Dangling Feet and Trail Names

You know what the joy of dangling our feet off the stool was as we ate our cereal in the summer? Not that our feet dangled, but that we were aware of them dangling. We were aware of the cereal, of the bird singing outside the screen, aware of the feeling of boredom and carelessness that drove us to feet dangling in the first place. Somehow growing up we lose that, until all we think about as we stand and gulp down our cereal is what project we have to finish this day, what assignment is due, who we have to call, what check to pay, what broken item to fix...We lose our moments and somehow get tricked into thinking we don't or can't ever have them anymore, instead of just excepting them as they come. I have a lot to do today, and I started wolfing down my Shredded Wheats standing at the counter. Then I poured just a little bit of peanut butter and chocolate, a generic sugary kid cereal I knew I shouldn't be eating, and I sat at the island on a stool, leaned my face in my hands, and dangled my feet. It was like magic. And suddenly there I was, in my own skin, sitting in my home on a summer morning, 25 years old and still a kid.


Had an awesome experience yesterday. I was named. Not given a name by people who love but don't know me, whose own biases and perspectives have invented a name that I will later grow to fit... I was named by a bunch of teenage girls sitting in a circle in the desert, a couple of trees overhead and a small creek rippling nearby. I was named after spending a week with these girls, and the only stipulations were that my name had to have a descriptive word and an element, and that I had to like and accept it. I sat in a circle with girls whose own problems have driven them to be sent to a place they don't like and a situation they can't control, and these girls shared with me all they had seen in me and what they thought was my personification. I was a little apprehensive as we began, feeling like I would be stuck with some sappy name I hated but had to pretend to like, a name like bright butterfly or shining fawn. All of the girls have names and some are pretty interesting. But as they sat and listed characteristics that I have...being positive, out going (I disagree with this one but what can you do?), caring, energetic and sometimes hyper, happy and bright, I was really touched to see they had gotten to know me, and they had good things to say.
Then the newest girl thew out a word to combine them all into one: "spirited". I loved it, if only because it sounds a little native american-ish, which I hoped would somehow or other make its way into my name. Then they tried to think of an animal that fit me, "spirited hummingbird" or something like, and I got ready to make the best of it, when another idea sprung up. That of water. "Spirited waters"? No, stream, like the one flowing past us at the moment. A stream because it's like a journey, it travels places and leads to things, incorporating the "seeker" aspect they had named earlier. I have a stream in my trail sign, because I love rivers and it is like a journey, so I was feeling very happy with where my name was going. And then they added to it, how sometimes a stream goes slowly and quietly, and other times it dances and skips along unfettered. How you only see the surface level to a stream, but there are all kinds of things going on underneath. They had so many things, things I've never thought of in relation to streams, (a topic I think on quite a bit), and I almost got tears in my eyes. It sounds so silly, but I was truly touched. They had found my name, and they had found it with generosity in their hearts. It makes me think that maybe I should give a little more to them.

Spirited Stream.

Time to mix a little more love in the waters.

Put it on the back burner

So I almost took a job this summer where I would have been living in the forests of Washington, working with the forest service, getting experience for my future, and getting in shape. It sounded perfect. The drawback: I'd be working the whole summer and wouldn't be able to go to church for about three months. The crazy thing is I really considered it. I did the phone interview, basically had the job if I wanted it, and I seriously thought it out and considered the pros and cons...the guy said people who are religious just have to "put it on the back burner" for a couple of months. All right, I thought. My faith is pretty strong, and gets stronger when I'm out in nature.

And then I realized what he'd said. Put it on the back burner? What is that? Is that something I was really willing to do? Did I have such little testimony and commitment? It suddenly seemed very clear and I knew I couldn't take that job. Instead I went back to a prior place of employment, where I only have to miss church every other Sunday. Not ideal, but do-able for a short period of time. So I started last week and spent my first week back out in the desert, camping and hiking and learning new things about myself. And I realized very early on that I have, in fact, put my faith on the back burner, not from necessity, just from life and where I'm at right now. I don't really know what to do. I'm a little worried, a little shocked, and mostly apathetic. I found myself doing and saying things out there that I wouldn't have dreamed of before. And I listened as other LDS people would talk about their faith, and I think I scorned them slightly. Very well and good, for you. But does it really mean anything to you? I know it does, yet for some reason I can't make it mean anything to me.

It's still there. I read a book, and I feel it. I want to do better. But then you know what? I don't. I don't do better. And I'm sick of the inconsistency, sick of the wishy-washy back and forth game that I'm playing right now. How many times can I recommit? How many times can I pledge that I really mean it, that I'm going to do better, that I'll prove myself...and then go out and do the same damn things over again? I guess I'm really into a sort of "do what you feel" mode, and I don't really feel like forcing things. The problem is I don't feel like praying, and I don't feel like reading scriptures, and every time I do, I feel the Spirit, I feel it's right. But I'm tired. And the effort to do those things is slowly eluding me more and more. A lot of times you have to hit bottom to start coming back up...I don't want that to happen. I don't want to do that to myself willingly, when enough things come along and knock me down anyway. But I have been knocked down, and I've tried to pick myself up, and it's not happening somehow.

So I'm just whining. Complaining, like I normally do, without really wanting a solution. Getting it out where no one can try to offer me advice or try to "fix" me. I've gotten to a point I never thought I would, and I think I know how to get away from this point if I'd just try. But I've been trying, and I can't take these half-assed attempts anymore. What's the point? That's the problem, I've lost sight of the point of it all. But not really. I know. I'm just tired, I'm so damn tired. I see in others the example of who I want to be, and somehow I just drift further and further away. I don't want to feel bad, I don't want to be reminded of how bad I am, how much I have to feel sorry for. I can't pretend. I'm not a rock. People call me a rock, and I'm not. I'm mush, I'm weak, I'm not asking for help, I don't even know what I need. I guess I'm just saying please forgive me.

Disappointment

I think one of the things I hate the most is disappointment. I don't like to be disappointed myself, but I hate even more when other people are. Even about the stupidest, littlest things. I remember one time I went to the zoo for a field trip in school, and I had this thought to get something responsible for a souvenir. I decided to get a hair tie, a yellow one with this little thing on top. I thought my mom would be so proud of me. I couldn't wait to take it home and show her what I'd gotten, and how good I had been to get a hair tie. I can't even fathom now how this was so important to me then. I just remember bringing it home, and showing my mom, and her saying it was all ruined and stretched out. I remembered deliberately picking that hair tie because I thought it was bigger and could hold all of my hair in it better. She couldn't possibly understand how crushed I was that she didn't think it was wonderful...she just said cruelly how it would have been wonderful if I hadn't picked the one that was streched out.

I remember my little brother bothering me so badly; he was so selfish and stupid...(we didn't get along very well when we were younger), and every year at Christmas he would always seem disappointed at the presents he got, like they weren't enough or why hadn't he gotten what my older brother had? And I remember feeling so angry at him, this painful anger that I never even realized until right now was painful because I hated seeing him disappointed, despite how much we didn't get along. Why couldn't he just be happy with what he got? And even worse was my parents, who wanted to make him happy and had gotten him so much, and all they wanted was to see some gratitude. It makes me cringe a little inside even now to think of them.

It happens so often. Birthday party let downs, people you think are your friends turning out to betray you or your family, fun-planned weekends that turn into a fighting, frustrating mess, plans not working out, but mostly it hurts when I see others wanting something so much-wanting to impress someone, wanting someone else to notice something they've done, and being rejected, being ignored. Wanting someone to care and finding out they don't. No wonder I've tried to make it my motto not to expect anything, but just accept what happens. For some stupid reason I'm overly sensitive to disappointment.

