Emotion

Sometimes happiness feels like a bubble. You blow the bubble up with your breath and your mouth and your lungs but it's really all in the soap. The stupid soap that you have nothing to do with. The soap that is manufactured out of who knows what and dolloped into plastic bottles with synthetic colors and labels of happy children having no trouble blowing bubbles with their breath and their mouth and their lungs because that is what controls their bubbles and not the soap. But this is life and not a picture on a label so you blow your bubbles without control. Sure, you blow too hard and it goes away. But then again you blow just right and it goes away too, so really, who is at fault here? That's a rhetorical question, don't answer that. So you blow and you blow and maybe on the first time or maybe on the fourteenth you're able to come up with this bubble that looks pretty amazing and beautiful and nobody could ever beat this bubble of yours because a) it's yours and b) you blew it with your breath and mouth and lungs and that is what makes you you and the soap has nothing to do with it because in that split second of beauty and hope, the split second where that bubble exists, in that split second you are God and you define your happiness and your bubbles and that shimmery substance that makes up the bubble comes from within you because if you squint hard enough you can see yourself in it. For that split second that often lasts shorter than the time that it takes you to blink or to scratch your nose out of inability to make eye contact with someone without a distraction, the bubble is an extension of yourself and your power and your ability to control.

And then it is over and the bubble is gone. It is air again. It has, with an onomatopoeia that doesn't work in this circumstance because no sound comes out of it, popped. And you are left opening your eyes without realizing that you closed them or scratching your nose without it itching and you suddenly realize that you have no control. You are not God. Your breath and mouth and lungs have nothing to do with the shimmering. That's all the soap which is made by machines and dolloped into plastic containers with synthesized colors and it's as fleeting as the product that it makes. It pops.

And there it goes. Breathe.

See Ya Later, Alligator

Today I want to tell you about my best friend in the whole world. He's an incredible human being and I honestly can't believe how lucky I am to have met him and that he's stuck around for so long. His name is Taylor and he's about to go dedicate two years of his life to serving the Lord. I'm so proud of him. So, as a way to commemorate our brief time together (it hasn't really been brief, it just doesn't feel long enough), I wanted to tell you the story of our friendship. It's been one of the most beautiful parts of my life so far, so this won't do it justice. But I'm gonna try.

My first memory of Tay was in 8th grade Spanish class. He was standing in the front of the room, giving his "Bienvenido", or welcome speech. It was a requirement that each Bienvenido be entirely in Spanish, which wasn't something that came easy to him, as we all soon discovered. He stood up, shuffled his feet a little bit, looked around nervously, and began.

"Hola," he said. "Bienvenido. Mi llamo es Tavo." ...and then laughter erupted. He hadn't pronounced a single word correctly. Not even his own (albeit Spanish) name. The thing I remember most was that he didn't get offended or embarrassed, as I surely would have done. He just laughed with that explosive laugh of his and continued. I came home that day with a grin on my face and told my mom of the experience. It was just so funny to me, for some reason. And even though we didn't become friends for a long time after that, I remembered it. I remembered him.

Taylor was always so much cooler than me in school. He was an Student Body Officer in 9th grade at our middle school, a football player, someone that was surrounded with friends all the time, someone that was really adored by so many people. I, on the other hand, was not that person. I was shy and awkward and still coming out of my shell. I had a hard time talking to people that I perceived as "cooler" than me, and Tay was definitely one that fell under that category. So for a long time, I admired him from afar, wished we were friends, and went on living my small life.

High school came, and we started talking. We, for some reason, had like a million classes together sophomore year and through that, we became friends. I had never anticipated how kind Taylor was, or how easy to be around. He texted me every Sunday night, almost without fail, about a homework due in classes the next day. I occasionally made him laugh. We told each other our crushes and about our families. I learned that he was an only child and he learned that I was a really terrible driver (he was one of the first people I told about failing my first attempt at the driving test). It was simple and I loved it.

Some things eventually changed, and Taylor, slowly but surely, became my very best friend. We spent all the time we could together, all through high school. We went through amazing times and really, really terrible times, simple and difficult, and through it all, things somehow always worked out. He was the first and last boy that asked me to a dance. He was the recipient of all my terribly thought out Christmas gifts and birthday gifts. He was the one that held my hand as we rode the Ferris (or as he calls it, Farris) Wheel at Town Days three beautiful summers in a row. He saw me at my worst and my best and cared about me through it all. I got to see him grow up, little by little. And now he's decided to leave everything he loves for two years to serve a mission, and it's the best decision he's ever made. Ahh. I can't even tell you how excited I am for him! Witnessing this transformation in him has been inspiring and has made me want to be better, as well.

So, here's to someone that has changed me for the better, and continues to do so everyday. Here's to someone that has been the best possible friend that anyone could ever ask for. We are both moving on to bigger and better things, and the future is becomes closer every passing minute, but I'll never stop being grateful for Taylor.


