Washington's Wharf

Today we returned to a haunt of my childhood: George Washington's Mount Vernon Estate.   As we trekked along the winding gravel paths leading us from Washington's mansion to the slave quarters and the dock on the Potomac river, Mom described forgotten memories from the time when we lived in the neighboring town of Alexandria. The Potomac took my breath away.  It was silent and gray and still in the soft December sun.

Nenna

I nicknamed my daughter when I was ten years old.

She is my earliest memory of a time when I wrote for someone else, simply because I wanted to. Although she was—and continues to be—only a dream, I wrote to her in a silky smooth journal with all of the earnest, motherly love my precocious heart could muster.

 I never actually intended to name my daughter Nenna. Rather, I envisioned that it would be a mysterious, affectionate nickname that she would never really understand until her tenth birthday when I gave her the diary. Flipping through the pages of the lavender spiral-bound notebook, she would find quotes, magazine clippings, recipes, and pieces of advice from her ten year-old mother, all addressed to “Dearest Nenna."

This was the first time that I recognized the ability of writing to transcend time. It didn’t matter that I was only ten years old; it didn’t matter that I wouldn’t have a daughter for years and years. It never occurred to me that my advice might seem outdated and juvenile, or even humorous. I wrote for myself, what I wished I could hear from the past.

I wrote for my daughter, a more distant piece of me, imagining the echoes of my past colliding with the future.

"My darling girl,

When are you going to realize that being normal is not necessarily a virtue? It rather denotes a lack of courage."

--Alice Hoffman
 
Taken from Wily Brunette

Unfamiliar Familiarity

There is something strange about coming home after four months.  It's unfamiliar familiarity.

You step through the threshold and the aroma of the house floods your nose, strong enough to evoke emotion-memories, subtle enough to prevent you from ever being able to recall it anywhere else.

You have to re-adjust your habits: simple motions and repetitive actions.  The microwave is too high, the counters are too low.  You grope around in the dark, swatting at the walls, trying to remember where the light switch is. Your foot rises and falls on level ground--you imagined an extra stair.

As I return to old places, detailed memories I'd let go flood back.  Stepping into my room, I'm reminded of the new-house smell that marked my first months in West Virginia.  The smell of paint and new carpet, blended with the memory of the music from my alarm clock, wearily sounding the return of another 5 am morning.  And other vague sensory details associated with the swollen heart and twisted gut I thought would never fade. 

My room heater hums and I think of lying on the floor, soaking in the heat like a reptile, phone practically melded to my ear, mouth spewing nothing and everything. Which reminds me of my first winter here: the endless snow days, trudging through a forest knee-deep in snow, sledding and eating pumpkin waffles with good friends. Beauty that I didn't fully see until it had passed me by.

 Friends come and go.  Years melt together.  A little pain here, a lot of joy there.

Time, rolling forward, never stopping before the unfamiliar becomes the familiar, and the familiar becomes the unfamiliar again.

Sometimes

Sometimes you leave seven page papers to the day before, relying on your ability to write like a madman under extreme deadlines. . .
It's finals season.
Sometimes you live off of frozen GoGurts like you're ten again. . .
It's called a healthy coping strategy.
Sometimes you don't get the job you wanted for external reasons. . .
And sometimes it's because of internal ones.
Sometimes it doesn't snow in December, and in fact, feels a whole lot more like a balmy October. . .
But you grin and bear it because it's prime running weather.
Sometimes you realize that what you thought was the worst place in the world. . .
Is actually beginning to feel like home.
Sometimes you're impressed by how much you've changed over the year. . .
Until you realize that the same things still make you laugh and cry.
Sometimes the best thing in the world is a hot shower. . .
With December's playlist blasting.

Breakdown

Well, here it is, the last two weeks of the semester have arrived!  These past few months have just flown by and I barely know where the time has gone.  It feels oh so good to see the assignments on my various syllabuses get checked off one-by-one.  I'm going to push through two more weeks of partying and studying (er--sorry, other way around, study then party), and then, as my good friend Jack Johnson relates, I'll be about ready to breakdown. Too bad I can't just surf and beach-bum my cares away.  I can't tell you how much I've missed my queen-sized bed though.  It'll be nice to settle between my fifteen pillows, and my huge, heavy comforter, as the snow drifts between the West Virginia hills.  And maybe go to sleep before 2:00 am?  Nahh, probably not.


