The saga continues. Or, Lesson learned

Well, something finally got through for me. Even after the disastrous results with my hair, I still hadn't learned my lesson. On Friday night I thought...I can fix this. I know I can fix this. I'll give it one more try and if that doesn't work, I'll go see someone to have it fixed. I had no intention of seeing someone. I went to the beauty store, asked for help, was directed away from what I was going to do and given other advice by one baffled by my hair, and also having her own hair issues. On top her hair looked a lovely brown; underneath, purple grey. So I wonder at my listening to her so faithfully and heading home excited to solve everything. I was even imagining myself calling everyone, telling them I'd done it, I'd make everything right. I'm so proud.

The dye was beautiful. This wonderful, purple-silver mixture. It ran out of my hair into the bathtub in such sparkles. I looked at my hair, excited and expectant, only to find it was dark brown, frazzled, and green/grey. It looked like the hair of a dead person. Charcoal is all I could think. And in that moment, I admitted defeat. Went to have it fixed by a professional. I spent so much money, just to have my hair the same dark brown but uglier and very damaged. Great.

This is it now, after she dyed it with a red brown dye. Red!!!! I've been trying to get rid of the red!! anyway, there it is. I threw away my gloves and vowed to never touch my own hair again. Not to be impulsive. not to pretend I know what I'm doing. Humility. Help-seeking. That's me.

This is my hair after I dyed it. You can't really see the hideousness, because you probably think its the lighting. Its not. That white overall tint is from my hair, not the wall.

But despite the ugly color, you know what I realized? I think I look better with dark hair! After all this, really? Leave it dark? I don't know. Ha! I don't know. But though this was stupid and at times I want to cry thinking about it, I just have to buck up and think-learning experience. Not that important. Hair and money, transitional things that don't matter. nothing to get down about. So I won't. But I will do things differently in the future.

James 1:8

"A double minded man is unstable in all his ways."

That about sums it up. I've been struggling lately. Well, for a long time, I guess, though it gets worse in stages and better at times, but overall a general downward trend that has of late worried me. I have doubted my beliefs and the way I live to an extent I never would have imagined possible. I can't say how it started exactly, though i wonder sometimes. I know a couple of really hard things happened, and I kind of questioned God a little bit. But it wasn't so much the questioning as the fact that during those times, the gospel hurt. I didn't want to read my scriptures or go to church, because somehow those things got wrapped up in the pain and became painful to me. So I read less, and I went to church a little less. Then I would have times of searching; I'd go seek answers, solace, comfort, alone where I could stare at the stars and commune. And I always felt answered. Loved. I felt God's presence and recommitted. Good waves, bad waves. Sometimes I think I would rebel, do something wrong, and then in attempting to justify it or rationalize it, I would turn away from God. Question why we have to live certain ways, and if I really believe I need to live this way. If I really believe it will make me happy.

A brief and silly example-when I was in junior high, my best friend and I wanted to start a band. I remember one day sitting on this bridge after school, planning out our future. We would move to Seattle, be in a band, spend our nights drinking and smoking and partying, jamming on stage, that whole "Rolling Stone" identity. I wanted that. Kind of.

But then another part of me was disappointed in that. And as I got into the church, gained the firstlings of a testimony, and decided to change my life, I remember the struggle to give that up. Specifically I remember sitting outside, looking in my kitchen window all lit up, and thinking-I want that. I want a family, I want a home, peace, stability, righteousness. (Not that my family was righteous, but you know. That's the mormon ideal). And I had to decide:which do I want more?

I chose the gospel. I chose the family life. And ever since I've been wanting that. I've been wanting a husband, and kids, and a home, and cozy Christmas' dancing around the tree in pajamas, etc. My testimony has grown since then. I had it tested many times, and I always stuck to my beliefs. In California, where I was just a big goob with no friends cause I was scared of the church kids (they used to judge me and I never could be friends with them), and avoiding the druggie types that I was naturally drawn to. Through college, with various temptations, tests, questions. During my mission, where I experienced miracles and unquestionable proof of God's existence. And even after, in my struggles, in my dealing with hard things, I stuck to my guns. And then, recently, as I get older and my dreams are just as far away as they ever were, and the allure of the world and certain pleasures it offers call, I looked back and wondered at that decision.