GOOD LUCK IN MEXICO, TAY BABY!! WE'RE SO PROUD OF YOU!

Thank you, my dear, for being everything.

Poetry On Billboards

I am not a poet. I have never claimed to be.

So with that said, here it goes.

Before you start this, click here. Read about it. Now I will explain this thing that I have done and you'll probably think I'm really very stupid. But that's really ok with me, because chances are that no one will read this or even care if they do. Ok. Why am I procrastinating telling you about this? I'm having a problem. Ok. Ok. Alright. Here it goes (I'm not a poet. Is that much obvious yet?)

Once upon a time, I wrote an essay about someone that became a Child of God. Not that they weren't always a Child of God, but they became one through my perspective. The essay was a little bit personal and involved some people that I don't want to embarrass, so I'm not going to post it here. But the gist of it was this: everyone is a Child of God, even if they don't even realize it. More importantly, everyone is a Child of God even if you don't even realize it. I've written about this before, so I won't elaborate too much. I just think it's really important and it's also something that's hard for me to remember sometimes. I write about things that are hard for me. Like remembering and loving and being happy. Not that I don't remember things and that I'm not happy. But life is hard and days are tough and those things easily slip through everyone's fingers at one time or another. Sand is beautiful and weird and fun to have but easy to let go of. So the point is to make your sand into a rock- and the only way to do that? Pressure. Really difficult times. Hard times will make your sand into a solid mass of sedimentary that won't be broken down again if you hold on real tight and pray real hard. So yes, if happiness is sand, then make it into a rock. And then let God do the rest, because really, He's the one that gave you the sand in the first place.

Moving on.

So what I did with this essay that I wrote was kinda cool, I thought. Wasn't my idea, and as you are aware if you obeyed my commands and clicked on the above link (another chance HERE). Being the graphic design artist that I am (ha), I created a poster on my handy-dandy laptop. I printed a few of them off and then put them up around campus. The purpose was to promote unique and uplifting rhetoric in people's daily lives, as opposed to the manipulative and annoying ads that seem to pop up EVERYWHERE. Words can knock people down or set them straight again, often without a person even realizing it. I don't think my words are all that special, but that's not the point. The point is to promote words, no matter whose they are. Get people to think. That's something that we could all use a little more of, even on a college campus. Haha. ESPECIALLY on a college campus.

So I put the posters up, froze to death in the process, took a few pictures because that seems to be the thing to do with everything (I saw a collection of the year's stupidest selfies today. A selfie at Auschwitz? Really? And sooooo many funeral selfies. Wow. I can't even.. it made me want to throw up. You will not find that link here), and then went home and wondered if anyone saw them. Probably not. But maybe they did, and maybe it sparked something in them. I guess I'll never know.

So there's my story. Sorry it took so long to spit out. Don't forget to make your rock and to remember always who's child you are. Because I can promise you that He's never forgotten.

This American Life

I was recently introduced to This American Life, a radio program that presents hour long podcasts on pressing issues and fascinating stories in American society. I spent some time listening and I was blown away. It's always floored me at no matter how much you think you know about something, there is always so much to still discover. This is what these podcasts provided for me, an opportunity to see the world differently. If you have time to listen, please do it. It'll be worth your time.

#1- Dr. Gilmer and Mr. Hyde
This was a disturbing look at the American prison system and the way that people are treated once labeled with a title that they can't seem to shake, such as a liar or a fake. It's brutal and raw, but it made me reconsider the what I blindly accept as truth about people. Is truth always something that is self-evident? I don't think so. Especially not after listening to this.

#2- Harper High School, Part 1
Wow. I cannot come close to describing how much this shook me. School gun violence seems to be an exhausted topic among American rhetoric, but think again. There is so much that isn't covered in media, this podcast covering just one of these stories. Why isn't this talked about more?

#3- Harper High School, Part Two
If you listened to the first episode of this, you'll want to listen to the second. It's more personal, more intimate, less about the issue and more about the people. It will leave you in tears. Make sure to listen to the very end- the very last sentence unnerved me. Makes you want to figure this out.

So there you have it. Please do yourself a favor and take the time to listen to these. It will make you change. There's more at thisamericanlife.org.

Still

I collapsed into the chair. My skirt probably flared up a bit and showed my legs. I’ve heard that whenever that happens, the Honor Code angels get goose bumps down their spines and its extremely uncomfortable. That’s probably just a rumor. But who’s to say, really.

The chair swallowed my weight with encouraging silence. Chairs that creak are worse than a personal trainer screaming in your face as you cry in your last half mile on the Godforsaken treadmill. I like silent chairs the best. Especially in this zone of the library, where backpack zippers moonlight as chainsaws and terrify the innocent townspeople, so intent on cramming for midterms that ripping your noisy face off suddenly becomes a viable option.

Oh, BYU. How I love you. 

Moving on. 