(Wish I took this--photo courtesy of templesquarehospitality.com)

This Friday some friends and I went to the Gateway, walked around Temple Square and checked out the lights, and even took a trip down memory lane as we drove through my old neighborhood.  This morning I was back in Salt Lake with a fellow Canadian to listen to Music and the Spoken Word in the Conference Center.  It was such a nice way to usher in the Christmas season!  I can hardly believe it's here. Between Relient K Christmas albums, and the Mormon Tabernacle Choir, I'm starting to get into the spirit of things.

Here's a blurb from the spoken word portion of Music and the Spoken Word that I enjoyed:

"Observe any family or neighborhood and you will find that the most precious moments usually take place during day-to-day living: a sister helps her younger siblings with homework, a mother tenderly cares for a sick child, a father plays catch with his son, a widow invites friends to her home, a neighbor shovels the snow, a teacher explains a concept at a child's desk.  These events are not to be ignored or diminished just because they seem small or ordinary. They are meaningful in the most profound way, yet they are cloaked in the commonplace, the everyday. . . We may not hear angels sing or see a new star in the heavens, but we can sense in our souls when something significant is happening. When we do, we will find that these are not ordinary events at all."

Good luck with finals and wrapping up school, everyone!  West Virginia, I'll see you soon.

Rumour Has It

. . . that this is the catchiest thing to come off of Glee thus far.
Repeat. Repeat. Repeat.

Doesn't the title just inspire you to start using British spelling?
"Rumour" sounds so much more elegant and mysterious than plain old "rumor". And can't you see yourself wearing a floor-length gown to the "theatre," as opposed to the "theater" where you might spend a dollar to see a film? Those English know what they're doing with their English.

As far as Adele goes, here is another cover that manages to do her justice:

The world needs more curvy, soulful, talented artists worth replicating. Adele, I'm a fan.

Fournier

Photo cred: wiki music


Just think everyone should know about this guy. Because he's been in my ear a lot lately.



Sean Fournier.   Download for free right here. 

Personality, Professors & November's Playlist

Forever 21 shirt + Pigtails = Halloween costume?

Yesterday I took the Myers-Briggs test for kicks. My results seemed surprisingly accurate:

E- Extroversion
N- Intuition
F- Feeling
P-Perceiving

In other words, not a single letter from the concrete, logical, and grounded side.   Oh dear.  So here it is, according to Myers-Briggs I'm:

Warmly enthusiastic and imaginative. I see life as full of possibilities. Make connections between events and information very quickly, and confidently proceed based on the patterns seen. Want a lot of affirmation from others, and readily give appreciation and support. I'm spontaneous and flexible, often relying on the ability to improvise and my verbal fluency.

I was delighted to discover that my writing professor and I have the same letter combination.  Have I mentioned that I adore her?  She's the kind of person who bakes cookies and brings them to class, who meets with you to go over your paper a second time, who tells funny stories about her mission and shares inspiring, thought-provoking personal experiences that are somehow completely relevant to different writing concepts we are discussing.  She's the kind of person who brings up pictures of her kids and husband, sighs deeply, and says

"Oh you guys, this is what you have to look forward to.  You have no idea how much joy is waiting for you."

I love that.

I love how she teaches for us and not just to us. She doesn't teach down to us, and for that I respect her so much.  Our class is only about twenty people strong so we've become pretty close-knit this semester. We've had some incredible in-class discussions and I've made some friends I know I'll be keeping around.

In a different vein, November's been an excellent month for music.  My tastes have been more acoustic, I've just been flowing with the cozy, chill fall vibe.  I decided that I had a quintessential fall moment which I described in a recent missionary letter:

I am curled up on the living room couch, listening to some John Mayer classics and taking in the smell of delicious pumpkin chocolate chip cookies baking in the oven.  When I glance up,the mountains outside the window fill up my view. They have a reddish hue from all of the changing tree colors, but no snow just quite yet. The trees closest to our apartment are bright yellow tinged in brown, but most of the leaves have fallen. The sky is bright blue with no clouds to be seen. It’s a perfect fall day in Provo.

I think Jack Johnson and John Mayer are pretty interchangeable in that first sentence.  They're the sound of deep, slow, rich happiness.

