The Burning

I had an amazing experience. I remember that experience. And I still fall short of the ultimate goal of exhilaration, peace, and okay-ness at any time. Brief glimpses of not okay-ness sneak in. So last night my two good friends, Lindsey and Jackie, came with me for a symbolic burning of the spaghetti box my spoon chimes came in on my birthday. Somewhat fitting that it was on his birthday. We took our ipods, the box and a lighter, and Jackie's car, and headed out to the parking lot for our night of revelry.

Lindsey looking appropriately angry.

Jackie's car also showing awesome angry squiggles.

The darn box wouldn't ignite, so we had to bring in extra kindling in the form of newspaper. I guess you could say the many attempts were also symbolic of my several attempts to cut this out of my life.

Success!!

And it was gone. We switched from angry music to liberated music. Freedom. Then we just listened to any old music, as loud as we could, and danced around heartily for half an hour. Circling, twirling, grooving, jumping, leaping, I felt like a little kid and it was great! Thank you friends. Thank you burning, purging, freeing.

I love cats

Especially this one.

What Happened

I have had an experience, and I think it needs to be recorded, because I think there's something here. I'm posting it so those following my saga can know where I stand. So there was a boy that I really liked. While the thought of anything happening started out not only ridiculous and impossible, but also probably undesirable, the more I was around him, learned about him, and the more interested he seemed in me, the more I allowed myself to imagine and hope it could go somewhere.

Key word. Imagine. And once I thought there really was possibility, I gave my imagination free reign. And just like it always does, it created a destiny, a happy ending everything in my life had been pointing to. All the things about me that I thought he'd like became reasons we were perfect for each other. How absurd! And as I have learned, I created an identity for myself based on what I thought he'd think of things, focused my effort and attention on it, and simultaneously lost myself yet again. I sort of realized it was happening, but justified it, because it was only the "not knowing" stage that led to anxiety and confusion. Once we were happily settled together, I would be at peace again.

Coming, as it did, after a long, desperate attempt to hold on to something that was never real and that I honestly never wanted but convinced myself I did, this chance was my salvation. Everything I'd ever wanted-things I'd given up as nice but unnecessary-neatly packaged in one, beautiful person. This was hope when I'd given up hoping; a rescue to the life of settling I had resigned myself to. So here was my salvation, and I thought it so good that I was dreaming again, hoping again.

Well, I continued to dream and to hope for five months. Enough at the beginning to talk through the lessening contact, to explain it on some factor or other. Five months. Wow. But I told him how I felt, and knowing it, he would certainly tell me if we weren't headed there, right? If he was backtracking? 3 months after I told him, and with no positive contact, no satisfying meeting, it was finally time to face facts. Oh, but letting go is so damn hard. The only thing harder, for me, is not knowing. Knowledge is everything to me-the problem, at times, when I just want to know what time is needed to show.

I emailed him, asking him to just let me know it was over. He emailed me back without doing so, though only a frenzied mind like mine would have gathered hope from what he said. I told myself I was moving on, but at the same time knew I wasn't. I prayed and asked for a sign, to know it was gone, I should just move on, because without some definite sign I was never going to be able to, and if there was something I was doing wrong, something I could change to make it work-anything I could do-I would do it.

Thankfully, I got my sign. A strange turn of events and, more importantly, miscommunication, led to my sitting at a little table at a cute Italian restaurant, on a date with the guys cousin, while he and his date sent me into one of the most severe shocks of my life.

This was hell. Hell to see, not some awkwardly arranged date, but his girlfriend, just as aware of the situation as me and him. Hell to try to make excuses about why I couldn't eat the salad I mock girls for getting. Hell to want to catch every move the couple made, to read the signs of their movements, all the while avoiding looking at him and pretending to be enthralled with his cousin, who's never really understood me or been understood by me. All the while trying to act normal, to keep breathing, to somehow drink enough water to stop my mouth from drying out altogether. Hell trying to quench the flames engulfing me, inside and out. My pride, my hope, my love, my misconceptions, my imaginings, my trust, my understanding of him and his situation, all swiftly destroyed in the flames burning my soul.