I am consumed by words. It’s just one of those days, I think. It didn’t start off that way, before I collapsed into the silent chair and began comparing my fellow students to characters in a horror film. It began with sameness. I woke up tired, remained in that state through work. The bike ride home in the chilled November air threw off the remaining vestiges of sleep, as it faithfully does every Friday morning. I cooked an egg in the pitted hole of half an avocado. I but on my royal blue sweater, smacked my lips together and submitted to my stubborn hair, and headed to class. I sat through class. I think we learned about economic systems in undeveloped countries and microloans and how to dramatically change someone’s life with the meager funds of $25. I don't know, I could be wrong. Then I meandered some more, from one side of campus to another, looking for a place to reside until my next class.

Then something happened.

Promptly at noon, someone began throwing words my direction. No, I can’t even describe them as words. They were honest to goodness lifelines, those sounds that reverberated through the stale air of the packed auditorium that replaced my writing class for the day. They woke something up within me that has laid doormat for quite some time now through my suppressive techniques of stress and fear. Stress and fear, fear and stress- not today. I don’t have time for them today.

Those lifelines those anchors those matches. They woke me up. Because that thing that has laid quiet for so long, I think- I think that thing was me. My very soul was hiding in the corner of my heart, waiting for the roaring of needlessly immediate decisions to succumb so it could be heard. That happened today. Those words quieted my life and I found more words of my own.

So I sat down and placed my fingers on my keyboard and this came out:

People are really quite beautiful but they're also really quite shy about it. I don’t mean aesthetically beautiful. Not something that other people can see. That beauty is fake and it’s a cover up and it’s something that people have substituted for the real thing because it’s easier to fake beauty than reveal your inner concepts. But real beauty- raw and innate and not developed but simply unearthed- real beauty is something that we are aware of but we often refuse to show. It comes out when we have babies or fall in love- real love, not what they show you in the movies. It comes out when we see a piece of art that reflects itself. We work so hard to cover it up because it shows a part of ourselves that we don’t come close to understanding. To show it is to be vulnerable. Sexiness is not vulnerable, sexiness is a part of a power structure developed by those who understood that to convince people of a false power provides a way to get what they want. But beauty? Real, unconscious, innate beauty? That is vulnerable. It is the part of us that cries for no reason at all when reading literature. The tears just pop up, like they are being summoned by words that were written by another person’s sense of miracles. It is the air that gets caught in our throats when we hear something that we swear we’ve heard before. And we remember it. And that is why we can’t breathe because we finally remember something that once meant something to us. But then you cover it up with a cough and that beauty is gone and others can no longer see it and they look at you with relief but also a bit of veiled disappointment because they instinctively felt that beauty coming from within you and that lit something in them that they’ve been trying to hide behind but you coughed instead and then we were all safe underneath our covers. Sleeping our miraculous days away in the veil of fear.

I know. It makes no sense. But that’s what happened and I think I was trying to tell myself something.

And then I collapsed into my current chair and looked up. Two flights of stairs away from me, a young girl was simultaneously looking down. She laughed when our eyes met, not embarrassed or ashamed. She laughed and I slowly smiled, and then I shut my eyes to the miracle of that moment, ducked behind my laptop and continued to be consumed by myself. 

I need to learn how to listen.

 

Wanna Know Why I'm Happy?

November is the official month for saying thank you. Isn't that a funny thing? "Hey guys, guess what? It's November! So lets all grow beards and say thanks." I mean, gratitude is a wonderful and utterly essential thing. Don't get me wrong. But while it may seem easier to give thanks in a season filled with pumpkin pie, roasted turkeys, falling yellow leaves and a whole lot of family time, maybe we should make it a year round thing! Let's say thank you for the green grass in the summer and the gloves in the winter. Let's say thanks for friends that are leaving and friends that have just appeared. Let's be grateful for your dad calling and talking you through a rough night on a lonely college campus. Let's see the goodness in laughter that comes to us everyday. Let's be grateful for our lives and everything that comes along with them! GRATITUDE CAN BE FELT EVERYDAY, AND IN EVERY WAY! *getting off my soapbox*

