this without the emotional baggage or stereotypical mask I had always shrouded him in. Like the monster that I was sure infected my third dresser drawer when I was a little girl, I had allowed my fear to paint my unseen enemy with sharp angry features without even trying to discover for myself what he was really like. I found to my intense surprise he was polite, gentle, and even pleasant in a languid colorless sort of way. He laughed at my reaction—a shallow but almost musical tenor sound—and told me that my poorly hidden surprise was common and assured me it didn’t offend him. He was a little somber and much too formal, but once I got use to his stuffy manners I was able to see the ancient wisdom hidden in his gloomy eyes.

At the conversation was forced and awkward. After all, how does anyone rationally consider the future they have feared and dreaded most of their life? But necessity and time lubricated the situation effectively, and eventually we were able to address our differences head-on. I told him that he was my last preference, warned him that if I was forced to accept him as my future companion it was because I was forced to set my dreams aside and had no other option. I asked him how I could face such a prospect cheerfully and after a bit of contemplation he pointed out that he wasn’t my very last choice or I would have settled on something different a long time ago. Then he painted a very different picture of what my future would look like if I was forced to spend it with him—one colored by choice and opportunity instead of the failure and emptiness I had always stained it with. For every dream delayed there was a chance to create and pursue a new dream. He didn’t lie to me; no promises that he could create a future better than the one I want for myself, and while he never said so straight out we both knew no matter how pleasant the future he described might be it would never completely fill the spaces in my soul where my dreams belonged. Instead he showed me the emptiness I feared was really a sketchbook open to all kinds of possibilities for growth, service, learning, and happiness. Perhaps not something to be embraced, but not something to be dreaded either.

Then he showed me my present, in its vivacious reality. No matter what happens in my happily ever after, no matter who does nor does not show up, I can never consider myself unlovable when I remember the feeling of six little arms enfolding me as I tucked them into bed. The arms and women attached to them are nearly grown now, but the warmth and love are still there, love for me—more real than you will find in any fairytale. I have no need to fear a dull future when I reflect on the adventures I embarked on with my other two siblings. How can I think I am unwanted or uncared for when I remember the look in Daddy’s face when he tells me he and mom are proud of me? My demon pointed out the love I feel for them and for dozens of other friends who have carried me to where I am and with a thin smile taught me that I need never doubt my ability to love and care for others.

There were tears of course. Even the thought of sacrificing my beautiful aspirations on the altar of reality and revamping the future of my dreams caused a pain so intense my frail brunch-mate wasn’t able to comfort me for a long time, but eventually there was comfort. After all, he pointed out; painting new dreams doesn’t necessitate my killing the ones I already have. And so I made peace with the demon who has haunted my failures for the last six years. We are not friends yet, but I think we could be, someday, if necessity required it. Either way, I already have more love and vitality in my life than I deserve, and no matter what my future holds, I’m ready to go out and meet it.

I was in the Denver airport yesterday on my way back home to Texas and there was a bird flying around in the airport. It was probably scared silly but it just kept flying around, doing what it knew how to do. I wasn't able to watch it for an exceptionally long time but I'd like to think eventually it got out alright. Meanwhile it was fun to see-inspirational almost to watch a creature of nature trapped and alone still fighting to get free in spite of fear and difficulty. I suppose he remembered the sky. I suppose that on some level he knew who he was and what he was meant to do. Clearly he remembered he was meant to fly. I wish I was better about that. I get so embroiled in my tangled fears of the future I forget not only what I'm meant to become but the strengths and blessings I already have. I may not rule the sky but I am a happy kid. I've always been good at that. I need to be better about not forgetting who I am and what my real purpose is. When I landed there was another bird--a one legged raven hopping around looking for scraps I think. The cool part was that the bird wasn't hampered by what it lacked but instead made it work with what it had. This too is a lesson I can learn. I've always wondered what it would be like to be a bird. Seeing two face the same problems I do (or at least being able to paint their problems with the same colors I paint my own with) provided me with some interesting perspective. Haha I may be as nerdy as I ever was, but it was a good wake up call all the same.

Thanksgiving again

Yet another year. I have grown to love this part of the holidays. The plain truth is that I have so very much to be grateful for that when I sit down and actually catalog it out I am always amazed. This year I went with a friend to his house. It is always better to be with a family, and this family was a lot of fun. We played games, I watch the Dallas Cowboys loose again, I made a few new friends, and ate just enough to be almost stuffed. All in all a great year. It was probably the first and last Thanksgiving I will spend here, so I'm glad it was good. After dinner we played games with just his family and that was fun too. Then I amazed myself with the ability to drive up the south hill without killing anyone, injuring myself, or wrecking my car. A success all around. And now, for the list, as always, in absolutely no order at all--just what comes to my head.

1- The gospel
2- The atonement of my Savior Jesus Christ which makes everything possible and life worth living
3- my family, even when they are far away
4- Dark chocolate raisinettes, a favorite treat
5- Good friends who keep me happy and optimistic
6- hope for the life of my dreams
7- the opportunity to get an education in a field I love
8- the human body--God did such an amazing job!
9- blue jeans--I love love love wearing them
10-being able to run a marathon last summer
11-my new house. It is so fun!
12-the temple
13-the prophet
14-the New Testament--I've spent a lot of time studying it recently and it has some amazing truths
15-laughing
16-my research job that makes it so I don't have to donate plasma
17-the color purple
18-the Book of Mormon
19-the way my parents brought me up--the things they taught me in word, example, and behavior
20-agency
21-that I served a mission in Korea
22-my curly hair that makes it so I don't have to spend very long fixing it in the mornings
23-automatic washing machines. I hate handwashing things!
24-hot chocolate for cold weather
25-boots for snow
26-heaters for the winter, AC for the summer
27-that I am from Texas--one of the greatest places on the planet
28-chocolate--especially brownies
29-my computer
30-Juliet
31-the piano
32-the guitar
33-good music
34-mediocre music
35-pizza
36-the Elders Quorum who helped us move our house in almost no time at all
37-Regional activities and dances--I love those guys!
38-three square meals a day. I hate going hungry!
39-enough to always get by plus plenty extra
40-four of the most amazing sisters anyone could ever ask for. More like permanent best friends.
41-A little brother doing an amazing job on his mission. I love that guy!
42-Tex. He's actually pretty cool for a dog.
43-lotion
44-Hippo who I still cuddle with to go to sleep.
45-fuzzy socks
46-amazing roommates
47-an uber fun class
48-the ability to choose optimism
49-the way my face feels when I smile super big
50-the way Christmas lights glow under a slight snow covering
51-the internet. Who ever would have predicted this kind of technology?
52-Living in America--land of the free
53-the ability to see, speak, learn, grow, taste, smell, feel, and be
54-John Mayer. His voice makes me melt a little bit
55-the doctrine of eternal families
56-forgiveness that comes with the atonement
57-standards that keep me out of trouble
58-church leaders who support and look out for me
59-beef. Sorry cows, but it's true.
60-cold cereal-staple of the collegiate diet
61-Books for reading--especially the Gurnsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society!
62-numbers and math and things that make sense
63-honest, good, kind people that I meet all the time
64-colors. Wouldn't the world be boring in black and white?
65-my testimony and the strength it gives me
66-the hymns of the church
67-inspiration, even when I don't understand it
68-the no that I wish was a yes, even if I am a little bitter over it still
69-my patriarchal blessing, even the parts I don't understand yet
70-the priesthood in my life
71-raisins. In everything. Always.
72-phones for calling people, especially my family.
73-words. I love them. Especially Korean ones.
74-HIMYM
75-prayer. It really is amazing how every time I really pray I can feel the things I need to feel for whatever is going on. Our God truly is a great God.