For example. My dad bought me a camera for my birthday. Great, right? I need a camera, I've been trying to work out getting one, and here it is, an unexpected birthday present. But my dad, like always, has gone overboard, and instead of getting me a tiny, respectable camera that's good enough and will be easily carried, he gets me this honker of a machine that he doesn't think is too big and that does all these things I'll never learn how to do, and it came with a free photo printer that is mine as well. He's so excited about it, and my mom is there telling me I can trade it in for a little one like hers if I want, and my dad tells me I can too, but look at this cool thing, and all these other things my camera can do, and I know he's disappointed that I don't want it. It's almost like a battle between my mom and dad. But really just him wanting to do as much as he can for his little girl, and I feel sick to refuse him. So I just stare in disbelief at the camera and pretend I'm just in shock that they got me one at all, but I'm sure he realizes I'm not as excited as I should be. See the ridiculousness? But it happens all the time. I can't even count the number of times I've gone out to eat when I wasn't hungry or gotten ice cream or played basketball or tennis or any number of other things with my dad just because I knew he wanted to and I couldn't disappoint him. I've stopped a little now; I realize I kinda hate basketball right now and I won't shoot hoops with him, and when I give in and say I will he's all upset and won't do it because he can tell I don't want to. and I understand. I hate doing things with people if they don't want to. I get upset at people when they don't want to do what I want to do. It's so stupid.

I hate disappointing people. That's when I wish I could just live on my own and have no one ever depend on me or want to do anything with me. And I don't want to depend on anyone else, cause they always let me down too, or don't want to do exactly what I do, or don't think exactly the same way as me. Why does it matter?

Giving Homeless A Try

Despite my desire to have a home and feel rooted, this summer looks like it will find me homeless for about half of it. I'm actually excited and looking forward to the things I can learn from this new perspective. So last weekend was my first shot at not having a home, and I guess I found there are good and bad aspects to it, as with most things.


I drove into Provo Saturday night around 7 PM, and had no idea where to go or what to do. All I knew was that I needed a shower. Turns out my trusty car, a.k.a. Horn Powder, does not have a trusty AC system. So I texted a friend and asked what her plans were for the evening. "Not much" she said, and asked if I had any good ideas. "A shower sounds nice," I responded. This was awkward. I don't like people thinking I'm using them, any more than I like actually using them. I did want to hang out with the girl, just wanted a shower first. She very graciously let me use hers, and then we had a fun night watching a movie and eating cold stone ice cream. *Side note* why do I keep going there when I'm against it by principle? It's way overpriced and not really worth it. But then again, it's so good!


Anyway, I spent the night on her couch, then snuck off in the morning to attend church with another friend in my old ward. So wonderful, seeing old friends, promising to call people and hang out...will I honestly do it? I don't know. But its somewhat liberating to know that if I don't want to, I just won't ever see them again, and that's fine. If I do want to, I'll just go to church or something. After church I went to a park, pulled out a blanket, a ton of books, and my phone, and settled in for a great afternoon spent outside, observing others and feeling so transparent. Whenever I'm gone from Provo for a while, the shock of coming back is rather harsh. The park was wonderful because weird people go there, cool people, boys with mohawks at a family picnic, girls with dreads and tank tops. I felt so much more comfortable with these people. I called a ton of people I never talk to because I always have something to do and no time for phone calls, then just laid there for a while until another friend called and I went to see her. It's great. I get to visit people, they generally feed me- under the false impression that I'm starving in my homelessness-then I leave them and go to a park in the downtime. I've never spent so much time in parks, and I really like it. Somehow, from my homeless position, I don't even think about what I must look like or what people are thinking of me, a poor lonely girl sitting alone at a park watching others. Its' amusing really.


So that night I really just wanted to be alone. I'd spent two weeks living on other peoples' timetable and was feeling the need to be independent for a while. I thought of all the friends' I could call that had offered me a place to stay, and instead headed up a canyon at sunset, realizing that though necessity had driven me to it, I really do come to the wilderness for help, for answers, for solace. The beauty calms me, and things somehow become clearer, or less important. The perspective changes. So the answer did not come by way of a place to stay that night, but somehow it didn't matter. I drove back down the mountain, looking for a quiet place I could sit for a while and think. I found a cozy niche and laid out my blanket, again with books and notebook in hand. I read from the Bible, then just sat and looked at the one star that shone in the slowly darkening sky. I listened to the noises and felt even more liberated at my ability to be alone, without worrying, and to connect with myself, to feel alive. As the darkness deepened I had my first real talk with God in months, and I was humbled to find He stills loves me, still waits to hear from me, no matter how stupid I am or how long I take to find Him.


We had a good talk, a long talk, and then I realized that I really did need to find a place for the night. So I headed to another spot, intent on sleeping in the back of my car, only to find a couple people parked there with a dead battery. Luckily I had jumper cables and we got them on their way...helpful for them, and for me, because I didn't really want anyone to know I was sleeping there in my car. I got my "bed" ready, and as I snuggled into the back seat of my car I realized, yet again, that I just don't sleep well in cars, although I was more comfortable than I expected. I also realized how happy I am to have discovered how little I mean to others. Last time I spent the night in my car I was so paranoid someone would see me, or I'd get in trouble, or something terrible would happen. While those are possibilities, I understand that no one really cares about a lone car, or thinks to look inside, and if they did look in and see someone curled up on the back seat, they probably wouldn't think much of it. It's wonderful!


Although perhaps the three stranded people with a dead car battery did care that I was there to help them. And so do I; interesting that the last time I slept there it was my car that had died and someone else that helped me. So I guess it went full circle.


Well I got through the night, and then spent the first half of the next day hiking up an area I know fairly well, only to find a wonderful surprise a bit further along then I've ever gone. How have I never found this place? An hours hike and there I was, sitting on a ledge that overlooked a rushing mountain stream, curving down through rocks and grass, surrounded by pine trees and overlooked by a snowy mountain peak in the background. I was surrounded by mountains, birds were singing all around me, a squirrel actually charged me unaware of my presence, and the sun warmed me after the sweaty chill of hiking and then not. One hour away. What other treasures await me this summer? I sat and read and took a nap and thought again how glad I was that I was the only person there.


The rest of the day was spent in mundane errands and such, but as I had no where to be rushing home to, I didn't seem to mind as much as usual. I went to the computer lab on campus and checked email and spent an hour on the computer without feeling guilty or antsy about wasted time. Then I met up with friends for FHE and dinner and another wonderful night on a couch. Up in the morning on my own time, finished a couple more things I had to do, then I set off for home and a couple visits on the way, with no time constraints at all. Well, that part is due to the fact that I have no job or responsibility at all for a month, which will end when I start working, but then again not entirely. I'm either at work with nothing else to do but work, or I'm off work with nothing to do but play. So really, I think I'm going to enjoy this summer. The big downfall is going to be a shower whenever I need it, because it is a bit odd to ask people to use their shower, but perhaps I can find an obliging river or something...

I am, most of all, excited at the opportunity I'll have this summer for new glimpses into myself. I really feel that something exciting is coming, or at least that I'm going to make something exciting happen. I guess we'll see.

Random Thoughts

I really like the sound of a train at night. It's comforting to me somehow. I remember when I was little there was a train somewhere near my house, and sometime early in the morning I would hear it as it drove past. What is it trains do? They don't honk their horns. It's not a whistle. What is that sound called? I forget. Anyway, I would hear that sound, and I'd look out my bedroom window trying to see where the train was. I couldn't see the train, but in my mind's eye I can see the view as it was so long ago; the backyard with its protecting ring of trees, the curve in the road that was part of neighborhood behind us, my best friends' house. I like the memory.

Then I remember when I lived on the coast of the Adriatic Sea, next to a port where the cruise ships would come at night. We would watch the ships sail away in the morning, and listen to them honking their horns (?that so doesn't sound right! ) at night as we were going to sleep. Hmm.

So recently I've noticed a train that passes through sometime at night, and I enjoy the feelings and memories it brings with it. Trains. Who knew?