However, seeing as I have so many things (millions of things!) to be thankful for, I would like to take this traditional thanks-giving time to truly express my gratitude for what life has brought me. I don't see myself as a very important or wonderful person, but when I step back and look at what life has generously provided for me, I feel as if I have been undeservedly rewarded. I mean, wow. I have a body that works. It may not be as skinny as some peoples' bodies. I may not look as freaking hot in certain things as others do. But it's my body and it works and I love existing within it. I have a mind that can think. My thoughts are not your thoughts. My thoughts aren't the same as the girl in the back of my writing class or the parents that raised me (and so well, I may add! Check that one off the blessing list!). My thoughts are MY thoughts! How cool is that? No one knows them, and no one has to agree when I choose to share them. I get to think! Everyday! I have the ultimate form of expression, right beneath my nose (quite literally). I have short hair again, which is cool. I have a family that loves me enough to understand that I have bad days even during the best of times. They don't roll their eyes at me when I cry about being lonely as I am surrounded by friends. They don't expect me to be anything more than I am. And that is something that has gotten me through the aforementioned rough days. Did I mention that I have hard days? Well, I do. And I'm grateful for those. Nothing can be good without badness. Nothing can be happy without sadness. So to those annoying and sometimes gut wrenching bad days, I tip my hat to you. Thanks for being there. Thanks for going away, as well, but thanks for existing in the first place. I'm grateful for my education. I may not appreciate it as much as I should all the time. I may sleep through class occasionally. But the desire to learn hits me with a certain intensity when I see the lack of educational opportunities for girls around the world. There are news reports of little girls never learning how to read. Never learning that their thoughts are their very own. Never knowing that there is more going on than what people have told them their entire life. Never understanding that they have power beyond measure. And that is what makes me grateful for education. Because I have it-it's right at my fingertips. And I am a girl, and how many girls can say that? From the view of the world, not many. I am grateful for my books, and the fact that I hate e-readers. I may be a blogger (quote on quote blogger), but someday, I have promised myself that I will write my words down on paper and provide them to people so they can touch them and feel them and experience them without the confines of a glowing screen. I'm blessed to have roommates that love me even when I am angry. I am blessed to have a walk way surrounded by trees that I walk under on my way to work everyday. I am blessed to have a lamp that doesn't wake Amanda up every time I go to bed later than her. I am blessed to have music. I am blessed to have words. 

But most of all, my gratitude for my Heavenly Father is what keeps me going. My unending debt to Him is what keeps me on the right path. He gave me the Gospel of Jesus Christ. He gave me the voice to share it. He gave me a way to provide others with the same blessings that I have received through this marvelous work and wonder. And so, this Thanksgiving is not just a time of gratitude for me. It is a time of sharing what makes me happiest.

Found Memories

Found Memories. I loved this movie. I loved the slowness of it. I loved the characters. I loved the beauty in the little things. It changed my perspective through my desire to enjoy the beautiful, small moments of life, rather than always thinking about the big things (which I tend to have a problem with doing). I loved the repetition in the first few scenes of the woman, walking the railroad tracks over and over again, her arguing with her friend, the mass scenes, and the village eating together afterwards. It was such a show of what a tired old town can bring, what beauty there really is in routine and taking things slowly. It made me want to live my life in such a way- to see things as a day to day, week to week process of beauty, not just one big event after another. It's a wonderful way of looking at things.

On Love

Today I am feeling inspired. It's 7:45 in the morning, I've been up since five. I got virtually no sleep last night because I'm an idiot college student with no respect for rest. I'm sitting here, watching TV and getting paid for it, I'm exhausted and all I want is my bed and some hot chocolate (this room is freezing), and yet I feel so blessed. You know why? Because I'm lucky enough to be watching General Conference. Sure, I've seen this session every week since it first aired. Yeah, it does get a little monotonous. But am I tired of it? Not at all. I could watch this single session one hundred more times (and I may have to do just that, if I keep working this same shift at work), and not get even half out of it than what is available. Heck, I could memorize the speaker order, the words they say and their facial expressions as they say them, and I still wouldn't be getting enough out of this. That is the beauty of God's word- it takes a different form every time you hear it, according to what you need. The words may be the same, but the impressions that they have on peoples' hearts will always be vastly and personally unique. Heavenly Father knows us. He knows what we need to hear and what we need to feel and how exactly to get that across to us. For me, one small way that need is fulfilled is watching General Conference, October 2013 Saturday Morning Session every Saturday morning from 6-8 am. What a blessing.

There is no cap to God's love and understanding for His children, and of that I can testify. He doesn't make mistakes and He NEVER stops loving anyone. Ever. As President Monson said in the General Relief Society meeting this last General Conference, "...Your Heavenly Father loves you. Each of you! That love never changes. It is not influenced by your appearance, by your possessions, or by the amount of money you have in your bank account. It is not changed by your talents and abilities. It is simply there. It is there for you when you are sad, or happy. Discouraged or hopeful. God’s love is there for you whether or not you deserve love. It is simply, always there." There are times when things just aren't working out, at all. On a much smaller scale than many others around me, I've felt that despair. It doesn't have to come from a major loss or a life-changing event, although despair naturally accompanies such occurrences. For me, as of late, it's simply come from the process of growing up. Things aren't the same anymore, nor will they ever be. Coping with that knowledge hasn't exactly been easy, but through it all, I've felt Heavenly Father's love. I've made a cringe-worthy amount of mistakes in the last few months, even more than normal, but you know what? Heavenly Father still loves me, just the same as He always has.  And that is no different for anyone, no matter what.

God loves you if you are happy lonely sad mistreated victimized thrilled despairing in love all alone straight different hateful beautiful small fat unhappy guarded generous clean gay unmotivated depressed outspoken powerful pensive reserved talented restless ungrateful unclean mistake ridden diligent impulsive drowning in doubts or existing in the sunshine. We are the human race, and we are all of these things, but we are also His children and we will always be welcomed in His arms, if we'll just extend our own towards Him.