I'm ashamed, but I had this thought. I was looking through facebook, and some of my old junior high friends have befriended me. So I looked at their profiles, their lives, and honestly started crying. I'm such as selfish jerk. They're married! They all have like three kids, married, homes...they weren't good! They did the drugs, they had the sex! They rebelled, and they got what I want! Isn't this awful? But I just thought, why did I change? Why try to live right, to just be stuck old and alone, and now, at this stage of my life, wanting to join a band, travel, make music because its the only thing that fills my soul.

That was my battle, and I seriously started wondering. Maybe I should just go live that life. Maybe, deep down, I never completely gave it up. I don't believe that, even for a second, and yet here I am, back where I was, on the fence and trying to live a double life. Am I doing it for other people? I don't know. Is it my search for identity? Probably. I'm taking a developmental psychology class, and as I learn about identity development in adolescence, I think I never really developed mine. And now, as I struggle to find myself, I realize that the church was just inherently a part of this lack of person that I was, and I think that's why I'm questioning it. I'm questioning everything, trying to find what makes up me and what are elements I've adopted throughout the years because I was supposed to, or because it was cool.

What I want to get at before you worry too much about me is that I'm on an upward swing. As I questioned, I also realized that without a doubt I know the gospel is true. I've never heard the Josef Smith story without feeling it was true, even when I've listened through the ears of an incredulous investigator who didn't believe a word of it. I know I've been inspired, and I know Heavenly Father has talked to me. I know it! And as I've recommitted once again to read my scriptures every day (that's where it all falls apart-not reading), I've found an identity that I am comfortable with. Not a mindless follower, brainwashed into a belief I don't understand, but a girl, honestly trying to live right, to be kind, to love and serve and build, who needs the help of an understanding Father to teach me the right way.

So it's time to get off this fence. Even now, part of me is thinking...am I really ready to give this up? Am I really committed to living this way forever, no doubts, faithful and true, etc? And I hesitate, and I think I need some more time to think about it, to make sure I mean it, to stay on this fence a little longer. Do I think I can see better from up here? Looking at both sides? I don't know. I don't know. But I know James told me that I'm unstable, and will be until I pick one side or the other. Frustrating really, to travel on one side for so long, walking away from that darn fence, only to find at some point I circled back and made my way to that same fence again, only to climb aboard and wonder. But you know. Such is life.

"Resist the devil, and he will flee from you. Draw nigh to God, and he will draw nigh to you. cleanse your hands, ye sinners; and purify your hearts, ye double minded." James 4:7-8

I just wouldn't listen

Okay, so I know I've been a little extreme with my hair colors this year. I honestly don't think I've waited more than a month to dye my hair this whole year, which means a new color a month. That's not so bad, right? Well, lately, I've been feeling like I needed to get back to my roots (ha ha), go back to blond and show my true colors. Oh gosh, I can't stop. I just mean, it's been significant to me somehow to stop pretending to be someone else, and be me, and the hair was symbolic of that process/transformation. So I wanted to go blond, but somehow got roped into having it dyed darker than I've ever gone before on my own. That was a month ago, and after a month of feeling tricked and angered at my hair, I decided to do something about it.

You would think, dyeing my hair as often as I do, I would know a thing or two about it. Like how you can't really go blond from super dark brown. With mahogany. But really, was that knowledge likely to stop me? Especially with what I've come to accept is an addiction-a once the thought is in my head there's no turning back mentality. Nope.

I took this beautiful color, and with the help of my mother- who was equally clueless in this process, despite many years of hair coloring experience-we began to strip the color down.

We got to this point and realized we didn't know what the heck we were doing. I'd bought a colorzap kit at the beauty store, and we put it on, despite realizing within two seconds that there wouldn't be enough. And despite living in Montpelier, a city with no resources at all. So there I was, watching the color fade from some parts of my hair quite nicely.

