All Is Not Lost

So I realized something about myself. I have this strange tendency to think that when something goes wrong, all is lost. Even when things just don't go quite right, or when they are different than I planned, its time to throw in the towel and call it quits. It's such a ridiculous weakness I have, this readiness to give in. The surprising part is that nothing horrible has ever happened; no one has died because I forgot to do something, or hated me for the rest of my life because I said something wrong...I have no reason to panic, break down, and give up. Yet I do it anyway.

I plan out my schedule for the day, and then something goes wrong. A person gets in the way of my timetable, and I treat them as obstacles keeping my perfect plan from unfolding. I'm in charge of something for church activities, and I don't know exactly what's expected of me, so I feel threatened, pressured, and rebellious that too much is demanded of me. Then I refuse to do anything and seek ways to blame others for my lack of action. Sometimes it's not even that something bad happens, it's just that I can't imagine what will happen; I'm in a new and frightening situation, and as I attempt to predict what this situation will be like, scenarios of failure play through my mind and I lose all enthusiasm or hope for the event.

So despite being an optimist, and being known, by those who don't know me, for being positive and upbeat all the time, I am more often than not looking at the worst side of things. I see why things will not be perfect; I see how things will fail. I judge others for falling short, and think somehow they've ruined everything. I judge myself even harsher, and think I'll never amount to anything, never get it right. I worry about everything. I worry that if I don't plan enough, things won't turn out right. I think through every step, every hour, sometimes every minute, to make sure I'm prepared for the situation and have done everything I should have done. As my roommate helped me see, this only makes me the more angry when things still don't work out. No amount of worrying and planning can stop accidents from occurring, or keep things from going wrong. Nothing can stop life from happening.

So I've decided it's time to stop worrying. It's time to get rid of the "doom and gloom" attitude I've become so familiar with. Things will go wrong. And they will turn out right. Every situation that I've thought was ruined, every activity gone wrong, has been fine. I go into things with heavy heart, shaking my head and seeking someone to blame, or someway that I could have prevented whatever bad thing happened, and I come out, light hearted, smiling, wondering how everything came off so well, and vowing not to panic the next time, to trust that all would be well. Things that should have been done will not be; people will not be called, preparations will not be taken, and everything will be fine. Life is not half as scary as I make it out to be in my head. So now the challenge. No more giving up. No more scowls and frustrated accusations. Deep breaths, acceptance, faith, and commitment to doing the best I can with what I've got. There is no hopeless situation; there is nothing broken beyond repair.

There is no end to this pointless post because I'm too lazy to think of anything.


But if I may, here are a couple of things that have made me overwhelmingly happy in the last couple of days-things I think about when I start to feel overwhelmed and hopeless. Things that really matter.

First, the ducks this morning. I walked up to campus on a beautiful, sunny, warm winter morning, when birds were chirping, the snow was melting, and little clumps of ducks were all over. One particular white duck wagged his little feather behind at me the whole time I was walking past. I had to wiggle mine back-how could I not? And then, to my delight, I saw something made from snow on the lawn...a snow duck! With exquisite detail and form, a pure white duck sat there on the snow. I took a picture with my phone and moved on.

Another delight was walking out my front door a day or two ago, and seeing tons of little quail prints in the snow, running across our front lawn. I could just imagine the little plumpies waggling across the yard, their feather bobs bouncing up and down. All I wanted more was to see a little whisk in the snow from one if their feather bobs.

I've always gotten a kind of thrill from being outside during the middle of the day. It stems back to my elementary school days, when I was always in school during the day, of course. The times when I stayed home from school, and saw my mom at home, or when she worked but would come home for lunch, I just dreamed of the day when I could be home during the middle of the day, or doing errands when others were at work. There's something so thrilling about it! So yesterday, when I walked down Center Street at lunchtime, I was honestly tingling. To see all those buildings, and know offices were inside, with people working, and people taking lunch, and I was there, standing outside watching it all...it's the weirdest thing but I love it. I'm seeking a profession where I can be out and about when others are at work.

There have been a couple rather large snowstorms recently, but twice they've come and gone briefly, right around sunset. During these storms, the sky was dark and the world covered in snow, but as I looked to the west, the sky cleared, the sun shone, and a sort of light burst happened that filled me with such awe and hope and joy. I love sun shining through clouds when it rains, and it turns out that its just as magnificent when it snows.

Adding to that, the thought of spring has made me happier than a lot of things. This weather is crazy, snowing one day, freezing another, and warm and sunny the next. Well each time the snow melts, and little patches of grass start to show, I feel energized and ecstatic. I feel like a kid again, that can't wait to get outside and play. Today I think I even smelt "a bit of earth."

And lastly, the spaghetti. Making spaghetti with my roommate, seeing her throw it at the wall, and drag little noodles through the hot water to get them soft enough to eat...really those noodles look so silly and wonderful floating through the water. And I've always loved the word noodle.

The end. But I'm on the lookout for more such wonderful simplicities.

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.