We are all deserving of God's love, because we are all His children. With that blessing, however, comes the responsibility to remember that we are not alone in that divinely ordained relationship. Everyone, EVERYONE around you, they have just as much of His love as you do. We are all His children. That guy down the street that's covered with tattoos and smokes a pack a day? Your gay cousin that never really comes around anymore? The older woman who yells at neighborhood kids that tromp through her flowers every morning. The child in your classroom that never smells good and can't ever seem to stop talking. They are His children. He loves them. I forget that so easily when someone makes me uncomfortable or mad. Take yesterday, when I fell asleep on the grass outside my apartment (as I said, I'm exhausted. All the time.) and some guy pulled into the parking lot, rolled down the windows of his sports car, and started blasting the most obscene music I have ever heard. I woke up to words that I haven't heard in months- I do, after all, live in Provo. And he just sat there. I sat up from my self made mattress of grass and yellow leaves and attempted to stare him down. I must have sat there for ten minutes, just glaring at that guy. He had woken me up! Did he not understand that sleep, for me, is as rare as dates? And not only had he woken me up, he had done so with distaste and an utter lack of respect for my ears. But, alas, he didn't move. I annoyed, yes, but too scared to say anything. So I gave up the fight and retreated into my apartment. Ok, I wasn't just annoyed. I was fuming. The whole situation had been bizarre. I vented to my roommates about this terrible person who ruined lives (naps are life) and people and ears and souls. But guess what?

That man. That man that was simply playing his music just loud enough to annoy me. He's just as good a person as I am, if not better. I don't know anything about him, besides his taste in music and sports cars. Heck, that guy could be a great guy! He was probably on his way to a charity event or to adopt an orphaned kitten or something. He could have been playing a joke on me, for all I know! A stupid and infuriating joke, granted, but hey. Senses of humor vary. But whether he was an altruistic angel with an affinity for blasting naps out of existence or the worst human being to crawl the Earth- it doesn't matter. What I thought of him has zero relevance. God loves that man. He loves Him. Nothing else matters. God loves him. So why shouldn't I? I mean, if loving somebody and everybody is good enough for God, then how could it ever be less than enough for me?

So, I think for me, this post is more of a challenge for myself than anything. As of today, I am challenging myself to see the reflection of God in the eyes of all those I meet. It may be hard and the effort may seem futile, but I know that it is there in them as much as it is there in me. So of course I am going to try and see it. To those few of you that will see this, I'd invite you to do the same. I think it'll make it easier not only to see Heavenly Father in others, but in ourselves, as well. And how could it get any better than that?

Lastly, I want to make this even longer and just tell you how much this Gospel means to me. I hope that's ok. This Gospel- man oh man. It has a hand in everything that I am, and I would not be anywhere close to where I am now without it. The Gospel is a Gospel of second chances, of acceptance, and of love, and I wouldn't want it any other way. I know that it is true. With every fiber of my being, I know that it is true. I know that Heavenly Father loves me and loves you and that will never change. I know that through this Gospel, I have value. I have worth. I know that Christ is my Savior and the Atonement is His greatest sacrifice and gift to us. I know that prayer is real and it works. I respect and honor the priesthood, in those that hold it and in the personal and lasting effect that it has had on my life. I know that God knows me and what I need to hear and who I need to meet and where my life is headed. And I know that the Book of Mormon is true. And that will always be enough.

Waste Land

Today, I woke up with the idea that I was living the only way that anyone should ever live. It resided in the back of my mind, without me even noticing what I had created for myself- the thought that I was alone in the world.

Then I watched a documentary. 

It was called Waste Land. 

The story of a modern Brazilian artist, Vik Muniz. He traveled to a landfill in Rio de Janerio, named Jardim Gramacho, to create portraits out of the trash he finds there. People work there. People die there. But most importantly, people live there. They don't just exist, earning money to support drug addictions or to augment their wages from "prostituting themselves". They live there, with difficulty and dignity intertwined into the chaos of being a picker. Yes, a picker. A picker, if you can imagine it, of recyclable items. They go every morning to the landfill, dressed in gloves and hardhats (sometimes). They go through thousands and thousands of tons of trash. At the time that this documentary was filmed, Brazil did not have an recycling program. People would just throw all their waste away into their trash bins and dump it, diapers and milk cartons and rotten food and aluminum cans and melded together into a cacophony of residue. That's where the pickers come in. They throw themselves into that sea of garbage and they dig and sort and look and pick. They pick the items, recyclable items, that are worth the most money that day. It's the "stock market of recyclables". They then sort it, bag it, and sell it. They go home well after the sun has set, to the makeshift huts where they stay. And the cycle of the sun coincides with the cycle of their lives. It happens everyday. 