We got online to see if we could maybe use some bleach at home to get the color out, or plain developer. And thus I saw the thousands of horror stories of people attempting to bleach their hair themselves. Stories of hair falling out, frizzing into nothingness from the burning, hair going all sorts of bizarre colors. Now I'd heard from many people that this was risky. Even Lindsey, a fellow hair-dying fiend, said she had hers professionally done when she went blond from red. Was that going to deter me though? No way! Not when it would mean waiting a while and paying money...(I think i paid the equivalent by the end).

Anyway, the result: spotted cheetah Shena. And so I would remain until the next day when we could bleach it again. Sidenote: despite having only two days at home I spent the bulk of this day bleaching my hair and then driving to Logan to buy more bleach for the next day. real stuff, from the beauty supply store. This was poor planning.

Here is another great shot of my color. My dad said he was pretty sure I've dyed it this color before; I'm thinkin not.

Not quite.

Another proof of my poor planning. I'd had this great idea that to feel more like a band, I was gonna sing and play the base in Rock Band. See, this works for real bands because they actually know the songs they're singing, and they know the guitar parts they're playing. When you don't know either the words, the melody, or the guitar, its a bit more tricky. I got through two songs this way, then went back to a one instrument style.

Ahh, the result of my second bleaching attempt. So it was supposed to all go white. We had some issues getting it on my head, so part had had bleach for like two hours, and the other part not as long, and we didn't know if we should leave it and risk my hair falling out, or rinse it and leave me spotted still. We eventually chose a partly spotted method in favor of keeping my hair. But seeing my white head and those white roots-freaked me out! Oh my gosh. At this point I thought we had really gotten in to something we should never have delved into. And I felt more firmly the need to get this situation under control so I would not have to dye it ever again.

Very stylish, no? This is pre-dyed hair.

dyed hair looked little different. I wanted to cry when we finally dyed it the blond, and it was this straw, reddish, hideous and completely fake blond color. I gave up at that point. Wore a hat and drove back to Provo. \

Where, the next day, I began thinking I couldn't live with it like that, and it was already so fried, maybe one last treatment wouldn't hurt that badly. So I bought an ash blond dye that would hopefully take out the red and be better. Usually these colors go so much darker, which is what I want, so the result is still not great, and not the darker I was expecting. But less red. Still red, still ugly, but less. And i guess what I'll have to have for a while.

The moral of the story is: when everyone is telling you something, and they could only be telling you it for you're own good, and not there's, listen to them. I do, however, have quite the experience now for other would-be bleachers who may need some help deciding what to do with their hair. So if you know anyone, send em my way.

Friends

Yesterday it rained a lot. It rained during the night, and around the time I went to work, 'bout 11:30, it started raining again. I thought I'd work a little and if it got to much, go home and finish the next day. I got soaking wet in the first half an hour, but then it started lessening and I figured I could finish. Right at the end of the rain, and the height of the mud, I went to get a meter at the far end of this gravel driveway. There's a mean dog out there, and a gate that is usually open. Yesterday it was closed, so I parked my car outside the gate and ran in to get the read. Then I ran out, got in my car, and attempted to turn it around. There was a little pull out that looked perfect for just such a maneuver.

What I hadn't counted on, however, was the mud. The road was lifted a bit above the rest of the fields, which means the turn-around point was on a bit of an incline, and after pulling forward a little bit I tried to back out and turn around, and found my car wouldn't move. Curses! How silly. So I went forward a bit more, thinking, perhaps, that if I got more momentum I could blast out of there. Well that was even more silly, and I just got more stuck. I had a moment of panic. Who can help me? I wondered. Smalls was gone to class in Salt Lake, and my dad and brothers were no where near. It was very ridiculous thinking, but for a moment I felt like I had no friends and nothing to do. Looking through my new, very small contact list in my new phone I felt like most of my friends have moved away and are nowhere near Provo now. But then I found lots who are here, and who I have counted on time and again to get me out of my silly pickles. I calmed down, asked Dan to help when he could, then went to work while I waited, confident that it'd all work out and we'd get my car out.