So I guess that'll do it for this year. I have no idea why I am blessed so. Nothing I did, I can ensure you. I am a happy girl. Most of my dreams are slowly taking form, and that is an especially exciting thing. The problems in life tend to work themselves out and the good things tend to stay. I am so grateful for the abundant blessings--more than I could ever name--and the plethora of opportunities I have to enjoy them. What an amazing world this is!

Crying

The itching in the corner that makes your eyeball sting
the pinching just behind your nose that crying seems to bring.

You give a soggy smile, snot congealing on your face
glad that no one is around to witness your disgrace

And I know you know it’s dumb; this private water show.
Salty solutions flow away and tears make problems grow.

But now and then a good hard cry can help you sleep at night.
Though flooding all your makeup off is not a pretty sight.

So hold on till you’re alone then untie your dread and fears.
The world may shine out clear tomorrow if you wash tonight with tears.

Just a little blurb--mostly a procrastination tactic to delay a little longer the studying I should be doing. Haha I'm nothing if not predictable. I have gained a bit of a new appreciation for VERY OCCASIONAL crying though of late, though that's bound to disappear soon.

A Psalm of Life

This is not one that I could ever take credit for writing. It is in fact, Henry Wadsworth Longfellow's and it is beyond beautiful.

What the heart of the young man said to the psalmist:

Tell me not in mournful numbers
life is but an empty dream!
For the soul is dead that slumbers
and things are not what they seem.

Life is real! Life is earnest!
And the grave is not its goal;
"Dust thou art--to dust returnest"
was not spoken of the soul.

Not enjoyment and not sorrow,
is our destined end or way;
But to act that each tomorrow
finds us farther than today.

Art is long and time is fleeting,
and our hearts, though stout and brave,
still, like muffled dreams are beating
funeral marches to the grave.

In the world's broad field of battle,
in the bivouac of life,
Be not like dumb, driven cattle!
Be a hero in the strife!

Trust no future however pleasant!
Let the dead past bury its dead!
Act! Act in the living present!
Heart within and God o'erhead!

Lives of great men all remind us
we can make our lives sublime,
and departing, leave behind us
footprints in the sands of time;

Footprints, that perhaps another,
sailing o'er lives solemn main,
a forlorn, and a shipwrecked brother,
seeing shall take heart again.

Let us then, be up and doing,
with a heart for any fate;
still achieving, still pursuing,
learn to labor and to wait.

Wowsers, if that's not beautiful I don't know what is. Life isn't always easy or fair or simple or fun, but the point of life is to improve every day--to DO SOMETHING, to step forward and be the person I always dreamed I could be. Sometimes I feel like a spectator in my own life; someone watching by as I react to what happens around me. No more, world. Here I come--soul unfettered at last. Time for the big guns. I'm sick of waiting for perfect circumstances to announce themselves and ask me to accompany them. It is time for me to make the circumstances ideal and see how the darts fly. Well maybe not darts, maybe more like potato chips or birds or something else soft that doesn't have the tendency to injure people when wielded by someone with no semblance of control or dexterity. Plastic dartboard here I come!

Hope can be such a turncoat. Luckily chocolate is a much steadier friend. : )

Curly Hair

First of all, I love my hair. I love that I can hop out of the shower (or drag myself out of the shower, depending on how early I have to get up), stick some goup in it, give it a quick shake and be ready for the day. Done and done. Thirty eight seconds is an acceptable time for hair styling, thank you very much. Granted, the mousy washed out not quite brown color I'm not totally crazy about, but give me a beauty school and I can lighten it up without a huge hit to my bank account and I'm a happy kid again. Hair is great, especially when you don't have to worry about it. I do feel it my civic duty, however, to warn any curly headed girls out there that when they say naturally curly hair needs length to keep it tame, they aren't joking. Short curly hair quickly turns into a tangled bush perched atop your head. Goup, spray, crimp, and moose do very little to tame the wild look and soon you are left with what one can only call a mess on top of your head. The nice thing about hair, of course, is that it grows even when the length is bad. Unfortunately for curly haired individuals, the growth is stunted by the fact that it has to grow horizontally in constricting circles as it grows down, however grow it shall.

There are of course advantages to the wild tresses exploding out of your scalp. Trying to hide a zit on the side of your face, for instance, is much easier when one has a haze of curls blocking the view. It is also an exciting look, guaranteed to attract attention if that is your thing. People may go so far as to stare at you wondering, "did she really do that on purpose? Does she know how big her head looks with that style?" and you can smile to yourself knowing you are the subject of curiosity and mild disbelief. It's also useful for hiding things in. Not quite as firm as a fro but should you need to stick an extra pencil or even a small cookie somewhere for later, thick, tangled curly messes make great storage centers as well.

All the same, if I had to do it again I think I would keep the length. Just saying is all.

Villan

Gah! Again? Really? I'm indescribably sick of being the bad guy. I don't even know what I'm doing, but somehow again I unwittingly manage to transform from a timid starving student with virtually no experience in drama or heartbreak into a heartless storm of malicious contempt for the feelings of those I care about. I know everyone says it isn't my fault but if it isn't my fault why does it keep happening? I am the common variable. Does naive inexperience always transform into inadvertent sadism? Where is the stupid handbook? Boys for dummies. Someone needs to write that one. Gah. Time for chocolate. Times like this I remember why I don't get involved. I promise I'm not trying to be a heartless creep, it's just who I am. I'm working on it. Really. I am. I know in the back of my head (maybe the frontal lobe?) that everything will be fine. That everything IS fine and that I need to just wait out the storm. Again. Still, this whole scene is definitely getting old. Blah. It's okay though. Really. Everything will be alright. Here we go again, I guess.

Finished!

When I was a junior in High School I realized that my entire life was literally ruled by homework and church activities. This is not a bad thing, but at that moment I think the fear of lost opportunities first introduced herself to me and I decided to take a more active role in my own adventures. In shorter terms, I made a bucket list. Obviously being created by a sheltered junior in high school means it is littered with goals that make me laugh now, but there is something comforting about having it on paper staring me in the face daring me to ignore it and fade into the sparkle of the mundane sameness that dominates my existence. Now as I get older and older it is fun to check off items. Go on a mission-check. Go on two dates in one day-check. Graduate from college-check. Learn to play the guitar-well, in progress anyway. Get a doctorate degree-also in progress. Stay up all night two days in a row-check, but I think the nap in the day in between may call for a redo of that one. My latest victory, however, was the marathon. Finish a marathon-check. That's right. My innocent little sheltered mind who knew I hated running thought it would be fun some day to join the less than one percent of the world's population dumb enough to voluntarily go 26.2 miles in one setting.