"It is not bad to be poor. It's bad to be rich at the height of fame with your morals in a dirty shame," says Valter, shortly before his death of lung cancer. To most of Brazil, if not all of it, these people are seen as lower than the garbage that they work with (if seen at all). They are what the rest of the country, in essence, have thrown away. Vik gave them a chance to tell their story, through the portraits that he created of them with the materials that they sort through everyday. At one point in the film, as they are looking through aerial shots of Jardim Gramacho, Vik's assistant says to him, "This is the first time that I can say that the place of you work looks better closer up than it does from far away. It's the human element that makes this such a beautiful project." Later on, as he looks out over the prominent city of Rio, Vik mutters to himself "It's not a pretty place unless you look (from) very far away." So, the place that is known, the place that is rich, the place that generate the garbage... That is the place that is the worst to be close too. That is where truly where the stink originates. Things are not always as they seem, for good or otherwise. Rich, or poor. 

Life in a combination of moments. Whether it be moments searching through trash or relaxing in your mansion, throwing away your recyclables, it's a collection. If we focus on those moments, one by one, it makes no sense. Lean back. Look at the whole picture. Are you making art with your moments? 

"I don't see myself in the trash anymore."

"Sometimes we see ourselves as so small, but out there, people see us as so big and so beautiful."

There are so many ways to live.

Click here to see the trailer. Watch the movie. It's on Netflix. Just watch it. 

This Post Terrifies Me.

"The more scared we are of a work or calling, the more sure we can be that we have to do it." -Steven Pressfield. 

What are you most scared of doing? Not in general, not in your lifetime, but today? What frightens you most today? What is it that you know, without a doubt, you cannot do? And what makes you think that? Who convinced you of that lie? 

All questions aside, I think you're scared because it's time. It's time to truly start becoming. It's time to cast aside rationalization and doubt. Tear it out of your notebook, ball it up, jump shot it into the trash can. Don't use the wall as a backboard-you can do this on your own. That fear? That nagging, unending fear? Let it motivate you. Let it push you. Let it remind you of why you need to do this certain thing. It is time. 

So begin. Ready, set, go.

I'm going to be a writer.

Today. 

It starts today. 

Normalcy

You look at her, and what you see is a girl. A human being without frills or fluff or anything extra. Freckles are splayed across her face, an endless game of connect the dot. You can envision her little brother penning it on her arm in church, dot to dot to dot to endless dot. Countless potential pathways, kissed onto her skin by the sun. You see her hair. It is not long. It is not short. It hangs until it stops, that is all. It has no color, in that it has every color. It cannot be classified as red or brown or blonde, or even something in between. It just is. It is her hair, and that does not define her.

            Her eyes. Another pathway, yet this one leads to the depth of her existence. Fluid and real, dancing with an eternal and unblinking honesty. They speak more than she ever does, for they cannot be ignored.  You catch yourself staring, just a bit, and look away hurriedly, embarrassed to have seen something so personal. You promptly leave, join your friends and your life and your routine, and forget about the girl who is nothing else. Just a normal girl.

            As you walked away, another path was penned, and another brief but meaningful journey was made to the confines of her soul. Your image was driven by the lanes of fulfillment or friendship. It sped past the less traveled road of confidence and swerved around the path of contentment. The passage you indented is one that has been ventured time and time again in the soul of this girl. Disappointment is now deeper, loneliness accentuated. Subconsciously, your views became more aligned in her vision of herself. She’s just a normal girl.

           

           

             

Explanations and Reasonings.

"Let me explain," she started, her voice confident, her meaning absolute. The words existed in her head. They were already breathing, a horse behind a derby gate. Hesitation was not an option. The gate would either be opened calmly or destroyed, her choice. 

"I can explain," she reiterated, the surety sliding a bit. Perhaps the horse could wait a bit longer. He was mature-his training was near completion. He was not a young colt anymore. Movement was his preference, but not his only option. Patience had begun to take root in him. Perhaps he could afford to use a bit of it. This was not procrastination. It was just a way to bide the little time she had left.

He looked at her, questions bubbling to the surface of his eyes. His emotions rarely escaped drowning in his deeply private soul, but on occasions such as this, confusion was the life raft. The tears began to form. Little by little, one by one, they gathered where he could see them. He fought them with batting eyes and self conscious blinks, but the dam had burst. The damage had been done. 

She looked at him, the first time that night. Truly looked. She gasped a bit, sucking in the tenuous air between them, enchanted by what she saw. Diamonds were running down his face. They were tinted with embarrassment and tinged in despair, but they were raw. They were real. And suddenly, her well thought out words were not. The horse-that horse that she had groomed to perfection with reasoning and logic and endless comparisons-that horse wandered away from the gate and into the subconscious soul from whence he came. And she was free. She continued to stare as she silently grasped his hand,  a sensation stronger than reason filling its leftover space. And then they created their jewels together. The diamonds rolled down their lovely faces and dripped onto each other's shoulders. A harmony of riches dripped to the dirt below them. A rosebush later took root there. 

Love cannot be explained away, I suppose. 

PS- No, this is not a true story. But what a beautiful thing to assume.  