So without further ado, November's playlist (containing much less of the aforementioned artists, but some good stuff nonetheless).

Life Slice

Right now I'm sitting in the Cougareat, sipping a small, caffeine-free cup of Diet Coke. Basically it's doing nothing for me, but I'm hoping the taste will trick my body into revving up my energy. Placebo effect, eh?
I'm voraciously slurping--in the most refined manner possible--the last contents of the cup now, because I just took a gigantic bite of my hot and spicy chicken and rice bowl from Teriyaki Stix.  They weren't lying about the hot and spicy.  I've decided that the chicken and rice combo, or maybe just rice, is one of my go-to comfort foods.  I feel like a list of said food is in order:

Paige's Comfort Food List
Peanut Butter
PB&J
Hot bread (tortillas, freshly homemade bread, pitas)
Burritos
Peach Popsicles
Orange Juice
Hot Chocolate
Grapefruit
Apples
Chocolate chips
Pretzels
Hot applesauce with cinnamon
Chicken and rice


Could be a lot worse, eh?  (Please note my Canadian-ness in using "eh?" twice in the same blog post.)
Buy me any of these things and I'm yours forever.  Or, at least a week.

The sounds of the food court are washing over me, a blur of feminine giggles and masculine guffaws and side-conversations. I'm awkwardly sitting directly in front of someone I recognize from high school and I'm trying not to make eye contact or stare.  My lips are still burning from the chicken.  Food and drink gone, I'm trying to find an excuse not to leave this table before I lock myself away in the depths of the Harold B. Lee Library, never to surface until my research paper is complete.

I mean it this time.

Right now, as I'm sitting here, I'm missing people.  I miss my family, I miss my friends away at college, I miss my friends away on missions.  I'm missing the depth of my friendship with those people.  I have to remind myself that it never came quickly.  Things of great value rarely just fall into our laps.  Still, I can't help but think that it all came so much more naturally in high school.  There's just so. many. people. here at BYU.   And not enough time to really move beyond the preliminaries with everyone.

Lest you worry, I'm far from lonely or homesick.  I'm constantly interacting with wonderful, intelligent people. I've met so many of them. I'm just growing weary of small-talk and starting to ache for one of those soul-searching, up-all-night conversations.  Or maybe just a solid talk with someone new.  Someone who is on the same energy level as me, who will get excited about things with me, who will talk about something other than school but still ask me what my favorite book is.  Someone who I want to talk to just as much as they want to talk to me, and vice verse.  Something new.

For now, I'm marching forward with my eyes open for some place-holders for my missing friends. And I have a feeling, just an inkling, that my heart might even open up some new spaces.

Scraping up the last bit of rice in my bowl, I watch a man and wife converse in Sign Language. They're laughing. I keep on thinking the man is motioning to me, I'm thrown off by his extraneous movements. There's something romantic about their silent conversation.  It's private even in public, it's warm.  It's lovely.

Maybe it's not just words I'm missing, maybe I'm just beginning to forget that feeling, the experience of sitting side-by-side with someone, saying nothing, and being totally comfortable with that.  I think that's the true measure of a friendship.  When there's nothing left to be said, you're happy to just

Be.

Follow Your Bliss

“Follow your bliss.

If you do follow your bliss,
you put yourself on a kind of track
that has been there all the while waiting for you,
and the life you ought to be living
is the one you are living.
When you can see that,
you begin to meet people
who are in the field of your bliss,
and they open the doors to you.
I say, follow your bliss and don't be afraid,
and doors will open
where you didn't know they were going to be.
If you follow your bliss,
doors will open for you that wouldn't have opened for anyone else.”

― Joseph Campbell

For Your Music Funk

Listen to what the girls in this Apt. have had blasting from their iPods through the month of October.

Unless of course you already hang out with us a bunch. In which case you probably have the lyrics to each of these songs memorized.

Grammar Love

  This picture solidified what I've thought for years: a good--no, impeccable-- command over the English language (or any other language for that matter, but that's a blog post for another day) is an incredibly attractive quality in a guy.  Or maybe it's simply the fact that the lack thereof  is extremely distasteful.  It's all about the your/you're, definately/definitely, and the "lol".  No man--or any guy hoping to fill such a title--should ever,  ever type "lol."

Not ever.