Honestly I do feel happy and somehow impressive now that it's over, but it was much harder than I thought. I did train alright for it so I knew it would hurt. What I wasn't expecting was the mental game of it. I read about it of course, but I had no idea that it would be such an issue. After about seven miles in the heat when everything started to tighten up and the blisters on my feet opened up again I began asking my seventeen year old self, "what were you thinking? Why am I here? This actually really sucks. This isn't any fun any more. I hurt. Gross. What am I doing here? Why?..." and you get the idea. I only had about two and a half hours worth of running music on my mp3 player and unfortunately it took a lot longer than that to finish. After about mile 18 it was easier to go on mentally, but then the physical toughness escalated a lot. EVERYTHING EVERYTHING started to hurt. My rear was throbbing, my feet were swollen and I could almost feel the blisters grow with each step. My calves, quads, and shoulders were tired of the same movements. Walking hurt even worse than running, but at about 23 miles I literally couldn't run more than about half a mile without needing to stop and breathe. Anyway, it was painful.

My family came--mom and dad and one of my sisters. I am 100% convinced that I couldn't have done it without them. They cheered me along especially at the end. They brought me raisins to reward every couple miles, they met me at the finish line and hugged me even though I was sweaty and absolutely disgusting. Mom made sure I had sunscreen on and kept re-applying. Dad made sure I stayed hydrated, and my sister insisted on filming every excruciating detail. They saved me. The marathon was unique in that it was a patriotic-themed 9/11 memorial event and the track was only a mile long, so I was able to see them about every two or three miles.


The race itself was kind of cool. where it was a patriotic theme there were a bunch of soldiers--a couple in full gear who ran it with us. There were some marines, some returnees from Iraq, a few older veterans, etc. There were flags everywhere and several bands contributed to the live entertainment that was mostly on key. All in all a cool marathon. Lots of food (pizza, peanut butter sandwiches, pretzels, candies, even donuts) and refreshment available at every mile. Well run, well attended, lots of spectators, lots of volunteers, even a volunteer cameraman who put up all kinds of free pictures of nasty pained runners. Really though, it seemed like a great race. Not an experience I think I will ever repeat, but it did feel good (and I mean it felt good three days afterward) to have it done.


So yeah. Check. On to the next goal. Bungee jumping, anyone?

Emissary to the Married Population of the World from a Simple Single Someone

These are just a few points regarding us single folks that I feel would be useful to report to the married world at large. Please know these are not complaints or frustrations so much as friendly informational dudats that my personal experiences have led me to believe are not common knowledge to all those in the afore mentioned group.

1-Believe it or not, we are aware that we are single. We are not under the delusion that there is a spouse hidden in the clutter at home in the closet or under the bed.

2-following the back of that message, We are aware that in order to cease our single state we are required to find said spouse somewhere that is not our closet, which means we must meet people of the opposite gender, date them, and eventually either offer or accept a proposal. Although we clearly have not been successful in following such a pattern thus far, we are aware of its existence.

3-Two people need to have more in common than being single in order to be "made for each other". Living within a few thousand miles of each other, having some semblance of similar goals, and some common ground to use for conversational basis are all good starters.

4-Believe it or not, we are aware that there are other single people out there. I suppose a few of us could almost qualify as living in a cave when the cleanliness of our dwelling places is considered, but even these individuals are capable of finding single people of the opposite gender somewhere.

5-We do have lives and goals and successes outside of our blaring dating failures. Your own life, our school, work, family, weather, even politics are all acceptable conversational strains you can feel free to venture into if you ever get tired of asking us why we aren't married. I can almost promise we will be willing, even happy for the change.

6-Singledom is not a disease, a failing, a fault, a personality quirk, or a disability. It is a situation; usually temporary and always noncontagious. Feel free to interact with us without fear of contamination, and go ahead and treat us as you would any married friend.

7-We are already aware that babies are cute, weddings are beautiful, and growing up is grand. You need not hint about these things.

8-Haircuts, diets, new wardrobes, and improved cooking skills are all great things but they may or may not "win" us a spouse. If all it took was a set of highlights or a cooking class you can bet we probably would have done so by now without your instruction.

9-On that same strain, pointing out every fatal flaw that you feel keeps us single is not helpful. Thanks anyway.

10-we love you. We appreciate you. We know that your advice, hints, counsel, and matchmaking attempts are given because you love us and want us to be happy. We long to be happily married too and are grateful for your help. If we are short or don't listen as well as we should it is because we are a little bit frightened and frustrated ourselves. Please forgive us. It is sometimes harder than it should be to be single.

Anywho, just some thoughts I've had bobbing around in my cerebral soup. I'm a happy kiddo. Enjoying life, hopeful for the future, and anxious to be the best I can be. I am surrounded by wonderful people--married and single--who love me and who I love. Life is good.

Texas Rainstorm

It came! I was so afraid of missing it and it came! A real live washout come to drench everything and everyone without warning. It began with a little combo sun and drizzle at four thirty—classic sign of a tiger marrying a lion, my half Korean companion told me. Before any Ligers (or is it Tions? I never know) could be created, however, the sun went away and by five twenty we had real live rainstorm on our hands. The rain continued to intensify until about six when the rain was bulleting on windshields, wipers going back and forth at the speed that makes me laugh and still I couldn’t see. The streets were clogged with cars bobbing up and down in streams flying toward the sewers. When Toria and I were playing in it by six thirty the puddles in the sides of the streets were up higher than my ankles which may not sound like much but it was quite an adventure for us. We ran into the house from the car right before beginning our puddle splashing adventure and we were dripping from both clothes and hair. Everything really is bigger in Texas. The sky, the trucks, the highways, even the rain. I love it here.

Why I am Happy

I love love love being home. There is something delicious about being able to be myself unbridled by self-consciousness or the need to be accepted. Admittedly I am my most foolish, frivolous, unguarded self here, there are parts of me here I sometimes wish were all grown up and gone but all the same the tang of being unfettered will always be a taste I savor. Like running through Grandpa's wheat field as a little girl, trying hard to stay in the lines so as not to break the stalks but not caring who saw or what happened to my hair or how much muck I got on my clothes, home has a freedom I can find nowhere else. Being surrounded by people who love me and not only hope but expect me to succeed without reservation is a rare gift.

I love how things change and still somehow stay the same. The baby is taller but she still has a boundless imagination. Next up is braver but still mutters the funniest statements I hear from anyone under her breath. I still can't sleep in the bed I'm assigned. The sister whose room I share is still so like me it's almost frightening, but now she's older and more mature even than I am. There are less of us here but somehow the dynamic is in the same key, even if the harmonies are different. Now mom works but she is still my mom and still makes time for me when I need her. Dad is much more capable on the boat and is much healthier but emergencies and chocolate still creep their way into existence somehow. My parents grow ever more anxious for me to drop their name but it is still a fun family joke.

I love my house. The creaky third stair, the sticky D# key on the upstairs piano, the huge ceiling on the entrance hall where we hang moldy mistletoe at Christmas time, the prickly blackberry bush in the garden, the wall of pictures from before I knew how to smile, the clothes all over the bathroom I still share with three of my sisters, the way the front door shrieks when the Texas winds are too strong, the brown stain-resistant carpet that has lasted through nearly six children's maturation without dying, I love it all. The smells, the tastes, the way the dark granite counters contrast with the pink tile floor, my green bedroom with a blue cloudy sky we never finished painting, the two empty guestrooms that no one stays in cause we would rather giggle with each other whenever we are at home. I love having food in the pantry--so much I often don't know where to start. I love the Young Chang piano I grew up with, the way I have to really dig in to make the sounds I love and the way it pushes back against me as I feed it my emotions. Even the new dog, with his expert sad eyes to beg with, the way he follows me around when we're home alone and sits next to me, just happy to be in the same room as I am in. Delightful, all of it.