7 is my favorite number. In church the other day I heard it means "wholeness" or "completeness." It could have been one of those made up meanings a lot of things seem to have in church somtetimes, but I still like it. 3 has some meaning too, I think, and that's my other favorite number. Besides, of course, 21, which is by far the best number ever.

I also heard that my name mean's "goddess of the moon." I'll take it.

I walked home from school the other day under a beautiful sky. There were clouds in the distance that hinted of rain, but they were far away. There were fluffy clouds to my right, and overhead blue skies. I found it interesting when rain began to fall and I started getting wet. It seemed perfectly fitting of the spring day, but a little unorthodox from the cloudless part of sky I was traveling under. So the realization came to me: you don't need clouds to have rain.

It seemed meaningful.

My Special Tribute

Little things make a difference. That's the lesson I learned today. Two weeks ago to the day I wrote a letter to my grandparents, just to tell them what I admired about them and how much I love them. Mostly I had to write it because I never seem to tell them when I'm around them. The truth is I don't enjoy being around them very much. You know how it is, slow, boring conversation when you'd rather be watching T.V. or relaxing at home. To be honest I avoid them whenever I come home because I don't want to sacrifice the time. Wow that sounds horrible. All the same, I do respect them and love them, and am much better expressing that in writing. So I sent a letter and forgot about it.

This morning I gave them a call and asked if they were going to church, thinking if I went with them on this trip home, I'd see them without actually having to talk to them all that much. They were delighted, and turned it into inspiration because they haven't been going to church for a while and this was the push they needed. Well that's neat, and it also gave me someone to go to church with. So there we were, sitting in fast and testimony meeting as just about every kid in primary got up to bear their testimonies, when the thought popped into my head how it would mean so much to my grandparents if I bore my testimony. I dismissed the thought however, and smiled happily as one kid after another "knew the church was true and loved their families." But when the tides of testimony bearing kids slowed and long pauses came between speakers, I went into missionary mode and started wondering what I could talk about if I got up. Well it's all downhill once that thought process gets started, and I knew I would eventually go. I did, and I rambled unfeelingly about this and that, then sat down with a feeling of incredulity and slight embarrassment that I'd done it. Grandpa squeezed my hand and grandma gave me a hug, so I knew that to them, at least, I was still a hero. Well, even more of a hero, turns out.

Because then Grandpa got up, and I guess I just wasn't prepared for what was coming. Have you ever had a testimony born about you? It's an odd feeling. I understand why I'm famous in this small town-I've got a couple of men over the age of 50 that really love me and they tell everyone about it. Well, my grandpa got up to the pulpit and testified of how great I am, how grateful he is that I'm in his life (very nice), how he loves all his grand kids but I'm just really special, and even told how when I got home from my mission everyone wanted me to speak in church and some parents actually called for their sons wondering if they could set us up. It was a wonderful testimony. How do you respond to that? I had everyone in the audience turning to look at me, smiling at me; oh my gosh, it was amazing. I've never been so uncomfortable. But it meant a lot to me too.

We went back to their house, and though I thought it would be nice to talk with them for a bit, I vowed not to get sucked in for too long. I really did enjoy talking to them. They told me some things about their past, told some stories, told about ranching and how that was going. Then they started talking about the letter I sent them. For nigh unto half an hour they told me how much it meant to them, tears involved, how it was perhaps the nicest letter they've ever gotten and my grandpa even confided in me that he wanted me to read that letter on his big, last day...at his funeral. Wow. There was a lot more talking, I stayed about an hour longer than I meant to and I was ready to go when I finally made it out. But you know, I really was touched. I don't know what I've done to impress these people so much, but its nice to know that I do mean so much to them. And that something so simple as a little letter can impact them for months.

I just had to write about this because it's the only thing that got me through the whole day-thinking about explaining it and yes, mocking it slightly. It's so hilarious, in a way. But also so sweet and touching. It just shows that with a little effort on our part, we can make a huge difference in the lives of others. So the moral of the story is: write your grandparents! you have no idea how much it will mean to them.

My Deepest Desire

So I finally found it. About a year ago I asked myself a question, and I hadn't found the answer until somewhere in the past month, when I finally realized how simple and straightforward everything was. I asked myself what it is that I really want in life; what I would do if I could do anything, or what I want to have more than anything else. I tried being both selfish and unselfish, but for a long time was unable to think of anything I wanted so badly that I could claim it was my deepest desire. I wondered if I was just too casual in life-not really fighting for anything or trying to get anything out of life. What, I wondered, am I fighting for? What am I seeking? I really didn't know.

There are lots of things I want. I have lists of material things I hope to have some day (just so I don't forget); I have goals to help me achieve all those future plans of mine, but to what end? Why do I want to be married, have a family, help people in need, make a difference in the world...what's the point?

I don't know how or when the answer came to me, and it's not really that complex or even unusual. Actually, I think this is the basic, instinctive desire of just about everyone, or at least all the people I know. The purpose behind all of my actions, and my deepest desire, is peace.

Well that's a shocker. So anticlimactic. Isn't that the infamous beauty pageant answer for what the girls want most:"world peace"? So it's true then. Peace is the motivating factor; peace is the hoped-for end result. There a couple of manifestations of peace. I want, first and foremost, inner peace-peace with myself. That sounds selfish, and probably is, but after all, I am the most important person in my life. In a talk in church a couple weeks ago, a really neat point was made. The speaker said that there are over 6 billion people on the earth, and there are 6 billion different worlds. We each live in our own worlds, and what I see is just a product of what I want to see.

I want to be happy with what I see. I want to live without regrets. I don't want to fail to act on impulses because I'm scared, and miss out on what life has to offer. More importantly, I don't want to go against what I know is right and feel that regret, that self-loathing that comes from falling short of my potential. I've seen enough of the tempting substitutes for happiness, and felt enough of the pain that comes with them, to know that down those paths lie only sorrow and pain. I really want to do what's right, corny as it may sound, because when I do, when I align myself with God and feel His acceptance and approval of my life- then I feel the greatest peace I've found on earth. Nothing can top that. Why I constantly fight against that peace, I don't know. But when I can trust in the Lord and accept whatever He sends my way, I find strength and happiness no matter what's happening around me. Then I don't worry about the future; I feel no anxiety for events in my life or things not working out the way I want them to. "Peace I leave with you, my peace I give unto you." That's the beauty of the gospel.

I want peace for my family. I want to know that they're okay, that they're happy. Why can't they be happy? There is so much confusion, heartbreak, disappointment. I love them so much, and I try to help. I try to be strong for them, always happy, words of encouragement. I "preach" to them about following their dreams and not being afraid to seize the day...things I think could help them be happy. That's all I can say to them; the unfaltering source of peace that I know, the peace and the purpose that only God can bring, somehow I can't talk to them about that. Yet it's the only thing in my mind that makes any of this worth it. I can't force that on them, and it kills me sometimes to hear their struggles and not have anything to say; to feel the despair and hear the questions about why certain things happen, and not be able to explain that, to me, the question of "why" is unanswerable and, in the end, irrelevant. I don't understand the "why" to a lot of things, but somehow I've found this ultimate source of peace that says why doesn't matter, if I can just get some help with the how of dealing with it. Once again, my source of peace is through the Savior and the knowledge that God loves my family as much as I do, and will help them just as He's helped me.

I also want world peace. *round of applause* I really do. When I feel these moments of true joy and happiness and peace (I wish I had a synonym for peace because I realize I've written it about 100 times), I have so much desire to share that with others. I want to help them overcome the things I've overcome. I want people to know of the goodness that is in life. And yet...there is so much badness, and I've never tasted of that. I don't know how to combat the horrible things people have gone through; my puny experiences pale in comparison to the sufferings of the world, and I don't know how to attempt to heal the pain that exists. But I want to. When I think of people who grow up with nothing; who suffer every day of their lives from lack of food or water or love; who live each day, fighting for survival while at the same time wanting nothing more than to die; I know I have to do something. I've been given so much, and somehow I should be able to take that and give a little back. While I have no idea what to do with my life, this gives me direction- knowing that somehow, whatever I do, my career needs to focus on one of these needs.