Bonus points if he can correctly spell bigger words than me.

Waterton

Today I rediscovered some pictures I took this summer at one of my favorite National Parks in one of my favorite places in the world: Waterton, Alberta, Canada. 

The Secret About Me

Sometimes I have thousands of words building within me

My words, they are sharp fragments of emotion piercing through my vocal chords
And when they're finally released, they come out in volumes
A novel for each fragment

Word upon word, line upon line
Trying to describe something I can't explain but only feel

Clarity often fails me because as I'm speaking (or furiously typing)
I'm discerning
It's a simultaneous process
To speak and write is to understand
Not to resolve

And that's the secret about me

When they're all out I'm empty
Not better but more clear

Often my words, they hang there,
Selfish, meaningless, ranting
Exposed

I wish I never shared them
Because hours, months, years later
I see how lost I was in my narrow context

But sometimes,
Just sometimes,
They bring meaning and depth
They form a bond from my heart to another empathetic one

It's that rare person to love me enough
To wade through the verbosity and
 Acknowledge the process while skimming over the confusion spewing forth
The person who leaves me thinking
Yes, that is exactly what I meant

My very own paraphraser

Afterwards I'll be quiet for a time
I never was the biggest talker
Introversion will overcome
For when the words are no longer necessary
Then the sorting, the healing, the changing can begin

There are many words I regret
A few simple ones I'll never rescind
And many more waiting to come forth

That's the secret about me

First Collegiate Post

Rachel, Julie, Lindsey, Paige

In order to fully immerse you in our college experience, here is the playlist of our semester so far.  Selected songs represent blissful nights cruising in the car, roommate jam sessions, FHE sing alongs, and everything else we've been jamming out to as we get ready in the morning or do our dishes.  Voila!  Enjoy.




I ran into a long-lost friend in the library the other day. Instead of a typical greeting, the first thing out of his mouth was "Update your blog!"

I guess it's an external manifestation of what I already know: I have been rather negligent with my posts, especially considering all of the events that have transpired! And ugh, I promised myself I would never write an apology blog for not posting regularly. But I just blew that one, no?

Suffice it to say that I am having the time of my life here. I love the spiritual atmosphere, I love my writing professor (finally, a good one!), I love my crazy, fun, generous and accepting roomies, I love being on the Student Advisory Council, I love playing in the Symphony Orchestra, I love staying out late, meeting new people, holing myself up in the library (and succumbing to the sleep that often strikes as I nestle into a plush couch).

I even kind of love the feeling of pushing a shopping cart around and picking up my groceries, of learning to cook for myself (PB&J dinners have only happened a couple of times), of blocking out hours to write just because I can. I'm finding it satisfying to balance my check book and I'm starting to experience that nag in my stomach to get a job and earn an income, however small. I'm working on it.

It's a simple pleasure to stroll around campus with my sunglasses and red lipstick on, to feel the wind in my hair as I cruise down the hill on my bike as I head home for the day. I'm facing a thousand different options at every turn and trying to narrow them down to forge a path for myself, hoping that it's the right one in the end. I'm learning that time management is everything, because these four years are all mine and I won't get them back again. They are mine to serve and learn and study and discuss and play and sleep and eat. Mine to prepare for the rest of my life.

Socially. . . it's been very social. Basically I've discovered that you can find or create a party at any hour of the day or night. And when curfew comes, you just take outside, or somewhere else. So far I've learned to longboard, gone to Swiss Days, watched my first televised football game (and eventually figured out how the heck those downs and yards worked--don't judge), screamed my voice away at a few football games, watched a soccer game, hiked the Y, attended three classical concerts, performed with the Symphony Orchestra, played endless rounds of beach volleyball, had movie nights galore, eaten at In N' Out, gone for a 1 am Denny's run, attended three dances, hosted a DDR party in our dorm, planned two birthday parties, volunteered with the Utah Healing Arts, participated in a massive game of dodgeball, ridden around in an open air Jeep until the crack of dawn, and attended the morning session of conference. To name a few things.

Before my mother has a heart attack, rest assured, I'm getting my homework done. And it has been done well. I have the drive to do my work. The issue is that I don't necessarily have the drive to get to bed before 2 am.


Working on it.