I will miss it when I go back. I know that, and even though part of me is excited to begin my second year of grad school, implementing what I've learned this summer and seeing the friends I made up there yet again, right now I'm just soaking it in. The sights, the smells, the tumbled over goodnight hugs after family prayer and scripture study. The way mom is grateful for my dinners even when the rice is still hard and the eggplant is overcooked into a pasty mess. For now, I am me. The purest, most uncensored form of me that is wisely subdued and caged in polite society. For now, I am simply happy.

Who I Really Am

I am stubborn, curious, gullible, optimistic, cautious, foolish, and naive. I am awkward, happy, determined, thoughtful, lazy, uptight, and a little lonely. I love to help out, learn new things, sleep late, and make music. I love children, chocolate, chick-flicks, and fish. My favorite flower is a tulip because I think they are simple with a breathtaking beauty that is somehow understated and part of me wishes I was the same way. My favorite song is Chopin's Raindrop Sonata because I feel that every storm should be cushioned both before and after by gentle rainfall. My favorite place is Texas cause it's where all my favorite people are and I like the pace of life here--quick but still friendly, everyone still worried about everyone else until it's almost annoying. My favorite holiday is Christmas but my favorite season is summer cause I kind of enjoy the feeling of melting just a bit. I love cookies way too much but can usually pass on ice-cream or cake without too much trouble. I hate running but love to eat, so I do the one so I can have guilt-free indulgence of the other. My favorite book is The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society partially because of its name, partially because of its characters, and partially because no matter how many times I read it I can't wait to see how it will end. My favorite body part is my left ear lobe. My favorite grade was first because of my teacher. My favorite park bench is the one hidden behind Parker Square overlooking the fountain and lake where I ate ice cream and giggled and talked for hours with my best friend. I am afraid of my future and too timid to venture out the way I know I must. I still treat my little sisters like the children they were when I first left six years ago. Although I did my best, sometimes I still feel guilty about my mission and wish I could have done a better job. Sometimes I feel like my life is a roller coaster and I'm just hanging on waiting to see where it will take me next, though really I am slowly achieving my dreams and I love the way that feels, and that is an honest description of how I see myself.

The story of the ugly duckling is an intriguing one. I can't think of anyone who at one point or other who hasn't winced just a little bit after looking into the mirror or after an especially vigorous bout of self-examination. I know I have perfected the wince myself. I know in my head I'm not pathetic and hopeless and disgusting and horrible but sometimes I forget. I don't think I'm unique here--I think everyone does. I have met scores of wonderful individuals who refuse to believe they are as good as I see they are. I think the world, in fact, is chuck full of people like this--so amazing, so remarkable and worthwhile that it is a tragedy we can't get to know them all, yet these same extraordinary individuals see themselves as forgettable, friendless, and in some tragic cases even worthless. I'd like to throw out to the universe that the true God who made us doesn't make mistakes. I am convinced that at some point in everyone's life there is a moment. Call me a romantic, I don't care, but I think there is a moment when you come to the edge of everything you know about yourself and you are forced to begin down that dreaded path of anonymity, taking a few steps into the darkness with nothing but faith that everything will turn out alright and you aren't heading toward the destruction of all you've ever dreamed of. Whether you are heading off to school on your own, pursuing a dream everyone is convinced you will fail at, going after the one you're half sure will reject you, accepting the little pink X, or flying off into the crowd of beautiful birds you are taking your moment and creating your future. I am also half convinced that whenever we forgo these journeys into the unknown, whenever we watch the flock pass by as it were we are minutely changing our destiny--not in a way that is irreparable or permanent, but enough opportunities passed by must, by their very lack of existence change us from the person we could have been into the person we are. Luckily life is about consistency and if one opportunity is gone it is common practice for another to fill the void soon after it passes. We are swans. We are not meant to wallow in the shallows of mediocrity. Go take your place.

Dish Soap

I'm feeling a little bit melancholy. Usually I avoid writing when I'm like this, or I try to put it in so cryptic a way that no one can quite tell exactly what I'm feeling but I think I'm PMSing for the sixth time in three months (yes my body hates me. It's that AUS junk, I swear) and it's been a little while since I spewed out a true honest downer, so I think I'll just give a good old fashioned emotion dump and get rid of the junk I've got..

I love doing the dishes. It doesn't quite make it up there with eating chocolate or playing music or even the feeling after completing a good run, but it does have a definite calming, soothing affect for me. It is something that I enjoy, something that helps me to be happy and feel in control and serene somehow. Dishes is all about chemistry. Grease is removed by micelles--non-polar globules surrounded by a polar membrane which trap the little molecules and literally use the water to wipe them off. The anti-bacterial chemicals in the soap and the hot temperature of the water work by either destroying the membranes that hold the bad guys together or the proteins they use to spawn their fetid offspring. The movement of the water pushes off the big stuff and provides fresh cleansing motion. It's all very systematic. Very logical and simple and always the same. Plus I feel like I've made a difference when I empty a sink full of dishes and leave it empty--I feel like it really changes up the room and improves it. While it is true that doing dishes isn't a permanent solution and that it will have to be done again, it is also true that doing it once is a simple, straightforward, and uncomplicated job that I understand.

Dating, however, is slow and complicated and completely illogical. There is absolutely no precise reaction cascade I can memorize and implement. There is no science behind the collisions and interactions involved. Honestly, I have no idea why they call it chemistry as it seems to have almost nothing to do with the delicate and exact processes involved in said field. Dating is also not satisfying at the end. In fact, the ending generally sucks, from what I hear, and just like dishes it seems like it never ends ever--like it's something that is always left half done that needs to be redone over and over. Almost like you never get to the bottom of the sink at all, but as soon you get close someone else dumps a bunch more crap to dig through and dirties up the little progress you have made. Gah. I guess I'm just kinda sick of being single. I'm sick of not knowing what it is that I'm doing wrong, or even what exactly it is that I'm doing. I'm sick of trying to figure out what it is that I'm looking for or how to look for it or how to recognize it when I do find it, or how to help it recognize me or if I even want to be recognized. Haha. Reading that last sentence I guess I'm a little confused as to what it is that I'm even trying to say. I'm just tired I think. Weary, if you will. I ran 12 miles Thursday night and towards the end, I felt everything tightening up and wearing out. That's kind of how my emotions feel--just plumb worn out and plain exhausted. Like any more effort would do me in.

I wish emotional deficiencies and loneliness could be washed away with hot water and dish soap. Wouldn't it be nice if there was some kind of double membraned miracle to wash all the crap off my personality and make me into whatever it is that guys are shooting for? Wouldn't it be great if a good or bad match was as easy to identify as a clean or dirty dish? Or if moving water could wash all the crap off everything and make it simple and blemishless again? Sometimes I hate myself for the crap I put people through, and sometimes I hate people for the way they tie simplicity into complicated knots. Sometimes I'm so tired of trying I wonder if it wouldn't be better to just give up or make new plans or stop caring, but I'm not even in good enough emotional shape to strike up enough ingenuity to change my Status quo. The truth is that there is no rushing water to clean off the mess. There is no sponge to help scrub away the pain. There is no emotional dish soap. I guess I will have to work this out the old fashioned way.