Yes dramatic, as dramatic as I can make it, because it was awful. I was giddy with the shock of it-blind to everything but the memory, and the die hard effort to block the memory out. I ranted and raved to friends and family, tears, anger, so much anger. The desire to never, ever see him again. To cut all connection. To send the parting words "fuck you," and then forget him forever. I was hurt, astounded that he would put me in the situation rather than admitting something was amiss, or just making up a story. Completely dumbfounded why he wouldn't have just told me. After my email would have seemed an ideal time, but if not then, then at least a warning before I saw the together. No, that was cruelty and inconsiderateness to a degree I could not have expected, and had defended him against for months.

Yet there it was.

I couldn't eat. My stomach a constant knot, my mouth perpetually dry. A few moments of sadness, surrounded by hours of intense anger. I knew it'd be fine-give it time and I'll be all right, I always am. And the next time, someone who actually wants me.

Well, I had a neat moment, praying. A moment of repentance, where I realized I had turned from God, yet again put something else above Him, and until I figured it out, faith was not #1. Not only that, but I'd created this image, this bad girl persona. I am a chameleon. I change for people. Or I did.

I felt a great weight lifted. Lightness. Hope. Love. Another chance, a new beginning, one entered into hand in hand with my God and my support. It was lovely.

But my mind kept replaying what I'd say, the few direct, angry words I'd use to cuss him out if given the opportunity, though I wouldn't initiate it, because his opinion no longer mattered to me. I kept feeling sad, upset, most of all panicked. Oh my gosh, what now? All my former concerns about direction and purpose, overlooked while he was my direction and purpose, came crashing down on me. What now? And how to trust, how to love? Fear, so much fear.

I came home. I came home with the whole family, and felt happy. After my prayer the fire had stopped, and the shock was subsiding. I ate something. I laughed heartily with the fam., felt peace and love looking at the stars. Knew things would be okay. And still stayed up an hour while trying to fall asleep, thinking of the anger, the "what I'd say if I could."

Woke up the next morning alright. Didn't think I could eat for a while, found out I could. Revelled in the beauty of Idaho. Then went on a life-defining fishing trip with Shawn. And Chris. Up Home Canyon. Headed out to raucous conversation, and still the lingering thought that if he could hang out with the fam, he'd fit in so well; so funny, possibly the strongest reason I had for liking him was the assurance he'd get along so well with the family. So this weird desire for him to see us, to witness our conversations, persists though I try to banish it.

But as I sat on the rocks, the sun, listening to my brothers fish, and reading the book "The Power of Now," I really did find it. Peace, enlightenment, truth. I even read the chapter on relationships, and realized all that had been flawed, selfish, and needy in mine, recognized the dysfunction and theft that at some level I knew was happening but not deep enough to stop it. Realized not only that I needed to forgive him (not at some time in the future when the pain stopped, but now), but that I did forgive him. That I knew I could no longer send him an email that was childish, harsh and full of swear words. That I couldn't, and that I didn't need to. Realized that in that moment, I was fine. Not just fine, not just okay or surviving, but intensely peaceful, happy, and hopeful. And realized that if in that moment I could feel that way, then at any moment I could feel that way. Trying to see the future brings panic and hurt, reliving the past does the same, but this moment-I am in control. I'm not gonna write all the philosophies of the book. I'm just saying it changed me. I was free.

And though I did worry about falling back into old patterns, the old mindset taking over, fear and anger and pain creeping back in, they haven't. Occasionally that silly thought- "if he could see this" comes back-it's such a habit, a way I think. But it's quickly replaced.

I ate three meals today. (Written September 30) And I felt so light tonight. I went outside and danced-with energy from food and joy of spirit-and welcomed fall and October, and ran with the jumping dog. I made a fire, rolled in the grass with the dogs, watched a movie with attention riveted, snacked on candy, and had the realization that the anger and the mind-conversation have not come back. I'm not looking to the stars in desperation that the beauty will save me. I'm looking at them and seeing them, just as I saw the trees and the ripples-yes, damn it, the ripples!

Maybe its not all better yet. But I'm happy for them and even happier for me. Clarity, how I love thee.