Presently

She had created, within herself, a whirlwind of possibilities. It swirled and twirled and dashed and destroyed, leaving nothing but shattered illusion of reality in its wake. You could see it billowing through her soulful eyes, hear it crashing through her voice. As she breathed, it grew stronger. The air that she gasped steadily increased upon itself, never escaping the prison of her mind, never growing smaller. It ballooned and swelled and snarled and gnashed its terrible teeth and roared its terrible roar- it wanted the space of her soul's home. It wanted everything- her heart, her lungs, her mind- and in the end, it wanted nothing more than her lifeblood, the flow of her existence that sustained her day by unforgiving day. She laid in bed each night, feeling the possibilities overtake her. They were a physical, monstrous being, combined as Medusa's snakes. Varying by difference, diligent in purpose. Simply to destroy the present. End the existing in constant hope for a better tomorrow. Take away opportunities at hand by dangling the enticing, nonexistent ones before her imagination. The donkey's carrot. To her, these were not the gales of destruction. Oh, no. They were the supportive winds, the ones that kept her upright and pushed her towards new things. Shoved her towards forgetfulness. Forced her into the greener side of the grass. And so she was conscious. And so she died. Bound by the flaxen cord of the  possibilities of tomorrow. 

oh and ps..

Ps.
Sorry I have been such a bad blogger as of late. I have been both busy and lazy.. A lethal combination. I have also been a bad runner and and slightly bad friend and a very bad YSA 50th Ward Member (I have yet to fill out the form that was due two days ago). So please, don't feel picked on. I'm cleaning up my act, I promise I am. Things that you have all missed out on because of my terrible blogging habits:

1) Heritage Tours- I actually had a post written out and almost finished all about tour. But then it was boring and then the pictures wouldn't load and then I gave up. But those three weeks? Best three weeks of my life. Here is a single picture to prove my point.  

                                                                                                                 
Ok. So maybe this single picture does a total of nothing to prove my point. But it's beautiful, sorta, and tour was definitely beautiful. See the connections being made here?

2) Hiking Timp- Karli and I and our daddies hiked Timp. It was gorgeous. We aren't the best hikers in the world, but we did it. And I'm scared of heights. Terrified of heights, in fact. And I did it. So yeah, that was pretty amazing. Not that I did it. Just the mountain. The mountain was pretty amazing.

3) Hiking Kings Peak- A week later and badda boom. We did another, much longer, backpacking adventure/ climbing the highest peak in Utah. So yeah, there ya go. I've been up higher than most of you suckers. But don't worry, you have nowhere to go but up.. hehe. See what I did there? Ahh. My sense of humor is impeccable.

4) A bunch of nothingness combined with some pretty happy/pretty stressful/pretty exciting times. As is life. Have a wonderful day and I'll see you sooner than later... This time I mean it.

College and Other Things That I Am Hiding From

Lately my life has felt like a floating mess, a jumble of what ifs and have nots and if onlys. A mess of maybes, as some would say. I'm leaving soon. Life is about to change drastically, whether or not I want it to. I'm terrified, I'm anxious, and I can't decided if I am in fact happy about it or not. It's been something I've waited for since before I can remember.. College has always been just past the horizon. I remember as a little girl, I was sitting in the backseat of the car, driving home with my parents from my favorite place in the whole world, my Grandma Anne's house. It was late and I was tired, and for some reason, a wave of terror swept over me. "Mommy?" I implored, "I won't ever have to leave you, will I?" My parents chuckled, the way adults react to things that only they, in their vast wisdom and experience, can understand. They looked at each other, smiling a bit, and then my mommy replied, "Sammy? When you're 17, you will be more than ready to get away from us." I was shocked. How could my mother, my MOTHER, of all people, be telling me that I wouldn't always want to live with her and dad? It made no sense, to my six year young mind. I sat back in my seat, rocked to the very core, and convinced that my mommy had just experienced the rare occasion of her being wrong. I vowed to myself that I would never want to leave my parents. I would never reach that seemingly forever away age of 17 and stop loving them. It just wouldn't happen. I swore to myself that it would never happen.
And oh boy, did I break that promise to myself. I have not stopped loving my parents, don't get me wrong. They are everything to me. They have provided the means and pushed me towards the opportunities that I needed to eventually move away and start on my own. But I think I'm ready for my own life to begin. I think it's time to start living the way that I see fit for myself- making my own decisions and being fully accountable for my vast array of mistakes. It's time. And there is SO much to be accomplished! It's overwhelming. There are things coming up that I can't even fathom yet. So much so that I sometimes just spend the mornings hiding in my room, watching "Julie and Julia" and crying over how beautiful their lives are and how mine can't come close to comparing. I literally have not left my room yet today because I know something is coming that I don't want to face. Perhaps if I just wall myself up in the house of my childhood and hide underneath the blankets that were previously my fortress against monsters in the closet and zombies underneath my bed (do zombies hide underneath beds? A question that I can't quite seem to find the answer for anywhere). If these sheets protected me from monsters, they can surely protect me against growing up. It's just that simple.
Can you tell that I'm not quite sure how or what or even where I want to be? I just wanna be me. And I guess I could say that I don't want anything to change that. Not even college. Not even age. Not even time.. This is ridiculous. I need to get up.