A little bit frightened

First--an epic fail in the kitchen. EPIC. So I move tomorrow. I'm kinda trying not to think about it both because I am afraid and partially because I'm sick of packing even though I have at least another hour. So there you go. In the spirit of not thinking about it, at least for a second--my huge failure. Because I am moving out I am trying to finish what food I have left--there isn't much but there was a frozen bag of baby carrots. I hate raw baby carrots but enjoy sweet glazed boiled ones so I boiled them, but the flavor was pretty bland so I decided to add something sweet. Of course I had no sugar--that would be too easy. Instead I looked at my food stash and viola! I had sweetened coconut flakes. I added them to the water and it turned white and frothy and the carrots began to smell sweet. Unfortunately it gets worse. In addition to my coconut flakes I had red wine vinegar--something my mom uses to make this awesome dressing. I'm not sure what I was thinking, or if I was thinking at all, but I added copious amounts of the vinegar to the mesh making a pink frothy mixture. About two seconds after I added it the smell told me I had made a terrible mistake and decided to try and fix it with something and for some crazy reason raspberry jam seemed like an optimal solution and unfortunately I added it. And there you have it--perhaps the worst carrot concoction ever to be sampled in the history of everyone everywhere. It was bad, but one of the worst parts of all of this was that I actually finished probably two thirds of it before I realized that it didn't taste good at all. Pity the poor man who gets stuck with me--not only do I lack any semblance of cooking skill but most of my taste buds seem to have died somehow. Kind of a deadly combination.

Other than that I only have moving on my mind. I am sleeping on the couch cause my bed is in storage. I actually don't mind sleeping here but it is strange to see my room all stripped and empty. I really like my little red room. It has served me very well. Mostly though, I am frightened of this summer. As I stop to think on it a little there are far too many descriptions for fear. There's scared silly and seriously scared, scared out of my mind, crazy scared, scared out of my wits, scared sober, scared spitless, scared to death, and probably dozens of others. I don't know that that necessarily means we have a culture obsessed with fear, but we certainly can be preoccupied with it I suppose, and that's exactly how I feel--just a little bit preoccupied, like there's an itch just behind my left eyeball that I can't quite get to so instead it just kinda persists and irritates. I know everything is going to be alright in the end--that God won't abandon me and that I will be taken care of but I am not good with new situations--I am not good with meeting a whole bunch of new people and new circles of friends, especially when it has to be done quickly. I am a slow methodical kiddo who takes a while to get to know anyone. Still, this is an exciting adventure--what an awesome opportunity to get to know new people as well as myself. I will grow and learn so much by forcing myself to do what I am bad at because there is simply nothing else to do. And really I know it will be fine. It's just the clothing strewn all over the bare floor, carrots covered in disgusting coconut flakes because that's all I have, boxes everywhere, and the tang of uncertainty in the air that is hard--it's the waiting I'm not good at, the not knowing that is the worst of all. Still, all the same, it's only about a week now and then the waiting will be over. Everything is going to be alright. It's all going to work out just fine. I can do this. I can. Haha if I can eat carrots that taste like coconut, vinegar, and jam then I can certainly meet a couple new people.

WAIT

Weary white wary walls trap
strangled whispered whimpers.
Disheveled magazines—wounded soldiers
litter the tables and floor, drip words, phrases
like cough syrup, sticky and sweet.
Children with frosted eyes and stringy hair
gaze longingly at the nothingness
while mothers stroke their dirty cheeks.

Aged asphalt ablaze in August autumn bake
anxious addled arguments.
upholstery melding seamlessly
to the exposed flesh behind my kneecap
like chewing gum, used and discarded.
Pickups drip water from the AC
wink impatiently at the blushing globe
while drivers hide behind dark shutters.

Impatient ill-mannered interns interrupt
more incurred instruction.
Years of study and stress like backwash
swash around in heads too full to be useful
like watery lemonade too long by the window.
Patients blink surprised at the tone
afraid of the groundless confidence
while teachers with squeaky pens get hand cramps.

Teetering tired men timidly shuffle
two legs transformed to six.
Oxygen tanks and medicine patrol
the dwindling hours and strung-out days
like fat security guards in a pawn shop.
Visages from the past hide behind his bifocals
shimmer just beyond his restricted reach
while posterity wonders how much time is left.

Milk and other Messy Miracles

Martina McBride sings a song called “For the Girls” that has a verse that goes something like this; “this is for all you girls about twenty five, in a little apartment just trying to get by. Living on your dreams and spagettios, wonderin’ where your life is gonna go.” It is one of my favorites right now cause that is definitely how I feel most of the time. I can’t even say I’m living paycheck to paycheck as it’s more like plasma donation to plasma donation, and I happen to prefer cereal and tuna helper to spagettios, I certainly have learned a whole lot more about being hungry, cold, worried, and lonely here than anywhere else. The cool part is that essential life lessons are served with all that emotional soup mess—like learning that things really do always look better after a good night’s sleep, sharing what little we have somehow makes what we’ve got last a little longer, smiling until you really feel it really does work, if you are lonely chances are really good that others around you are also, a cute coat can really enhance an outfit, and you would be surprised what you can live through with a little determination, some steady prayer, and a lot of help. Most of all though, I’ve learned that God can make miracles out of anything—and He often does.

Last quarter I ran into a bit of a conundrum. The quarter before my car died and I literally had to empty my bank account to fix it. I have been blessed with generous parents who make sure I have enough to get by on but January when I came back everything was a little delayed as it was right after Christmas and everything. This wouldn’t have been a problem except that my money and my food supply ran out at the exact same time and what little I had left over I needed for textbooks. I had one month to survive on half a loaf of bread, 1/3 a gallon of milk, two cans of soup, some left-over pasta, a few granola bars, and half a box of cereal. I ate lunch at the institute building maybe three times a week and I probably still could have been okay (as I said, you can survive on very little if you have to) but the bread went moldy—I’m not talking about little spots here and there, I’m talking it was totally riddled with sour salty mold. I may have still made it but the milk went bad next and I knew I wouldn’t have enough food to last, so I ate it anyway. I got a little gassy, but nowhere near as ill as I thought I would. I though—wow. God is blessing me to stay healthy even though I’m hungry and drinking sour milk. It was pretty cool. Still though, I was hungry and gassy too now. Luckily, the blessings kept coming. I went to a ward chili cook-off for FHE about a week after my milk went bad and one of the bishopric members gave me his leftovers and suddenly I had a whole bunch of food. The next miracle came when I was helping to clean the church that Saturday and in the fridge there was a leftover half gallon of milk! They gave it to me and I made it until February with a can of soup to spare. I also learned quite a bit and developed a whole new level of empathy for those who go hungry. I had it cushy—not even that bad but I did go to bed with my stomach grouching each night and it was hard! I also learned that God provides in ways I can’t even imagine, and that He strengthens us to handle what we think we can’t. And I hope I forever remember the miracle of the milk. I only had about a week of bad milk before God provided me milk in a way I never ever would have even thought of. I felt so loved and cared for-the tiny details of my life perfectly looked after.