He came with smalls and it took two minutes to get the car out, less really if I hadn't been trying to get a picture with my phone (unsuccessful). Then they hopped back in Small's car and drove away, and I went back to work. What I wanted to stress here is how grateful I am for good friends. You're out there, my good friends, all over the world. Friends who listen to me when I need to talk, cheer me up when I need cheering, give me advice and perspective when I feel hopeless or in panic, find numbers for me to call when I'm locked out of my car, encourage me in whatever endeavours I'm undertaking, and push my car out of the mud when I'm silly enough to get it in. (Dan, I need to point out that I know the log doesn't go in front of the tire, I had it under the tires and it helped on one side, but the other kept slipping down, so then I tried it in front of that tire, and it did help, just not enough. I had moved that log around from side to side and tire to tire about ten times before I gave up, getting thoroughly muddy and disgruntled, and so I left it there in its seemingly useless place. But I just need you to know I'm not that much of a girl. I knew what I was doing. Sort of.)

I feel very blessed to know I have you. To know I can count on you, trust you to come to me. And I wanted to apologize for all of you I haven't been there for. To all of you I have let down. I know I have, and I'm sorry for not being as good of a friend. I hope I'm better in the future. I love you all and can't even express how glad I am to have you in my life. Thanks.

A peek

Ha. Written a couple years ago, just a ramble in my head at night.

Is it me? Can it be, deep inside, where the words can hide, where the thoughts align, the soul alive.

Try to speak, with the pieces, with the center, few can enter, to see the feelings, feel the soul, barely even I know.

When its quiet, when I lie awake at night, and try to think, try not to sink, but to hear the silent whispers of the heart.

Whats it say? Guide my way to the path, try not to laugh, I know its in me, go on and feel free to point me better than my soul.

Happiness from harmony, of you and me, of him and her, of body and soul, we work together, I work together, come and see the unity of a mind and heart at peace.

Peace you say, there's no real way to find the core, to fight the war inside.

But I say there is a way, when we stop resisting, give in to listening, open our ears and face our fears, to realize livings so much more, so much giving.

Not just happy or sad, but happy and sad, or hard and good, and if we'll just focus on our souls, not on living our roles, we'll hear the answers come from within.

I want one

So Friday afternoon I met up with Kyson to take him down to Green River, where we met up with Sara, Liz, Kaden, and Sadie. We all carpooled from there to Colordado for a wonderful trip of apple cider making, animal rumping, kid wrangling, and face stuffing. This isn't about the trip though; this is about my fear of the drive with Kason. An 8 year old boy. What in the world was I to do with him? What would he want to do? What was he interested in? How could I entertain him? Where should he sit? And could I listen to music? What kind of music? I was going bonkers.

So after some helpful advice from Lizi about putting Kyson in the back seat, and after a trip to the grocery store to pick up the only form of entertainment I know of that works for all ages-food-I felt a little more prepared. I can handle this. I can do this. I'm 27 years old for petes sake. You know? I was feeling confident, and once I met him and his dad, saw the computer his dad was giving him to keep him occupied, I knew we'd survive.

And then. We headed out on the road, Kyson in the back, me driving so carefully, and I thought of my dad driving me down to the MTC. He said he felt so worried, like he had to be super careful because I was precious cargo (I'm sure I always am to him, just sayin') and he thought I needed extra protection of some sort. That's how I felt with Kyson. Like everything mattered and I needed to be so careful. And I felt this concern for him. It was weird. And I didn't even really talk to him, cause he had his computer and I really don't know how to be around kids, or what to say. But I was there, and he was there.

And then. I heard his little hands get into the bag of food I'd put on the back seat. Something odd happened, some weird joy deep in my heart filled me as I heard his little crunch of the dorito. I have never in my life enjoyed sharing food so much. I usually love food. I get a little protective of my food. But this was different. This was for him, and it just swelled inside me to hear him eating it.

This sounds creepy, and all I can say is that biology is to blame here, and though I don't know what to do with kids, I want them. I want to care for a little person who depends on me, I want to experience that complete selfless giving. I want it all the more because it seems so far away and unlikely. But it was delightful to be around these little people for the weekend, to see their personalities and hear their perspectives. Maybe I just need more contact with kids.