Help a Friend Out, Eh?

Guys! Do me a huge favor! Do Harry the Rock a favor if you don't wanna do one for me, at least. We all love him. Copy and paste this link into your search bar and then push that little follow button. Not too hard, right? Do you love Harry the Rock? That's what I thought. <a href="http://www.bloglovin.com/blog/9763301/?claim=sy4rvm8bsnh">Follow my blog with Bloglovin</a>

And here is one of my favorite videos as a reward. Thanks again. 

The Summer of Goodbyes

There is a time for making friends, and there is a time for them to all leave you behind. That's what it's felt like recently, at least. In the years leading up to this point in my life, I've welcomed so many people to experience my journey with me. They've come from everywhere- school, church, camps, neighborhoods, soccer teams, grocery stores, Italy- name a place that I've been and I'll tell you that I've probably met a friend or two there. And it's a fantastic feeling to see someone, smile, strike up a conversation, and ten minutes later feel a bond begin to grow. It gives me a glowy feeling inside- like there's a sunrise in my lungs. And to be able to watch that sunrise turn into a full on summer day with that certain person? It's indescribable.  I love my friends, long story short. They are the peanut to my butter, the Federer to my Wimbledon (do NOT choose this time to bring up that he lost first round this year. I am still recovering from that one), the swing to my step and the marshmallow to my fire pit. They complete the already happy things.
But, as well all know, all things have an end. These endings accompany their traveling buddy Time, and the arrival of these pals is something that we cannot avoid. We can try to deadbolt our houses and cover up our windows and bubble wrap everything near and dear to our hearts, but it never works. Time has the master key to all of our lives, and it can do with them what it pleases. I've felt that quite a bit this summer. It's been wonderful, it's been beautiful, it's been filled with hikes and pools and adventures and laughter, but it's also had its unfair share of goodbyes. It all started with graduation...

                                

...And that is how I felt about graduation. I mean, it was great, it was exciting, I threw my little cap and I sang the fight song and I smiled at my cute, cheering family. But as I watched my classmates walk up on that stage and wave and get that piece of paper that signifies that they are ready and allowed to move on with their lives- ugh. That about killed me. I felt as if they were waving right at me and saying in sing-song, mocking voices, "Goodbye, Sam! Have a nice life! See you never!" It hurt my heart. And that was goodbye number one. Then, there was Giacomo. 

  

My spicy little Italian meatball was the most unexpected friend I've ever made. I mean, who sits down before a school year begins and thinks "Well, this year I'm gonna meet a way cute kid from Italy who will become one of my best friends and go to a dance with me where we dress up as a Rabbi and a Nun and win the costume contest and then we'll have dinner with the missionaries and make pasta together and just be so happy around each other."? I'll tell you the answer to that otherwise rhetorical question. No one does. But I got lucky enough to have that scenario actually work out. He's back in Italia again, as of a week after graduation, and I miss him. Terribly. We were close, but I think the main reason it makes me so sad to think about is because it's the first time I've ever said goodbye forever to somebody. I've never hugged a friend and thought, "Wow. Never again will I see you." But that's what happened with Jackie Moon. And I still can't quite wrap my head around that fact. 

Then, there was (and still is, I suppose) the whole missionary situation. 

See all those boys? All the boys, in all those pictures. Take a nice long look, admire how handsome and wonderful they look, and then close your eyes and pretend that you never saw them. Done? Sweet. Welcome to my life. THEY ARE ALL LEAVING. Every last one of them. Jason? New Zealand. James? Romania. Derek? Australia. Josh? Taiwan. AJ? Boston. Dallin? El Salvador. Taylor and Matt and Chad and Adam and other non-pictured boys? Soon to be determined. Am I proud of my friends and the amazing decisions they have made up till this point so that they can serve missions? Oh, so proud. I'm just not quite ready to say goodbye yet. I feel like there is so much left to do! So many places left to go and things to see and conversations to have with them. Just give me a few more weeks, months, years, maybe? Can't you see that I'm losing all of my friends over here? But, like I said, Time has it's way of getting what He wants above me getting what I want. And I guess that's just they way it's supposed to be. 

To me, each summer has a theme. Something that infiltrates every inch of life that I experience in those three, too short months. Sophomore year was the summer of newness. Junior year was the summer of expansion. And this summer? My own grand finale? This is the summer of goodbyes. Goodbye to my friends, goodbye to life as I've always known it, goodbye to the Sam that only existed within the confines of her home. This isn't a see you later or till tomorrow sort of deal. This is permanent. This is undoable. And I only have a few more weeks to finish it up neatly and move on. And that, I suppose, is what scares me.