There have been several other miracles—large and small, obvious and subtle, but tonight I had another major one that I will not soon forget as the timing of it was absolutely amazing. About the same time I ran out of food my driver’s side window broke. I think it was the mini motor or something but basically it wouldn’t go up or down. I decided to wait till Daddy or Uncle Scott could help me fix it so I jimmied it up and secured it with packing tape. Not beautiful but functional and as long as I keep the tape fresh I don’t think anyone will be able to break in as I tape it both on the inside and the outside. This is a real concern as one car was stolen and one broken into last Sunday from the church—not two miles from my house. Anyway, so it was a temporary fix but I figured it’d be alright. Anywho, so it was alright. Tonight I went to the temple with some big questions, wondering if I had messed everything up, if I had unintentionally ruined something important by being my normal idiotic self, if I still had hope to achieve my dreams or if I was just a self-destructive flunky destined for an eternity in my own idiocracy. You get the idea. Anyway, so it was a beautiful temple session (they always are) but I still wasn’t sure exactly that I felt the comfort I was searching for. Then I realized—I had locked my keys in the trunk. The temple is about a 40 minute drive from my house, my phone, keys, and purse were all in the trunk. So besides five dollars in cash, my recommend, and my Safeway card I was stuck with nothing. I don’t even know anyone’s number except my parents and that’s long distance plus it was 11:30pm in Texas by the time my session ended. Then I remembered—my car window is broken and I hadn’t had time to change the tape for about two weeks. I tore the outside tape off and forced the window down—the tape was old enough that I was able to bust through it without that much trouble, and I was in! Who knew all those months ago how grateful I would be that my window was broken tonight? I spent the drive back home glancing at my sagging window and laughing. God can make miracles out of messes. Maybe I am a mess. Maybe my self-destructive tendencies do create all kinds of unnecessary problems for me and others. Maybe all that is true, but God can not only fix it but can bring good out of it. All I need to do is trust Him and do all that I can do and have faith that in the end as long as I keep the Savior at the center of my life, everything will work out in ways that I cannot now imagine. God makes miracles out of milk. And messes. I’ll have to remember that.

Self Discovery

I won't even bother with the opening explaining how I should be homework because you know if I am writing here chances are great that I should be doing homework. Plus there really isn't any time that I shouldn't be doing homework so it really is just a waste of space to try and bother with the excuses and explanations.

I have learned a lot about myself recently. Good and bad, obvious and subtle, probably some truth and some fallacy. I have emerged from said lesson mostly unscathed but slightly unsatisfied. I really have the best life anyone could ever ask for. My family is absolutely bursting with greatness and while this has been true for generations, I think it has all concentrated itself into a barely containable force in the seven amazing people I am lucky enough to call my immediate family members. I have been nurtured and groomed from a young age in a controlled and tailored environment to become good and happy and successful. I grew up in the greatest state there is surrounded by amazing examples who taught me all there was to know about being a good, decent, kind person. Friends, teachers, leaders, examples, and acquaintances all helped to mold my world into something exciting and beautiful and full promise. Like a freshly plowed, weeded, and dunged plot in all its splendid stench my future has always been waiting for me to plant whatever I wanted. With such a beginning as this handed to me really without any work on my side, what excuse could I ever find to be anything but blissfully successful? Not to say that I am unhappy or failing, just that I should be so much better with amazing gift of a protected and practically perfect incubator before my release into the unknown. Luckily, I am young (in spite of the looks of disbelief my age brings to BYU freshmen) and I am ever happy. I can be better and I will be. That is the miracle of agency--we can really truly be anyone we want to be. I want to be taller--Spiritually I mean. I want to be kinder and more open minded. I want to be less selfish--to think of others first without having to remind myself to do so. I want to laugh often. I want to be thoughtful and good. Sometimes I feel like with the gospel life gives me a catalog of personality traits and promises that if they are righteous and if I am willing to do my part to attain them, anything is possible with God and I can become whoever I need to be with His help. I think that approaching the end of this my third quarter (and basically the last one of my first year) of graduate school has inspired me to reassess and remodel. Take out a wall here, put in a sunlit breakfast nook. Build a porch, add a wing, redo the plumbing, and put up curtains. The outside of the house means nothing if what's inside it isn't worth living in.

You know that feeling right before something important? The deep breath right before you step off the airplane into your new home. The split second burst of emotion and doubt you have to decide in before you close the distance for the first kiss. The hesitation before you finish your signature on the contract, closing your eyes right before the stylist hacks off your last five years of growth and protection, glancing around a packed auditorium just before your name is called and your diploma presented, the quick prayer before you open the oven and pull out your first turkey. Somehow I think these are what makes up who we are. It is in these snippits of time that we take up the courage of a hero and become. Taking a chance on the universe that it won't destroy us in our bout of self-definition and discovery, no matter how brief. These moments serve to define and develop us as the creatures living in our coats of skin. Maybe that is why change is so scary--not just because it alters the world we see but because it reveals in sharp focus what we see in ourselves--someone we might wish to alter and hide from the world. Self discovery is, of course, the most dangerous, worthy, exhausting quest there is. It is an eternal one because we are ever evolving. Finches have nothing on the human soul. And in these moments--the crossroads of greatness or failure we are given the choice--to fall or to fly. The slippery route to penguindom began at the same place as that of the mighty eagle. Natural selection demands that some fail, but human nature does not. So breathe. Breathe again. Drink in the moment, and become.

Unvarnished Obscurity

The empty space that fills this place
the daunting perfect white
before the pen has etched its path
desire and dreads unite

When first you dare to venture there
the newly finished bridge
untested to the load it bears
defenses down the ridge

Obscurity and security
crisp bed sheets in a crease
to face the unknown by myself
beloved echos ceased

Sunrise surfeit allures deceit
the oceans lying still
yet brackish tastes portend revolt
mind transforming will

What’s yet to be is up to me
"the angel in the stone"
chip splendor out of nothingness
perfection left alone

What horrible things emotions are! Pass me the chocolate. : )

A Wrinkle in Time

I was checking my e-mail... okay, so more accurately I was procrastinating the pharmacology quiz that I absolutely had resolved to do tonight by checking my e-mail knowing that there probably wasn't anything there I would need before tomorrow, and I saw an add for wrinkle cream. Why inane stimuli like wrinkle cream adds, pickle jars, and noisy toddlers inspire pointless rambles is a wonderful question--perhaps if I were to study my pharmacology class more diligently I would be able to find some solution for the convoluted way my mind constructs its distractions, but alas, if I was able to focus enough to find said cure I would not be able to ramble on this way and there would be no need for one in the first place.