So it's not that I can envision a world of perfect peace and harmony stemming from anything I do. I just finally understand that all of my actions have at the core this idea of peace: peace with myself, with the people around me, with whatever part of humanity and life that falls into my little world-bubble. Seeking this has helped me see times when I fight against that peace, when I do things that bring frustration, anger, blame, and animosity towards others. I feel these bad things, and I realize I've gotten off track. At a fireside this amazing woman taught that pain is important because it tells us that something that we're doing is bad. If we bang our head against a wall, it hurts-thus we know to stop banging our head against the wall. I've tried to apply that to life and found it pretty true. When I'm in pain, usually there's some stupid thing I'm doing..more often than not just a silly thought process that pulls me down, and I need to start over again to get back up again.

The return to the root is peace.

Peace:to accept what must be,

to know what endures.

In that knowledge is wisdom.

Without it, ruin, disorder.

~Tao Te Ching

I'm not a Wanderer

I just got back from an amazing run on the rain-soaked streets of Provo and I feel great. Today was a beautiful day and the night was no exception. There’s a smell that comes with rain that’s so invigorating. I felt invigorated, at least, enough to be out a lot longer than I had planned. And in that time I got to thinking. There’s a lot of uncertainty ahead; a lot of -I don’t have a clue where I’ll be in two months and that’s slightly frightening. I have all these plans, and it’s coming down to the time when I have to decide one way or the other.

Well, tonight as I was walking around to cool down, I thought about some of these plans. I thought of Alaska; of how two people have called me about a job there and I still haven’t called them back. I want to go. It’s been a goal of mine for years now, to live in Alaska for a while and check out the wilderness. What better time than now? That’s what I keep telling myself to try to outweigh the regret I feel about things I’ll miss out on if I go. My best friend having her first baby; a real family reunion with people I haven’t seen in years and other family members I’m just starting to get to know; a lot of new friends that would be really awesome to have around this summer; and anything else that goes on that I’ll be too far away to even hear about…so many things. While these thoughts twirled around in my head, I reasoned with myself that there will always be things to miss out on. But I can’t not live my life, right? Then I started thinking about the Peace Corps, and how I want to join that in 6 months. That’s a huge commitment; a whole lot of missing out on things and not being a part of people’s lives. If I can’t even decide about Alaska, how can I leave for two years? But in those two years I’ll be shaping my life. It is a dilemma.

So while I thought about this, and felt the familiar rain softly fall around me, this wonderfully obvious realization spread through me.

I am not a wanderer.

I like feeling like I belong. That’s what I want. I have all these great ideas of traveling; I feel inspired by that Bob Seger song, and especially the lines

“Stood on a mountain top staring out at the great divide. I could go east I could go west it was all up to me to decide. Then I saw a young hawk flying and my soul began to rise. And pretty soon my heart was singing-Roll, roll me away wont you roll me away tonight. Gotta keep rollin gotta keep riding till I finally find whats right. And as the sunset faded I spoke to the faintest first star light next time, next time I'll get it right”

I love that. I really do. I am at a cross-road; my life is in my hands, and I can do anything with it. That’s so incredible. And daunting. And while I do dream big dreams, and plan big plans, I’m much more of a dreamer than an acter, and I think that all I really want is a home, with people that love me and things that are familiar. I want to belong somewhere. I’m getting to know Provo on a much deeper level than I have before, and I love it. But Provo’s not home and never could be. The problem is - no where is home. I don’t feel like I belong anywhere. And maybe this is my wandering time, where I drift along, trying out new places until I find something that’s right. But if there were ever a time when I wished I had someone I trusted unquestionably with my future, that I could ask exactly what I should do with myself and where I should go, it would be now. Not that now is a particularly hard time to decide, or I’m faced with anything out of the ordinary in life’s unending quest for surety and confirmation. It’s just that right now I have decisions to make, and I’m too lazy and indecisive to make them.

At least it’s somehow comforting to come to this definition of myself, that I don’t want to wander my whole life; that I do want a place that claims me.

Sometime I'll get it right.

Happiness from February

1. Randomly hearing hymns from all over campus
2. A music FHE where first a rapper had us groovin' and dancing with the lights down low, while the bishop watched from the couch, and then a trombone player favored us with a selection of hymns, to which everyone burst into song at the chorus. Only in Provo
3. Clear, sunny skies
4. The Salt Lake Temple
5. Splashing in the rain
6. Valentines Day cookies
7. A mini road trip to hot springs early in the morning
8. Chocolate
9. Winnie the Pooh
10. Reminiscing of butterscotch pudding at grandma's
11. My best friend being pregnant
12. Realizing one day while meditating that I was lost
13. Planning some highly improbably events like going to Hawaii, running a half marathon, and doing the 60mile walk for breast cancer.
14. A hauntingly beautiful song written by a girl in my ward
15. Feeling like I was found
16. Stretching on dry grass after a run
17. Guitars
18. Running 8 miles
19. Mopping at 6AM
20. British movie nights...and discovering The Importance of Being Earnst
21. Reunions
22. Honesty
23. Naan bread
24. Bob Segers song "Roll Me Away"
25. Crossing things off my to-do list
26. Filing my taxes
27. 4 day week of school
28. The coming of March

Something Fitting

So in honor of Valentine’s Day, I thought it appropriate to post something about the pervasive topic of love. It’s amazing all the different kinds of love there are. I used to think there were just a couple of traditional ways of loving someone; love for family, love for friends, and then real love. Now I think there’s as many ways of loving people as there are people. It’s different for everyone. And that’s good. Makes it more personal I guess. I wrote a poem about a different kind of love when I was on my mission. I wasn’t getting along with my companion, and actually was feeling so much anger and frustration and badness that I thought I was going crazy. Mostly because there’s so much more pressure as a missionary to get along with people, to love them and serve them, especially your companion. So one night I was fuming inside and needed some way to get it out. I wrote a lot of not nice things that I look back on now and wish I would have quite whining so much and gotten over myself. But I also tried to understand and overcome, and in honor of that attempt, this is what I came up with.

Enough For Two

Is there enough love for both you and I,
Both very different, we don’t see eye to eye.
I know you’re a child of the same God above
Who waits with blessings to pour down in love.
He sees us the same, no difference too great,
Both children of His, and we both make mistakes,
But when I feel the pain of the mistakes that you make-
I think surely a just God would me compensate.
But a just God would see all the bad things I do,
And the people I hurt, without meaning to.
So I guess we’re both sinners, neither one more or less,
And the justice of God judges us with the rest.
But the hope that I have and the joy that I’ve found
Is from a God of mercy, with hope that abounds
For all of His children, both for me and for you,
A gift from the Savior, a love big enough for two.

Since I’m in a sharing mood, here’s something else I wrote in relation to my mission. It was actually a couple of months before I left, when I was planning on going and trying to work out the logistics. I had called my mom to talk to her about money and to see if my parents could help at all, and we got in an argument. Mostly it was because my mom didn’t understand why I wanted to go on a mission, and I couldn’t explain because it’s awkward talking about my beliefs with my family. She thought I just wanted to travel or do something new, and I can’t remember what I told her but nothing too personal because I don’t open up with my family about that. So anyway, I felt horrible after talking to her and wrote this.

I never meant to hurt you.
Caught up in myself, I didn’t realize I had.
Always concerned with my happiness, my path;
It’s my life and I’m the one who must live it-
Live with it
Still, I know I am not alone;
My actions do affect others
And you only want what’s best for me.
It was selfish to keep to myself,
To tell insignificant reasons, fearing the truth will offend;
Fear drove my actions, but yes
The fear itself was condescending.
To keep from being hurt, exposing myself,
I hurt you.
I’m sorry.
I didn’t think you’d understand.

