On Being Beautiful

Mmhhmm.
I have never liked the way I look. Not ever. I am too big, too pale, I have too many zits. I have big feet and my stomach isn't flat enough and my cheeks cover up my eyes when I smile. I have these little lines on my face that I think I was born with, but that doesn't make them any less weird. I took Chemistry my sophomore year, and for every lab we did, we had to wear these awful looking goggles that suctioned your face and left marks all over them. Lines on everyone's cheeks and such, deeply indented and tinted red by the end of the class period. I never thought much of it-the marks usually went away by the next class period. One time, however, the day after we did a lab, my friend and I were walking back from seminary together and she looked at me and said "Wow, Sam! The marks on your face haven't gone away yet, how tight were your goggles?" I was mortified, and my friend eventually became as red as I was as I tried to explain that yes, the Chemistry marks had gone away, but the lines on my face were permanent. I felt like a freak that day. And I hated myself for hating myself.
There are countless times in all of our lives, I think, when we feel deeply and irreversibly inadequate. Sometimes, ugly and inadequate go hand in hand, as they often have for me. There was the time in first grade when Jacob, a fellow six year old, not so lovingly commented on how much cake I had eaten at a class party. That still stays with me, twelve years later. The time that my classmate texted me and said "The pants are a size six, probably WAY to big for you, but you should look at them anyways". Well, that hurt, seeing as I am a size eight on a good day. The awkward laughter when I joke about how I cannot, for my life, get anything but deep red in the summers, the concealed stares when I go to a swim party and show off the greater good of my curves. I have taken acne pills for a good part of my adolescence, and not just one kind. When one medication stops working, another is immediately slated for arrival in my bloodstream. I have given up sugar on more than one occasion, avoided looking in the mirror, spent countless hours on the treadmill or parkway, hidden my body in over sized shirts and maxi dresses, and tried my very hardest not to care. To tell myself that I am beautiful. To believe those people who have told me on a daily basis that I am. To see myself through the eyes of those that love me. And the sad part is? I still can't do it.
But I am beautiful. Deep down, that little three year old that loves her pretty pink princess dresses and twirling around in them in front of a full length mirror still exists. She often gets buried in an avalanche of comparisons and self doubt, but she never stops breathing. I often think of her when I'm crying in front of a mirror or curled up in my bed, avoiding myself. She looks at me, a smile in her eyes, and quietly asks me why I keep running away from her. Running away from the knowledge of the beauty that I have. And then she hugs me, laughs a bit, and transfers a bit of her self esteem back to present-day Sam. It only takes a step back in time to remind myself-I am beautiful. You are beautiful. It's the accepting of that fact that makes all the difference.

A Big Old Birthday

So what? I turned 18. Not a big deal, right? I can smoke cigarettes now. Legally. I can also go to jail for real now, if I was to murder or rape someone. Or steal a pack of gum.. Anything goes. I can buy spray paint and dry ice. I can sign my own parental release forms from school (what a rush) and if I wanted to get married and have an apartment and a bunch of little babies running around all while I flaunt my adulthood by the date on my driver's license, then by all means, I can do that. I can say that I am two years away from turning twenty and my mom got married when she turned twenty so really, that must be the next major milestone in my life. I can live on my own. I can make decisions for myself. I can be who I've always wanted to be- all because one more day went by in my otherwise uneventful life. I am an adult now.

Happiest person I know. 

Birthday din din hugs.

My cute Knit Whit. 

Realistically, though, all turning 18 meant for me was one year older. I didn't wake up happier than I usually do or feel astronomically accomplished. In fact, I woke up a bit grumpy because I went to bed much, much too late (so kill me. I was on a date), hadn't showered, and was unable to eat breakfast, seeing that it was Fast Sunday. It meant going through the motions of a usual day- they weren't weightier or more meaningful than usual. Church was just that- church. No one cares that you're now an adult. You go to church and you sit where you always do and you see the same people and relearn the same lessons and smile, a lot. I went on a bike ride to commemorate my current life event that didn't actually feel like a life event. I still had trouble on the hills and I still sweated a little bit and still felt equally cool about my light yellow cruiser that was recently purchased for college. The bike didn't care that I was 18. Neither did the hills or the sweat, I suppose. I ate dinner with the people that I love the most- happens everyday. They didn't really mind that I was now an adult- I'm still my parents' baby girl and I will never stop being the aggravating older sister to those little people that share this house with me. The sun rose and the sun set, people had terrible-awful days, people had wonderful-lovely days, tears were shed and laughs were heard, dinners were eaten, and I was a part of the swirl of minutes that doesn't change for anybody or anything- even that monumental day that we call an eighteenth birthday. 

This beautiful flower balloon, though.

We have an eternal feud. Even
at birthday dinners. 

I am just Sam. That will never be any different. I have never felt not myself on the inside- my heart is where it has always been and so is my head. I am the person that I was born as, and that is the same as the person that I've become. It's just me. Adult me. Teenage me. Childhood me. I'm me, through and through. And I guess even a big old birthday can't change that. 

Try This One On For Size

This is me. Hiking. In my favorite articles of clothing of all time- Kooks shirt and overalls. 

Welcome to Harry the Rock. This is Sam. I'm a pretty young almost adult that lives in the shadow of the Utah mountains. I'm not a writer and I don't claim to be-yet. It's the goal someday, but for now, that dream exists only in my head. For now, blogging is the answer. I've tried to blog in the past, just like I've tried to keep a journal and tried to write a novel and tried to learn how to shuffle cards- so no, it has never quite worked out. But this time is different. Can't tell you why quite yet, but I'm feeling it in my bones. Have you ever felt that? That feeling that something is going to happen, something is coming, something is ALMOST there, a step below tangible? That's how I feel whenever I start to write. It's like someone lights a grenade under my fingertips and at the very base of my brain.. the ticking drives me insane.  But the thrill of it... Ahh. I feed off that thrill. Explosion is coming, combustion is at the doorstep- the only way to avoid it is to get the words out. I'm never sure what words, but they come anyways. They find a way to seep through my pen, glide off the keyboard, stretch out of my fingertips and dance out of my mouth. 

Sometimes the words surprise me. Sometimes I hate them. I always enjoy the feel of them on the paper, but it is rare that I love what they say. My words bring truth. I guess that's what this blog is about- it's about things that exist without an effort. They permeate without the insistence of our presence. Truth is a substance that needs no help. Words, when allowed their agency, always get involved with it. I suppose they don't really have to try- they are invariably intertwined. Words and truth, truth and words. We can never do that partnership justice, because who are we, extinguishable beings, in the light of something so immutable. We can express our bit of it. That's the extent of the control we have over truth and words- the expression of it. That's the goal of what I am trying to do here- and away we go! The adventure of expression and discovery- otherwise known as life.