I was struck by this verse the other night in my Book of Mormon study:
1 Nephi 21:16- Behold, I have graven thee upon the palms of my hands; thy walls are continually before me.

I love that image--being engraven upon the palms of Christ. It is both a figurative and a literal statement, for not only is He always mindful of us, but the scars on His hands stand as a witness that he loved us individually long before we arrived on this earth. I know I have been blessed throughout my short time here and I have felt His influence catered towards my individual needs in ways that I can't deny.

If you're a family member or friend that I don't see every week/live with, know that I miss you.  I am fully realizing (though I never doubted it before) what a wonderful family I have come from and how lucky I am for all of the wonderful friendships I have been blessed to develop through the years.   Thank you for your role in my life.  Let's keep in touch :).

Look here, my dear. . .

Listening to Steve Moakler as I unload the contents of my closet onto my quickly disappearing floor. I have several half-written blogs but few coherent words at the moment.

The time that has dragged for so many years is suddenly whipping me forward in a whirlwind, faster than ever before. My life is about to change. And I can't wait.

But right now I don't feel much of anything. The excitement will come, and with it, some lingering sadness. I know this much. But in this moment, all I can do is keep my mind present in each passing hour. Because my hours of safety and familiarity and comfort are slipping through my fingers. And sometimes, no matter how much you long for adventure, nothing is quite the same as your own warm bed and your mother's home cooking.

Download his album here

You won't be disappointed.

Dancing to Iron and Wine

This weekend I went to watch a modern dance performance with my friends Emily (budding fashion journalist and bassist-extraordinaire), and Alex (hilarious,  soon-to-be D.C. resident at GW--lucky girl).  I absolutely loved it!  Modern has to be my favorite style of dancing to watch. I've found that you can always count on two things when attending these shows: each act will be unique and engaging, and when the night is over you will rush home and download at least two of the songs you heard.

I was amazed by several of the dancers who were able to evoke deep and not necessarily straight-forward or obvious emotions in a very clear and striking manner.  It was like they were creating an emotionally-charged outline--I saw rage, deep, sickening sadness, hopelessness, helplessness, spirituality, love, determination, and joy-- that you filled in with your personal experiences.  The effect was a touching and thought-provoking experience. It's comforting to see such emotion displayed externally, to feel that you are not alone even in your innermost experiences of pain and bliss.

One of my favorite dances was choreographed to the song "Boy With a Coin" by Iron and Wine. I've loved the band Iron and Wine for a while now. Their music both breaks my heart and makes me want to twirl in my bare feet around a camp fire, or something wild like that. I suppose my bedroom will have to do.

I thought the music video was fitting. Enjoy!

6:20

Six minutes and twenty seconds of peace.  Drop whatever you're doing, take a listen.



Y'welcome.

Someone please tell me. . .

When did my little brother become such a stud?   I had a little beach photo shoot this weekend. Behold:

Little Boo was looking pretty GQ himself:

Characteristics of a Leader: Aung San Suu Kyi

Note:  Hey! My name is Paige and I am the author of A Paige Turner.  I wrote this essay in my senior year of high school as an application for the Political Communications program at George Washington University. My writing was inspired largely by a Time Magazine article dedicated to Suu Kyi, which you can read here. 


I have noticed that this post receives numerous hits from across the world every day.  If you just happened to stumble upon this post, I encourage you to leave a comment below.  I would love to learn more about you and your thoughts about Suu Kyi as some sort of document of who this essay has reached.  Please comment and thank you for reading!

Characteristics of a Leader: Aung San Suu Kyi

In the bold opening line of her 1990 “Freedom from Fear” speech, Aung San Suu Kyi, leader of Burma's National League for Democracy, declared "It is not power that corrupts but fear. Fear of losing power corrupts those who wield it and fear of the scourge of power corrupts those who are subject to it.”

She went on to describe the three types of corruption her fellow citizens of the oppressed country of Burma most abhor: bhaya-gati--allowing fear to destroy all sense of right and wrong, dosa-gati--taking the wrong path to spite those against whom one bears ill will, and chanda-gati--deviation from the right path in pursuit of bribes or for the sake of those one loves.