What life's all about

I love the rain. It's so refreshing. Exciting. Exhilarating. This weather has been phenomenal and this morning was the best yet. My roommate and I went to a ward breakfast thing, and then decided to go for a walk in the rain. It had really started pouring by the time we left and we soon realized that we would be drenched before we made it home. So we gave in to the moment and decided to fulfill the goal we'd made to go puddle jumping the next time it rained.

It was so much fun. There were puddles all over. I felt like a little kid again. Our pants, shirts, hair- everything was soaked, and by the time we made it home our legs were numb from the cold, but it was amazing. Seriously, I think that's what living is all about. That's what makes life fun. There was a little bit of sun peeking out from the clouds, warming the earth as the rain made its way down in the stillness of the morning. No one was outside; well, no one except a few church goers who looked at us like we were crazy. But what does it matter? I'm so happy. I feel so light and free. We decided we were praising God, rejoicing in His creations and the life He'd given us, so it was okay to run home when we got too cold(even though it's Sunday). When we got here I changed out of my wet clothes and went outside to ring the water out of my pants, and I just stood there looking at the beauty, and I realized how lucky I am to be alive. To be alive today, now, and to have the rest of my life before me. Forget being sad.

"Everything flows and nothing stays...you can't step in the same river twice." ~Heraclitus.

I guess that means to me that things come and go, sadness comes, happiness comes, and then they go, rainstorms last for a little while and then they too leave; there's such a short period of time to enjoy them, that I want to take advantage of each moment and not let it pass me by, not think.."well, next time I'll play, but right now I'm too busy..." Or even to think that sad moments mean all of life is sad, or nothing will work out for me. The bad passes as quickly as the good, as long as we are transient, fluid, take it all as it comes then let it go. Life really is like a river, always changing, always moving, (think Pocahontas here), and it's so easy to resist, to fight the changes and the streaming water. Why? I don't want to be the same tomorrow that I am today. So why do I want things around me to be the same? This is so random; I just wanted to say something about the rain, and look where it took me. Well, here's another quote to finish up this silly train of thought, taken from a book called Wherever you go, there you are.

"Letting go..is an invitation to cease clinging to anything...It is a conscious decision to release with full acceptance into the stream of present moments as they are unfolding. To let go means to give up coercing, resisting, or struggling, in exchange for something more powerful and wholesome which comes out of allowing things to be as they are without getting caught up in your attraction or rejection of them, in the intrinsic stickiness of wanting, of liking and disliking." ~Jon Kabat-Zinn

Is it okay

if sometimes I feel sad for no reason? If some mornings I wake up and feel like crying? Even though life is wonderful right now. Even though I've been given so much. Even though I have ten thousand possibilities right now of things I can do and where my future can lead-all of them beautiful because they all equal life...can I be sad without a reason? I try to fight it sometimes. Talk myself out of it, because I should be happy. I should be grateful. And I am. I have blurbs of uncontrollable happiness as much as these moments of sorrow. Maybe I can feel the joy because I can compare it to the sadness. I love that I can feel. Maybe it just means I need to be grateful for being sad sometimes, too. As long as I appreciate it, get into the deepness of the feeling, and realize it means I'm alive...maybe then it's okay.

Things that made me happy in January

The clouds above us join and separate,

The breeze in the courtyard leaves and returns.

Life is like that, so why not relax?

Who can stop us from celebrating?

~ Lu Yu

1. My dad calling to tell me about how he used his GPS
2. Ice cream and Jamba's
3. Planning stuff
4. My old stuffed dog I've had since I was 2
5. Making the folk dance team
6. Girls Night Out
7. Idaho Appreciation Days
8. Really connecting with people
9. Speaking another language
10. Making fun of others trying to speak another language :)
11. Meeting with my favorite Shqiptaret
12. Free food
13. The moon
14. Having guys like me for swearing
15. Pushing/riding the chair carts at work
16. Watching a dog bring healing and love to a girl that's emotionally scarred and hurting
17. A boy giving his little sister a piggy back ride

18. Hawaiian dancing and the hope of a tropical vacation

19. Having my roommates feed me every meal on Sunday...waffles, fasule, and chicken roll ups. 20. Making goals every day after reading my scriptures and trying to apply them

21. Dyeing my hair

22. Making new friends and talking to old ones

23. Reading The Four Agreements

24. Rejecting a guy simply for being an irrational girl

25. The weather finally getting into the double digits on a regular basis

26. Realizing I have no definite plan for my future and being okay with that

27. Hope

28. Realizing I'm still a tree hugger-I haven't grown out of it after all

29. Gaining perspective

30. Really enjoying a conversation with a person I thought would annoy me

31. The atonement

One thing that doesn't make me happy: formatting on this stupid thing. I can't figure it out.

Goodbyes

So I drive a Ford Focus. It's a good car; I like it. It's nice to have a car at all. But I used to drive a Hyundai Tiberon, and the transition has been a bit hard. It's funny about the Tiberon though. I'm not really into cars. At all. I grew up in trucks and jeeps, and basically, if it could get me where I needed to go, it was good to me. I was very biased, however, against people in sports cars. I thought they were a ridiculous waste of money, and drivers of sports cars came with a very high ego. So when I would see them rev at lights, or hear them zoom past with music blaring, I always glared and judged whoever was in it.

Well it was quite the transition when I came into possession of a very "sporty" car, which had had lots of work done on it by my brother to make it "hot", like huge speakers that filled up the trunk and gave plenty of base, and specialized wheel thingys. There were even flames on the pedals. I resented "Tibby" for a while; I was embarrassed when I parked her at BYU, with her sticker on the back that had Calvin peeing on a Honda. I drove her very tentatively, not knowing her true potential.

But then I got to know Tibby. We went on some nice trips together, and I realized how awesome she was. I do have a bad habit of listening to music loudly, and though I've never listened to the basey, rap songs or whatever, I did enjoy feeling the base in my songs instead of just hearing it. I took Tibby through some canyons, and I think it was there that I really fell in love. I realized there are no speed limits in canyons; only what your car can handle. And I was proud to find Tibby can handle quite a bit.

It came on slowly, but eventually I realized that I was that person I hated, blaring music, revving the engine, looking down on slower cars. I never actually raced anyone at a red light, in the sense that didn't look at them and acknowledge that I was racing; I just beat everyone around me every time the light turned green. I scoffed at anyone trying to pass me on the freeway, cut corners as fast as possible, and cranked the gears as only a conservative white girl with an attitude can do. I watched my brothers drive Tibby, and realized a bit more all she was capable of. So I developed this alter-ego, and I felt it every time I got in my car. I tried to stop it sometimes, realizing it was silly, but I became powerless to the coolness that was the Tiberon.

Well, when my brother told me he wanted her back, and that he'd trade the boring, reliable Focus for her, it was quite a shock. Feelings of jealousy and possession surged through me, although I knew all along that Tibby hadn't really been mine, and that my brother loved her a lot more than I did, loved her for being just what she was. I also knew it would be a chance to escape the trap I had fallen into. The Focus has 4 doors and a large trunk, making it much more sensible for my stage in life. It doesn't have any embarrassing stickers on it or funky designs. It's me. Or the old me. So I traded. And I like my new car. One problem with it is it doesn't have a name yet. I'm so bad at deciding on names, especially vitally important ones like your cars' name. There's nothing obvious that comes to mind. My brother threw out the name "the grey fox", and my roommate had some ridiculous suggestions that resulted in a compromise: whatever the first name is, the suffix will be "a.k.a. horn powder." After all the other crazy things she said, she kept coming back to this ludicrous name, so I decided it needed to be used. But really, I'm sure there's something out there. Epita, pingo, pele...I'm stuggling here. If anyone has any suggestions, please help a sista out.