So the wrinkle cream add. It had this picture of an adorable grandmother absolutely bedeckled in wrinkles smiling so big I could probably have shoved my little finger between the little pitchforks fanning out from her eyes. The add talked about how you could avoid having that face with their cream, and I found myself inexplicably sad at the idea. Call me crazy, but I want my face to tell my story, assuming, of course, I have a story to tell at some point that involves more than checking e-mail and studying. I want to keep my freckles for at least a little bit--show that I love the sunshine and prefer to meet the weather with my face up to the sky and not down at the sidewalk. I want the tiny scars on my forehead to endure to remind me to never ever go revert back to what made me unhappy. I want to keep at least a few acne scars as proof that I did the whole greasy moody teenager thing and I know what it is like and I never ever ever have to do it again. Most of all, though, someday I want wrinkles. I want them to fan out from my eyes and collect around the corners of my mouth and scrunch up along the bridge of my nose. I want smile lines and laugh lines and giggling lines. I want people to be able to look at me and know that I did something--something besides study and apply pharmacological principles and anti-wrinkle cream. I want them to see worry lines and love lines and mischievous lines and lines that they wonder about--expressions they don't quite understand. I feel like aging is a right of passage--a process where you find out and create the person you want to be on purpose, and I feel like you should be her inside and out. So someday, assuming I get to be a grandma someday, I want my family to look at my face and say, "she was a smiler. She was someone who did stuff. You can tell--just look at her." So to all you grandma's out there--I think you are beautiful. I think your wrinkles enhance your features and help define your persona as someone who lived and laughed and loved and smiled. Keep smiling.

Falling for someone should be easy.

Bite Sized Breaks

I'm happy to report that it is finally spring break. I've never actually had a spring break since high school so this whole concept is a little foreign for me. People asked what I was doing a week ago and I just kind of stared at them stupidly as finals were the week before and my brain power was significantly drained long before the break actually came. Now that it's here I'm still not exactly sure how to relax. I feel a little guilty when I'm not studying anything but I'm sure I will overcome. Unfortunately it has given me a lot of time to think and recent events have given me lots to think about and with finals over I have no more excuses not to think about the things I need to think about but would rather ignore forever. Wow. I don't think I could have possibly made that more confusing. : )

So I've never actually had a breakup--at least not an awkward painful one. I had a missionary dear Jane me from his mission and while that doesn't make the top 10 list for favorite experiences it really wasn't that bad. I kinda felt it coming, he had been gone for several months, I didn't see him again for over a year after that, and he really wasn't that big a part of my life at the time. It wasn't a normal breakup where I had to deal with seeing him all the time or talking to him or anything. Luckily (?) I haven't really dated anyone since then seriously so again I have totally avoided the whole breakup scene. Recently, however, I have been given a sampler platter version of the thing and I'm not at all sure I am interested in investing in the real deal. It is awkward! Not to mention painful and terribly inconvenient. To be use to talking to, laughing with, confiding in, and being around someone who now hates your guts or can't stand to be around you really really sucks. Plus the whole guilt thing gets smeared around like early morning newsprint on your fingers until it doesn't really matter whose is whose or what the true unbiased storyline originally was you just want to clean it off and throw the whole stupid thing out.

Not that it is really that bad--it isn't. We are all adults here so that helps and as I said this is just the sampler version like they pass out at Costco heated in the microwave and passed out in a bite-sized chunk on a little napkin. Still, I have learned a lot. Like change can be essential and good even when it feels disgusting, or miscommunication often really is the primary problem, or giggling and saying something stupid may not help the situation but it often keeps things in perspective and helps me. The biggest thing I've learned though, is that sometimes you just can't fix things. Sometimes you can't get rid of the problem or take back what was said or rework the situation or help someone. Sometimes you are powerless in the face of what bothers you and you just have to let it go and move on. That was the hardest I think. People are funny variables. Not like age or weather or vitamin supplements. They never act quite like they are suppose to on paper, and sometimes our best intentions are not enough and we are forced to declare the experiment a failure. Failure in the scientific world really isn't so bad because each time you fail you still learn something--what not to do, what isn't effective, possible ways to change the experiment and try again on a later date. Really, failure isn't so bad, and neither is a bite-sized break up.

What I Know

This one is a little ditty from the mission I found in my scriptures randomly. : ) Not great, but I figured I may as well put it in as not.

What I Know

I've never been where Jesus walked
or seen the things He's seen.
I've never been to Bethlehem
where came the King of kings.

I've never been to Egypt
where the child began to grow.
I've never gazed upon the Mount
though the sermon's true I know.

I've never seen the garden tomb
where they my Savior laid,
I've never seen Gethsemany
where for my soul he paid.

I've not met the revelator
but all his words I've read.
I know he loved the Son of God
and saw him raised from dead.

I've never fished with the Bread of Life,
I never saw Him eat,
I was never asked, "lovest thou me?"
but I try to feed His sheep.

I've never seen the nail prints.
I've never felt His side.
I've never bathed His feet with tears
though in my dreams I've tried.

I don't know where Bountiful is
but I know Jesus was there.
I know he taught the people then
and joined with them in prayer.

I've never been to Palmyra
where God spoke Joseph's name,
but I know that to the youthful lad
He and His Beloved came.

I've never been to Kirtland
the temple pulpit I've not seen.
But I read prophet's testimony
and its power fills my being.

I've never seen the Creater's face
though His hand is everywhere.
And though I've never heard His voice,
I've felt His words in prayer.

There were those who saw my God.
They watched Him as He prayed.
They saw His works, they heard Him teach,
and still they turned away.

The heart sees better than the eyes.
It hears the small and still.
So though I've not yet seen His smile,
I know someday I will.

Bookends

The left to right we live our lives in doesn’t seem quite fair
to one goes all the hope and bliss, the other gets despair.
“For I Nephi having been born of goodly parents” can tell
of all the greatness that will come before “I bid unto all farewell”.
And wailing blurbs of fat and bone enfolded with tender love
are but a distant memory when the same soul leaves to dwell above.

But left to right we always move with stops along the way,
always wondering when the right will come to win the day.
A friend is made and plans abound in the future’s open view;
but suddenly the ending comes, there is nothing we can do.
The day begins brilliant and clear unblemished by mistake
but whether the time proves sour or sweet, night will come and take.

And so we laugh and dance and trust and do all that we can.
For when the right claims her due part we cannot start again.
Our time comes with a limit. It’s borrowed from above.
But it’s the middle of left and right which I have grown to love.

Sweet Perspective

On the bus the other day I saw a little boy, maybe three or four and his mother. I should have been reading or studying something (which, by the way, is certainly what I should be doing now, but oh well) but I found myself totally captivated by the way his little hands seemed to find everything and touch it. Sometimes I wish I didn't know quite as much as I did about microbiology but that is another story. So he was touching everything and talking so fast that he could barely get his sentences out. His mother was young and clearly she was just coming home from a not-so-short day at work and she looked exhausted but was putting up a valiant effort to make her grunts correlate with his gasps for breath so that he knew she was trying to listen. You could tell that she loved him in spite of her lack of energy. Luckily, this was more than enough for him and he just kept chattering and reaching and touching and being just about the most adorable thing I had seen that day. Then I guess he ran out of things to touch because his two and a half foot form just wasn't cutting it for him. He stuck his little rear in the air and maneuvered up to stand on the seat and reach for the emergency window release and the stop alert cable and the face of the person behind them and everything else his increased stature allowed him access to. I was several seats back but I was able to see the exhaustion on his mother's face as she turned to face him and gently reseat him. His little back arched into a marvelous lordosis and he trumpeted a marvelous squawk of protest. She kept her hands firmly on his little legs even as his chubby fists balled in frustration and his squeals increased in pitch and volume. Obviously at this point I was not the only one watching the drama unfurl, and I'm willing to bet that I am also not the only one who felt simultaneously sorry for the mother and amused by the adorable little guy. Anyway, so the bus continued and the boy flatly refused to be amused by anything his desperate mother offered him--food, toys, her purse, even her phone. For him, the only possible way to find happiness was to play with what had been forbidden him and that was absolutely all that mattered.