 In light of her release on November 13, 2010 from yet another prolonged house arrest, Suu Kyi has caught my eye as a sincere and devoted leader who, throughout her rise to influence, has consistently taken the higher road as she has avoided these three paths to corruption. Although I do not know that I could ever exhibit the strength and wisdom Suu Kyi has demonstrated over the years, I hope to one day similarly dedicate myself to a worthy cause and pursue it with such selflessness.

In 1990, the same year in which she penned “Freedom from Fear," Aung San Suu Kyi stood as the nominee for Burma's National League for Democracy in the first open election the stifling military junta had held in years. Though beloved by the Burmese people, the military junta working behind the State Law and Order Restoration Council declared her to be a threat to the public peace and order and placed her under house arrest.

 Suu Kyi's confinement did not shake the confidence of the Burmese people in their passionate leader and her party overwhelmingly took the election with 83% of the seats in parliament. However, the junta turned a blind eye to these staggering results, and continued down their path of violence, unjust imprisonment, and suppression of the values of democracy.

 In opposition to the principle of bhaya-gati, Suu Kyi did not allow any fear she might have felt from this totalitarian form of government distort her sense of right and wrong. Routinely resisting the government ban on political gatherings of more than four people, she risked her life and her freedom in order to share her message of Democracy and hope for a brighter future with the Burmese people.

In my life, I seek to develop the moral courage to stand up for what I know to be true, despite opposition. I hope to exhibit Suu Kyi's conviction as I stand by my moral and ethical beliefs, and not allow the fear of rejection, ridicule, or physical or emotional harm prevent me from acting upon my sure knowledge.

Suu Kyi's release last November renewed her connection with the global media. In an interview with the BBC,  her political strategy was ascertained by a reporter who asked whether she wanted to see the military junta fall. Characteristic of her elegant and sincere manner, she replied “I don't want to see the military falling; I want to see them rising to dignified heights.”

Profoundly influenced by the nonviolent leadership of Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. and Mahatma Gandhi, Suu Kyi has avoided dosa-gati, or taking the wrong path to spite others. Rather than seeking to overtake the government by force, her life's work has been to prepare Burma for a nonviolent revolution, one in which the current leaders are educated and inspired to govern the country more justly.

I am particularly impressed that, as a female in a country where women traditionally have little power, Suu Kyi has not compromised her inherently feminine characteristics by attempting to intimidate or dominate Burma's horrifically oppressive government. What I learn from her example, is that aggression does not wield lasting influence. By seeking peaceful settlements, she has gained far more respect, and has been able to do much more good for her country. If I could take on any one of her characteristics, it would be this one: the ability to set emotions aside, and rationally and calmly discuss an issue with a conflicting party.

 This attribute is extremely advantageous, not only professionally, but personally as well. Suu Kyi stated:
“I don't think violence really pays, I think violence begets violence.” In the same way, Suu Kyi believes that empathy begets empathy. In any situation, like Suu Kyi, I hope to be able to counteract aggression and violence with empathy and peaceful demonstrations.

Of all of the sacrifices I could make for a cause, the most costly to me would be my family. The loss of food, home, and possessions would be nothing compared to the loss of those that are most dear to my heart.
During her time in Burma, Suu Kyi was faced with a new challenge: chanda-gati, corruption induced by desire through deviation from the right path for the sake of those one loves.

In 1972 she married Michael Aris, a well-known scholar she had met while attending the University of Oxford. They had two sons and settled in England, though Suu Kyi knew that at some point she would have to return to her native home. Suu Kyi unexpectedly returned to Burma in 1988 to aid her ailing mother and during her stay became involved with the National League for Democracy.  She quickly rose to the prominent position of General Secretary within this organization and, as a result, became a prisoner within her own homeland, held in bondage by a series of government-induced house arrests.

 For many years, she was isolated from her husband and sons in a country far away from her current residence. However, Suu Kyi's greatest challenge came in 1999 when she received word that her husband was dying from cancer. The government denied Aris permission to visit his wife during the last year of his life and Suu Kyi feared that the government would not let her return to the Burma if she left. Aris died without ever saying a final goodbye to her. Her desire to work for liberty and justice was so great that she could not deviate from her path, no matter how great the cost.

 This event stands as a touching embodiment of wholehearted dedication. I do not believe that I will ever be in a situation as brutally conflicted as this, but if I were motivated by her drive and unwavering determination, I can only imagine the goals I could reach and the lives I could touch.