Got off track though. So here's the thing I noticed the other day, while driving ...a.k.a. horn powder. I thought that when I watched my brother drive away in Tibby that she was gone, that I'd moved on. But turns out I haven't managed to let her go yet. Habits die hard, and I got used to the way things were with Tibby. So although the focus doesn't have an amazing stereo system, I still blast my music as I cruise around town. And while the tires and car are just not made for speedy turns and curves, I zip around the streets of Provo and send all the stuff in my car flying to the side every time I make a turn. I accelerate as fast as possible, and am inevitably disappointed when this new car fails to live up to Tibby's performance capabilities. I'm trying to force my good car into something it's not, and hurting both of us in the process. I'm probably going to need new tires soon from the way I drive this thing. And I'm sure I just look ridiculous, driving around all cool-like in this ford of mine. So I guess I realized it was time for a change in thinking; time to accept the reality that Tibby is gone and things are different in my new car-and that's okay. That crazy alter-ego me needed to die anyway; it wasn't what I really wanted in the first place. Now is a time to redefine myself and my expectations and attitudes, and it's the perfect time in life to do it. I guess it just takes some getting used to.

So goodbye Tibby. Here's to letting go.

Lamtumire Presidenti

Nuk e di cfare dua te them; akoma nuk me besohet qe kjo ka ndodhur. Presidenti eshte mire, eshte akoma ne degen e trete, duke shprehur dashurine dhe shprese per njerezit. Ai ka akoma ate drite ne syte e ti. Ka ate buzeqesh per te gjithe. Nuk mund te sphreh ndjenjat e mia, por thjeshte desha te thoja dicka per presidentin dhe sa shume ai ka bere ne jeten time, ndikimin e madh qe ai ka pasur. Lexova dy poema tek libri qe Presidenti Risto ne Durres ka shkruar, dhe do shkruaj ketu.

Njeriu qe qesh

Lum ti o vella!
qe te qesh shpirt gjithnje
E fytyra te ndrit nga lumturia
Iken dhe vjen, ngrihesh e ulesh
Ti flet dhe qesh
Ti qesh dhe gezon
E na mbush me ndricimin qe i jep drita erresires

Lum ti o vella!
qe ecen udhes me veshtrimin vetetites
Qe si nje shuplake boten merzitare e godet
Dhe barkmedhenjte fodulle te shajne prej zilise
Se e ndiejne vella
qe pasuria e tyre
Perpara madheshtise tende
Asgje nuk vlen

Lum ti, o vella!

Njeriu i qeshur

Ti mos vdeksh kurre o njeri i qeshur!
Ti qe zemrave tona zjarr e gaz u jep
Edhe kur hallet kudo t'i kane ngritur pusite
Ti mes tyre shkon kokeulur
Dhe duke qeshur na pershendet.

Stavri Nikolla Risto

Presidenti gjithemone kishte shprese; gjithemone kishte nje buzeqesh per neve. Ai punonte, festonte, dhe ishte plot dashuri. Ai ishte shakaxhi, na bente te qeshnim gjithe kohen. Me vjen aq keq per te gjithe ata qe ai ka lene; per neve qe duhet te vazhdojme pa pranine e tij. E dua, dhe do te kem ne zemer perhere. Mirupafshim Presidenti. Rruge te mbare. Kam dy thenie per ty. "Lets go, lets go" dhe "chicken play, chicken play." Nuk do te te harrojme.

Letter to Myself

I wrote a letter to myself when I was 14 to when I was 24, and I opened it on New Years Eve. Then responded. This is really long and pretty stupid, but it's a glimpse of me ten years ago, and a glimpse of me now.

January 1, 1997
Wednesday
Age 14

Dear -----,
How are you, this fine wintry New Years day? This year wasn’t very wintry. It seemed more like summer. So what are you doing? 24 seems so far away. I know everyone says it goes by so fast, but how can I know that? When I am 24, I’ll be able to say it to younger kids, kids who undoubtedly won’t listen. But I think that’s the way to enjoy childhood more, not having to try and enjoy it. Like being healthy: not having to worry about being sick.
Well, where are you? What New Years’ resolutions have you made, and have you fulfilled mine? Are you coming to the ideal me I want to be, or has that image changed? In some ways, writing to myself is better than writing to others. I don’t have to worry because it’s me I’m writing to, whatever opinions you have of me, looking at me you can learn from it. If you despise me, don’t be like me.
When I was little, (I’m so old now) I used to look to the future as I’m doing now, and wonder if I’d lose all sense of spirit and soul, all that made me me. It terrified me. Is anything more scary then the possibilities of the future? Time, the mysterious void all try to control, yet none can master. Here is a way to travel through time. Will you write back to me? Tell me of your sorrows or joys. Truly, I’m curious enough now. Maybe through the years I’ll want to grow younger and younger instead of older. Life’s burdens too heavy for me! When I was younger I couldn’t imagine myself in my teens. I thought everything would be so different. I guess it is, but lucky for me it’s a gradual change. You know, how no time seems so important or real as the present.
I know I am still so young and don’t know anything, but already I kind of wish I was younger still. I don’t want to grow up. I do, because of the endless possibilities, but I can’t imagine me, the real me, in those possibilities. It seems so far away that any thoughts I have turn to little fantasies, and everything I say I wouldn’t really say. That’s the person I’m trying to be, the person in those fantasies. You’re ideal character may change; I may _____ in some of the ways I want to be, but keep those goals, and strive always to reach them. I’ll try to get in the habit now and make it easier for you.
I’m learning, ever learning. What knowledge do you hold in store for me? There is nothing so alluring as the beckon of the unknown, the wonder of places never to be reached but with time. Will you look back at me with…with what? Pity, scorn and contempt, or sorrow and wistfulness? How fare thee, compared to me? I live a simple life, yet even within its simplicity I feel pain and joy. How much more real are those emotions to you? What joys and trials, secrets do you carry in the memory only you can have? The memory I will someday have!
Just think, you’re old enough to be married, and have children. Does that seem like nothing to you, as you go through the gradual shift from girlhood to womanhood, swept up in life and not noticing the change a bit, nothing except normal life? What profession are you in? Isn’t it funny how my _____ could change so much over the years? Never stop changing. It’s ever a constant battle.
What’s more important, are you happy? Whatever life you’ve chosen, are you glad for the choice? I am just coming into the church now. Will you hop back out of it? I hope not. To know that I’m holding out against some things (like drugs) that I don’t want to do in the first place, but I could end up doing anyway, it seems a waste. If I’m going to live right now, I hope you don’t ruin that. Little though the pain may be, and greater though it could be if I gave in, I beg that you do not waste that pain. If you do, mock what I’m going through now and content only with your immediate happiness, know that you will forever be haunted with my long-forgotten memory.
Oh, but just to think of me in the future. How is your family? What friends have you made? What successes have you felt, and what failures? To think of how I will feel reading this (if indeed I live to read it). You have all the answers, though not to your future. Know that I am envying you for the knowledge you hold. Yet I fear how I may turn out. Dispel that fear; make me proud.
It’s funny, the many different roads to trod. Maybe not funny, interesting. So many different ways to go. What will you do with your life? All I can say is I wish you good luck, and the best wishes from one who cares most. Isn’t it funny, that those you love the most you cannot show your love to? I thought of that in the shower, thinking of nature not people, and though I don’t have much experience with that, it seems true with people.
What fantasies do you hold, what books do you cherish? Do write back, though by that time, I’ll not need the letter. I only skimmed the surface of things I wanted to dive in, but for now this will have to do. And know that many more letters are coming from me. Whatever your future, it will not be dull. I’ll keep you stocked with things to read.
So farewell this night, and know that I am putting my faith in you…and the Lord. I’m watching you! Please, erase my fears through the years. Goodbye then, ‘till I see you again, and always know that I love you.
Your loving self