Christmas in August

So I wrote this to put on my blog about a year and a half ago, and I don't know why I never did but when I found it and read it today I thought-this must go on. Not for anything I said, just get to the Bushisms. I can barely contain myself. Anyway, here is the old but still pertinent account:

Day 1: The Whim of a Hat

So Christmas has officially begun; finals are finally over and everyone’s traveling home for the holidays. Saturday morning I woke up way too early, after a couple of nights staying up way too late, and set off for home and family fun. The drive was nice, although I knew I should have been listening to Christmas music and I just couldn’t do it. There’s still too much emotional tension inside and I need the release certain music can give me. I made it home with little mishap. My mom was finishing the Christmas shopping, and my dad and brothers were out jeeping, so I enjoyed a hearty welcome from my dogs and cat. When the boys got home we immediately started abusing each other and calling each other names; I knew right away this would be a fun couple of days. After sitting around a bit and then dancing out all the held-up tension to some funky reggaeton music, I gathered everyone around and introduced them to my new favorite game: TransEuropa. It met with great success from everyone but me, because I’m actually getting tired of the game. They loved it, however, and the good times began.

After playing for a while we decided we needed food, and headed out to the famous “Dan’s Delicious Drive In” for some sustenance. We amused ourselves with mean stickers and arcade games until the food was ready, then joked heartily as we ate, about all kinds of inappropriate things. Joked quite loudly. At one point, after some rather obscene comments about farting and an even louder burp, my little brother looked at my dad and said, “Don’t look at me like I’m doing something wrong.” To which we all burst out laughing for ten minutes. The obsurdity of it, and even worse the fact that he was serious. And that’s my family. On the way back out to the car, my older brother broke off an icicle and tried to stick it down my shirt. I blocked once, but as I got in the car he successfully placed the icy sickle down my back, so I threw it at him. My other brother caught it and then stuffed it down my dad’s shirt. Upon which my dad began to cuss in what seemed a rather familiar way for him, but something I’d never heard before. His words, “I’ll kick you’re a** you sissy boy, you ain’t messin’ with no little girl now,” sent us all into stitches yet again. My dad meant what he said, though, and as we made it home, he grabbed an icicle and proceeded to forcibly manhandle my brother in an attempt to put it down his pants. He knew he only had one chance to get my brother back, so he gave a great effort and ended up giving my brother quite the surprise as suddenly someone was groping his butt. Sadly, my dad had the wrong brother, making the whole situation even more amusing. Man I love my family.

The laughing never stopped. I made Christmas goodies with my mom, ate way too many and became thoroughly sick, then went to see “Night at the Museum” at the tiny theater in town. Pretty funny. More funny watching us all jitter and dance in a line out of the theater after the movie, my dad trying to be some gangster rapper guy. When we got home, we didn’t know what to do, so I insisted we open a present for Christmas Eve’s eve. Only my little brother really felt like it though, so he opened the calendar I gave him of George W. Bushisms by Jacob Weisberg. My family has quite a strong dislike for our 43rd president, so we sat around and for about an hour and a half laughed until we could laugh no more at the ridiculous things our president has said. So that you can understand, I’ll put a couple of samples up.

“I’m hopeful. I know there is a lot of ambition in Washington, obviously. But I hope the ambitious realize that they are more likely to succeed with success as opposed to failure.”

“Free societies are hopeful societies. And free societies will be allies against these hateful few who have no conscience, who kill at the whim of a hat.” (The whim of a hat?)

“Our enemies are innovative and resourceful, and so are we. They never stop thinking about new ways to harm our country and our people, and neither do we.”

“Well, I think if you say you’re going to do something and don’t do it, that’s trustworthiness.”

“If this were a dictatorship, it would be a heck of a lot easier, just so long as I’m the dictator.” (This idea is really the root of my dislike for him)

“Rarely is the question asked: Is our children learning?”

“I’m honored to shake the hand of a brave Iraqi citizen who had his hand cut off by Saddam Hussein.”

“First, let me make it very clear, poor people aren’t necessarily killers. Just because you happen to be not rich doesn’t mean you’re willing to kill.”

“I know what I believe. I will continue to articulate what I believe, and what I believe-I belive what I believe is right.”

“The Bob Jones policy on interracial dating, I mean I spoke out on interracial dating. I spoke against that. I spoke out against interracial dating. I support the policy of interracial dating.”

“I understand small business growth. I was one.”

“See, in my line of work you got to keep repeating things over and over and over again for the truth to sink in, to kind of catapult the propaganda.”

“I think if you know what you believe, it makes it a lot easier to answer questions. I can’t answer your question.”

“I’m looking forward to a good night’s sleep on the soil of a friend,”

I could go on but I think I’m violating copy-right laws. We were dying.

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.