Later, being the overlyanylitical sappy female that I am (a trait I both blame and thank my mother for) I was thinking about this scene and her thousands of sisters and I realized how much like the little four year old I am. Sometimes I wonder if it is only the fact that Heavenly Father is perfect that keeps him from rolling His eyes at me as I make huge deals over nothing, as I prattle on endlessly about the busy insignificances of my life, as I make the same mistakes over and over and over again, and most of all as I allow my perspective to be consumed by that which is currently out of my reach--probably for a reason.

As an eternally single LDS female I think I sometimes get fixated on marriage and dating. In my own defence, LDS culture, as wonderful as it is, encourages this practice and many around me are also fixated on this, but I still know better and shouldn't get caught up in all if it. Unfortunately, like the little boy on the bus, sometimes I resent the course set out in front of me and am totally focused on those things just out of my reach, determined that their absence in my life signifies some great character flaw on my part. This is of course ridiculous but there you go. The truth is that my life is rich and wonderful and happy and full of opportunities and greatness and blessings that I can't even come close to numbering when I try. I am not sick, I'm just single. This is not a malady or even a personality trait, it is only a situation that is possibly not permanent, but even if it is, it is still just a situation. I am also white, and poor, and in my 20s, and living in a basement. My room is messy. I don't have time to read as much as I'd like. I am going through a crazy kick where I can't get enough sweet potatoes. All situations and phases that I don't allow to define who I am, so why do I try to let my singledom encroach into my self esteem? Why do I focus so closely on the few things I don't have that I can't see all the things I do? All around me Heavenly Father is offering things for me to do and be and improve and focus on, how dumb to complain and tantrum because I currently don't have access to something I probably couldn't handle any way.

Happily for me the scriptures and church and the temple and life in general is so packed with perspective I can't dwell too long on the emergency release or abnormally large nose of the man behind me as long as I keep worship a regular part of my life. And my loving Father continues to offer me food, toys, and even a way to communicate with Him to keep me happy since that is, after all, what he wants for me. My life is so wonderful. How dare I lose perspective? I am so so happy!

Here I Raise my Ebenezer

I will not bore you here with a list of resolutions for the new year. First of all I usually write them in Korean so that I am the only one who knows if I keep them or not and second of all they are really not all that impressive or entertaining. I do however, have a stance that I have made and want to write down in English to help me keep it.

The ancient Israelites wandered in the wilderness for forty years due to their lack of faith and obedience. The entire doubting generation was denied access to the promised land and died instead in the wilderness. After crossing the River Jordan into Canaan Joshua received a command from the Lord to put up a pile of stones-an ebenezer, or sign to their children and children's children to stand through the generations showing that God blesses His children and as a sign that they would not go back to the disobedience of the wilderness. I think it is a beautiful image--stones--immovable and unchanging--serving as a reminder of the commitment and determination that has been made.

I am happy and blessed beyond what I have any right to wish for. My family is amazing, I have good friends, I love school, I always have enough to not starve, I love to learn, I have never been seriously ill or injured, I am learning to do something I love, I was born and raised to love the teachings of Jesus Christ, I know who I am and where I'm going and how I plan to get there. Honestly, what more could I ask for? All these blessings and yet I look back on my life and realize that there is one part of myself that I hate--a piece I long to shave off. So that is what I have done. I will leave it on the wilderness side of the river and set up my own ebenezer to remind me forever that I will not go back. I will not.

People's names will be safe with me. I will not make fun, laugh, or speak rudely of others. Each person has seeds of godhood. Each person around me is better than I am at many things. I have my own follies and plenty of faults--how can I hold others' mistakes against them? From this day on I will find the good in others and point it out to those around me. I will not speak poorly of or laugh at others behind their back or tease others in hurtful ways. Gossip will not be heard from my mouth. I know I will not be perfect at this, but it is my goal to learn to be that way.

Anecdotes that I hate

Before reading this, be warned; I am slightly grumpy, fairly homesick, moderately disenchanted, and probably PMSing. Luckily for me school starts again tomorrow so I'll have something to distract me from my own negativity (hopefully). If not, at least I will be too busy to write so you won't have to read about it.

#1--there is no place like home
Reason: This is true of course. There is no place like home. There are both good and bad parts of home and they can't be found anywhere else. However, introducing this into young impressionable mindes who are forced to be far from home is nothing short of pointless anguish. What is the point in trying to bloom where you are planted (another one I hate, but probably won't bother writing about. I don't do fauna) if you lost your only home when you left it? And what about when you have two homes--one with your parents and one with your future family. We are obviously assuming you are better at getting married than I am. At this point do you say, "there is no place like home...except for my other one," or "there are no two places quite like my homes". Wanna talk complicated, how bout those wierdos who have secret second lives with two seperate families. They have to say either; "there's no place like my home, cause my other one is totally different,"or "I plead the fifth cause I illegailly tried to create somewhere that wasn't quite like my home. Isn't that wierd?"

#2--Every cloud has a silver lining
Reason: This is not true. Usually when the nasty gross snow, rain, hail, hurricane, or tornado clouds come--the ones that do the real damage--never have a silver lining. It is more like a wall of death in the sky that is all grey with nothing else. The only time there is said silver lining is when the sun is breaking up the last of the storm or when a young child, no doubt confused by this strange saying, draws them that way. Metaphorically, this is also not true. Frequently bad events are just that--bad events without a happy ending. Failing a test for example is just bad. That's all. Getting a ticket or having your car breat down--also just bad. There is no "whew! What a relief to pay 120 dollars for accidently running that red light. At least I got there 1.7 seconds earlier." or anything like that. This one is decieving and wrong.

#3--If life gives you lemons, make lemonade.
Reason: This has a great sentiment, but unless life also gives you a little sugar your lemonade is going to be just as sour and miserable as the lemons on their own.

#4--Life goes on.
Reason: This is also true but completely unhelpful and does nothing for moving toward a solution. If this applies to someone they likely are in more need of a shoulder to cry on and some strong dark chocolate along with an all night talk through than this callous phrase. And sometimes, it's not true. Luckily I've never had anything this bad happen to me, but sometimes really bad things happen that change everything and while life itself may go on, it is forever altered.

#5--Girls, don't waste your emotions and tears on boys--they would wrather be with a hamburger than with you.
Reason: I aknowledge that this is not always true, but it is often true. This one comes from a good family friend and is not so much of a bad antidote as it is a depressing thought. However, the older I get, the more true it feels. I think I am looking in the wrong places for a hamburger lover, cause the ones I am looking for certainly don't seem as interested in me as they would be in a double pounder with extra cheese.

#6--The only way you can truly fail is to never try.
Reason: Absolutely false. Sometimes, you give all you have and you still fail. Better would be to say "you should always try but even if you fail remember that your worth is not based on your failures but on who you are." Unfortunately, this would not look quite as good embroidered onto a pillw, would it.

#7--No pain, no gain.
Reason: This objection is based on my future profession. When injured people think that, they suceed only in making their injuries worse.

I'm sure there are others, but that rant was about enough to cool me off. The moral of the story: cliches meant to cheer people up are just about as bad as ones that are meant to pick up girls. : )