January 1, 2007
Provo, Utah
Age 24

Dear -----,
You delight me with your letter, and I’m happy to hear your thoughts on life and growing older. I was slightly fearful of what the long-awaited letter would contain, as thoughts of an immature 14 year old with silly ideas and dreams kept popping up in my head. I find myself pleasantly mistaken, however, and think you are more thoughtful than I had anticipated. Of course I will answer you, the best that I can, though a lot has happened through the years. Tonight I am well, having spent a very enjoyable Sabbath with friends/less than acquaintances, and with myself. It is quite a wintry day, and hasn’t seemed a bit like summer for a while. Looking out over the Salt Lake Valley today, I thought the world seemed a perfect picture of winter, and sleepy towns, and thought for some reason of a Charles Dickens novel, like I always do, though I defy myself or anyone else to show me what novel depicts such a scene. Tonight I am sitting alone in my apartment in Provo, Utah, celebrating the New Year by thinking about old years and the things I want to accomplish in the new one. I will start school at BYU in a week, with one year left until I graduate. That has taken awhile, but like you said, the future holds a lot of unknowns. The time has gone by quickly, and then again it seems like I was never you, and have always been me. But then this me seems different than the me of a month ago, or two months, so I guess we really do always change.
I have made quite a list of New Year’s resolutions this year. As always, some about health and how this year is the year I’m getting into shape, I’m eating healthy, I’m exercising, I’ll be at my prime. I also made some very specific spiritual goals, because that is really the most important, and the easiest to let slip. The whole theme for the New Year is health: spiritual health, physical health, mental health. There’s nothing making me sick but myself, and the way I react to the forces around me. So it’s time to take charge, to stop seeking for medicine or a different environment as though that were the cure, and to make those changes in my life that will bring me health and keep me healthy. I don’t think I ever have fulfilled resolutions that I made, so it seems a fruitless effort. But still I try. You know, I can’t remember what you’re ideal image for us is, so I don’t know if I’m any closer or not. I imagine not. I’m so far away from my ideal person that I can hardly believe I’m close to yours. I struggle with the same things I think I’ve been struggling with since junior high. I may be better at seeing my weaknesses though. Or at least some of the favorites. I guess there are always more, hiding away, that I can’t even deal with yet.
I remember that fear. I remember specifically one day, thinking about drugs, wearing my DARE shirt and having this unexplainable fear of becoming some person I didn’t want to be, doing those things I knew I shouldn’t do. I had no intention at that time in getting involved in any of it, so I wonder now why I should have been afraid, why I would have worried about myself. And I can’t explain now why those things did become a problem, and where I went, the me who knew it was wrong. I think I didn’t realize at the time the power I had over my own life; I was too used to letting others run it for me. You did have a problem with that, for a long time. You also had a problem with dramatic writing, so it would seem. I think you were a bit too influenced by the books you were reading at the time, so I have to laugh at some of your phrases and fancy ideas. But secretly I like them too.
My sorrows and joys? There have been so many of them. You don’t know it, but in a couple of months you’ll find out that you’re moving to California. You’ll be there throughout high school, and you’re not going to like it. Your testimony will grow, and be tested by having to stand alone in your beliefs, with no more friends to rely on to take you to church. But somehow you’ll stay strong. I don’t know why now, looking back on it. You shouldn’t have had a chance. But it’s the one thing you’ll hold on to those three years of high school. You’ll go to church every Sunday, with mom for a while, then by yourself the rest of the time. You’ll wake mom or dad up everyday to take you to seminary, where you’ll feel awkward and out of place with all the Mormon kids. You’ll feel out of place through all of high school, not knowing how to be friends with “Mormons,” but not wanting to get back into the old crowd from before. But you will make a couple of really good friends that teach you a lot and allow you to be yourself, something very important to you. You’ll grow closer to your family, closer than you could have imagined, but it will make their choices even harder for you to deal with. Eventually you’ll grow hardened and stop trying to think what will happen to them, you’ll stop caring if they’re not “churchy,” as long as you enjoy time together. But you’ll also lose your faith that anything can change. You’ll find joy in nature, trips to the mountains and the river, trips to grandpas up in the woods. You’ll enjoy new hobbies and interests. And then you’ll leave home forever, knowing very well that once you move out you can never really move back in; things will be different. You’re not quite ready for that change, and miss home for a long time. But things get better. At college, you make mistakes. You focus on things other than school like a typical freshman, stay up way too late every night and sleep through all of your classes. You deal with betrayal, issues those you love are dealing with, finding a major and path for life, and overcoming this thought that everyone notices what you do and judges you for it. I think that’s the biggest lesson you learned at college: that no one cares about you nearly as much as you do. That no one notices what you do or thinks very long about anything you said. It’s a very liberating realization. There are so many more…falling in love, going on a mission, learning new things and seeing new places, but those I’ll have to leave for you to discover. They’re both too painful and too beautiful to describe here.
One thing I can say is that not for an instant do I want to be younger, or even to be you again. I’ve made so many mistakes; done things I regret, missed opportunities and made a fool of myself time and again. But it’s all necessary in order to learn, to grow. I’ve done things that I hate; I’ve seen things that I’d give anything to be blind to…except that that would take away the knowledge that I treasure, that would make me blind again to a truth that exists, and leave me vulnerable to discover it all over again. I am only me because of the things I’ve learned; the things I’ve seen and the things I’ve done. I know what I know through those experiences. I would never want to go back to being a child, to have to face the acquisition of that knowledge yet again in all its heartache and pain. I sometimes wish I could go back for the innocence, but the challenge now is to find that innocence again, despite what I’ve done or witnessed. I have to believe that’s possible, or I don’t know what the point is.
It is hard to think of certain things and believe that they will ever happen to me. Marriage is as far away as it ever was, and I can’t even fathom what people are thinking or feeling when they do it. Going through the temple, however, was another one of those unfathomable things that I thought would happen someday, but it seemed so unreal, and now I’ve been endowed for almost two and half years. So those things come, and we feel unprepared for them, and it doesn’t seem real when it happens, not until we look back and remember how odd it seemed, and how natural it is now. I think you think too much about the future, about those fantasies and dreams of events so far down the road. That’s one of the New Year goals-no more daydreaming, no more imagining. You’ve lived your life feeling like you could be happy and fulfilled when certain things happened, missing out on the amazing things happening to you in that very moment. Some of those dreams will never come true, and for those that do, when they come you’ll have plenty of time to think of them. Live in the present, and enjoy each day as it comes. That’s the advice I have for you, or really for myself, because it’s something that I struggle with still. The future does beckon me, and I struggle to see through the clouds at what the path of life has ahead, just around that next bend in the road. Or river. I like river better. I’ve been frustrated lately that I didn’t know, didn’t even know what I wanted to do with my life, to help the world. Goals are good, and dreams worth fighting for, but sometimes more knowledge, more insight is needed. I know that there is a path; I know that God guides it, so I’m trying to have faith and enjoy the thrill of not knowing what life has in store for me.
I am old enough to be married, and not. I could have lots of kids by now, but don’t. That’s a stage of womanhood I still haven’t reached, and I don’t think all changes are gradual. Many are, as every day a new thought and a new idea influences who we are. But then there are big changes too, memorable moments where even if we didn’t all of a sudden change, we all of a sudden realized we’d been changing for months and were now almost completely different.
Am I happy? Yes. And no. But mostly yes. And that’s the goal for this year; learning to be happy all the time, learning that life is what I make it, and that I am responsible for it. I am incredibly blessed. Sometimes it seems if I learn of others who are struggling, who are suffering, who have so little, I would be happier, knowing all that I have and the opportunities given to me. But mostly it just makes me sadder, learning of the pain in the world. Because I don’t think it’s fair. Granted, when something bad happens to me, it’s not “fair”. But then something bad happens to someone else, or someone’s whole life is bad, or people are sick and dying and starving and suffering for no reason other than where they were raised, what country they were in, or who they’re parents were. It doesn’t make me happy, thinking my life is so much better than theirs. It makes me grateful, yes. And it makes me want to take action, do something to help, give them some of what I have had in abundance. The hardest thing for me to deal with is seeing others in pain and not being able to help, listening to someone’s sorrow and not knowing what to say or not understanding. We really like to understand, you and I, and when we don’t, sometimes we resent others. Sometimes we work to gain understanding.
Happy, yes. Happy that I am in the church; I’m still in the church. Since you made that ever so hard decision years ago, I think you’ve very rarely doubted it. Never through high school, which is when your testimony was the weakest, your experiences with God the fewest, so it is surprising to me how stubborn you were about it. At BYU it was an adjustment to define your values and figure out just what you believed in. At home, you took what you were told at church and you lived it. At school, you were surrounded by members of the church, who had all heard the same council, and chose to live it differently, so you had to adjust. But you did. Then you went on a mission, and while it was challenging at first, the miracles you saw and the personal experiences you had sealed your faith, and you thought you would never falter. But coming home. That was probably the hardest thing we’ve done yet. I’m sorry for you, having to go through that. Of anything I could tell you, I would say “Stay there! Don’t leave those people, that country, or the absolute purpose you had in life.” It’s easy for things to seem meaningless after that; your spirituality affected the well being of many people that you loved more than you’ve ever loved, so you fought for that with everything that you had. At home, it’s hard to see yourself as that important, hard to see what exactly it is you’re fighting for. So probably your biggest time of doubt has been this last year, knowing what you need to do to stay spiritually strong, but for some reason hesitating to do it. It’s almost like it’s painful to get that close to God again, like there’s a sting you haven’t dealt with yet. But this new year will see to that. We know what’s true, and we know what we need to do, and we’ll do it. Just lend me some of that stubborn resolve, if you can, and help me remember how strong we can be.
Hilarious that you specifically mentioned drugs as one of those things we needed to stay strong about, and something you were “missing out on.” Luckily the move put an end to that and all the other temptations you faced. I’m sorry it was so painful for you to be left out, but I know it strengthened you and helped you stay firm with so many other things.
The family is well. Friends, we have made many. So many. So many good people, so many “kindred spirits.” You really do like people, for having pretended to be afraid of them for so long, and at BYU there are so many with similar views and morals. And so many with crazy ideas and very different morals. But they all enrich and enliven. As to successes and failures, again too many to mention. There have been many. I feel this warm, happy sense of memory as I read your letter and think of the answers to your questions. There have been so many things, most of them forgotten, the others on the edge of my perceptions, only as much as they’ve impacted my life in some way. But all of them equaling me. And none of them helping me with my future, with my road. How very perceptive of you, to think of me, and how I would still be gazing into the future with awe and excitement. No, there are no answers to my future, not yet. But there will be. And one day I’ll be an old grandma, sitting in a rocker, thinking over her life, and I think whatever happened, she’ll have no regrets. Except maybe one or two ridiculous rhymes thrown in to a letter written to herself, rhymes she knew were stupid even as she wrote them. :) Hopefully she will have made the most out of everyday, and learned to accept whatever life brought her way instead of expecting things and fighting disappointment when they didn’t happen. I hope she seized each moment and did the things she wanted to do, made her dreams come true-the ones she could- and replaced the ones that died with time. I guess we’ll have to wait and see, until another letter comes to fill us in. Thanks for the time to reflect and appreciate all that life has brought. Thanks for the hard work building the foundation of the person we will become. I remain,Your loving self :)

Seeking Freedom

Autobiography in 5 short chapters

by Porta Nelson

1.

I walk down the street.

There is a deep hole in the sidewalk.

I fall in.

I am lost...I am helpless.

It takes forever to find a way out. It isn't my fault.

2.

I walk down the same street.

There is a deep hole in the sidewalk.

I pretend I don't see it.

I fall in again.

I can't believe I am in the same place.

But it isn't my fault.

It still takes a long time to get out.

3.

I walk down the same street.

There is a deep hole in the sidewalk.

I see it there.

I still fall in-it's a habit.

My eyes are open.

I know where I am.

It is my fault.

I get out immediately.

4.

I walk down the same street.

There is a deep hole in the sidewalk.

I walk around it.

5.

I walk down another street.

My Name

So I got the name "Dances Alone" when I was a missionary. There's not really an interesting story behind it; I just thought I'd explain. I love to dance. I have no training at all. When I was younger I was into power tumbling mostly, and made fun of most forms of dancing, although secretly I always wanted to do it. I loved figure skating because it was like the skaters could fly over that ice and express things that you just can't walking around. I wanted to find that way to express myself. So growing up the only form of dancing I did was a made up something I like to call "bag dancing." I would jump on my trampoline with a plastic grocery bag and swirl it around my head or jump over it or anything else I could think of. This was my expression.

Well, when I got to college I had a friend that introduced me to new types of dancing, and helped me to see that it wasn't as stupid as I thought. We took a modern dance class together, and that was the start of it all. I loved modern dance and decided I needed to expand my horizons. Since that day I've taken a couple modern dance classes, Polynesian, social, belly dance, and finally world dance. I love folk dancing. I still remember the dances I learned in class three years ago...because I still do them by myself at home. Well, all of these classes I took before my mission, and sometimes on my mission I would try to remember the folk dances I'd learned. The problem is your not supposed to dance on your mission. I think it was okay, and actually got permission from the president to teach some dances to the youth, so I think I was fine. But all of my companions and the elders around me knew that I loved to dance.

So one day my companion and I were in a correlation meeting, I think. A particularly boring meeting, where mostly we didn't need to listen when other people were talking. So we thought to spice things up a bit, we'd make up some names for ourselves. We had four names: a pioneer name, an old fashioned name, a cowboy name, and of course a native american name. I was Bathsheeba, Pearl, I can't remember the cowboy name, and my companion came up with the ever so clever "dances alone," for my Indian name, knowing I loved dancing and also couldn't dance with anyone as a missionary. And it stuck. My companions native american name was "Mighty Spear Chucker," while an elder thrilled us all with his name "Runs from Cats." And that's the story. Awesome.

As a side note, I've made a horrible, life-altering discovery recently. My couch is way more comfortable than my bed. I was sick over the weekend and spent the last couple of days on the couch. I mean entire days. And all that time was spent in very restful, comfortable bliss. Except for the being sick. Well, two nights ago I crawled into bed, hoping for a refreshing nights sleep before I had to go back to school, and you know what? I was miserable. My feet were cold and hanging off the edge of the bed, my neck hurt from my uncomfortable pillow, and I laid there for two hours without the remotest sensation of falling asleep. So I got up and went to my trusted couch seeking slumber. As soon as I laid down, warm and cozy, I realized this was a problem. I'd never doubted my bed before. I've slept on some uncomfortable beds, but I just kind of took it in stride. This time I don't know if I can forget. Last night I thought I'd give the bed another try, and it just wasn't the same. It's changed to me. Too short, too stiff, cold and unfriendly, I'm afraid there's no turning back.

Third Times a Charm

I have something called a "storykeeper." I got it at a job I once had, an amazing job that asked me to look inside and find out who I am, as well as helping others do the same. In the front page of this storykeeper is a little introduction-poem thing, and underneath it I wrote:

"Everyone has a story. I need to remember that, in all my dealings with men, and know their story is as important as mine.
When I realize my story is worth telling, I am fulfilled. It's crucial that everyone realize the same thing-that they have a story worth telling."

So I've started this blog twice now; once technical difficulties ended its short life, the other I killed myself from fear and misdirected energy. But somehow I can't leave it alone; the idea is too appealing to me now. So here's one more shot to make it what I want, one more attempt after learning from previous mistakes. That's what it's all about anyway, right?