In her “Freedom from Fear," Aung San Suu Kyi summarized her ideal revolution. She said, “The quintessential revolution is that of the spirit, born of an intellectual conviction of the need for change in those mental attitudes and values which shape the course of a nation's development. A revolution which aims merely at changing official policies and institutions with a view to an improvement in material conditions has little chance of genuine success.”

 Aung San Suu Kyi's immense influence as a leader is the result of this very philosophy:  not only should the government structure evolve, but the people too. Suu Kyi is leading this revolution of the spirit as she embodies the antithesis of bhaya-gati, dosa-gati, and chanda-gati by demonstrating great courage, empathy, and determination. These are qualities worthy of emulation by all of us. Her example inspires me to walk taller, speak out more frequently in support of my beliefs and values, focus more strongly on my goals, and show more compassion and understanding towards those who may disagree with or oppose me. In these things, I am determined to follow her example.

The Dream

This afternoon I laid down in pure exhaustion and fell into a deep three and half hour Sunday nap.

As the hours slipped by, I began to toss and turn. My room sweltered in the mid-July heat and beads of sweat pealed down from my hairline, cascading over my eyelid and quivering on the side of my nose. I woke periodically, turning over on my side to banish the distressing, murky dreams still fresh in my momentarily conscious mind.

I fell again into the quiet darkness of the unconscious. And suddenly everything became very clear. Clear and cool and bright, a sparkling pitcher of freshly stirred lemonade compared to the grainy coffee of my previous dreams. I was crossing a stream.

The current looked benign and the water seemed deep enough only to graze the bottoms of my knees. I took a step, and then another, delicately tip-toeing over the smooth but jutting pebbles covering the creek bottom. And then I was swept under.

It happened just like that. I had no fear of getting caught by a current and no foresight that sudden danger was ahead. I certainly had no idea of the seemingly sudden depth and darkness of the creek. My entire body was submerged and I hung suspended, weightless like a spaceman, face turned skyward beneath the surface of the water.

Shimmering sunlight filtered down towards me and I caught glimpses of trees and the sky as I was rushed along the creek's frantic course. The lack of oxygen was suffocating me; I felt as though a pillow was pressed against my mouth and nose. Every part of me screamed to fight the current, to break the surface, but I could no longer feel my limbs. Totally physically incapacitated, I was as helpless as a rag doll mistakenly caught in a whirlpool.

I thought of my friends and family on the creek shore. They could pull me out, but I doubted whether they could see me, and if they could, whether they could catch up with the distance the current had already swept me.

My head spun yet I refrained from the urge to inhale water. It was a losing battle. My heart seemed to swell up into my throat and the reflex to breathe became more and more undeniable.

And then, I burst from the water just as instantaneously as I had been pulled in. My eyes immediately flew open and I awoke. It was as though my only escape from the watery depths was in the conscious world.

One could psychoanalyze my dream. It would be easy to derive apparent fears and insecurities from this strange sequence.

But I can only think of the invisible power that lifted me from the depths and endowed me with new life-giving air when I had nothing else.

Enchanted

By this song.



I've been listening to it in loops thanks to a suggestion from my future roomie.  The melody has a strangely soothing yet haunting effect on me. My favorite part is the first line.  At first I thought he was singing "I bit my tongue in the awkward conversation." However, I was delighted to discover that the lyric is "I bit my tongue in the arc of conversation." Isn't that lovely?  I love that image.  Holding yourself back as a conversation crescendos and feeling the energy fall straight back to where you started from.

Polaroid

Tall, dark and handsome, what else does he need? Oh yeah, maybe some Poladroid! Some beachy portraits from my family's day at Little Bow Lake with some editing help from this sweet app. Even if you're not a fan of the "retro" photo quality, the little polaroid camera that appears on your desktop and shoots out your photos to allow them to "develop" in front of your eyes is so worth it. Download it here.

Prairie Life

We passed these stunning animals on the way to the family farm in Stavely, Alberta.  Yes, that's right, family farm! Turns out, I come from a line of cowboy-boot-and-buckle-wearing, true-blue ranchers making a hard-earned living on the sea of prairie grass.

After being tucked away in the hills of West Virginia for quite some time now, there was an amazing sense of openess and freedom that overwhelmed me as I stepped into the prairie. The sky has never appeared so wide, nor the horizon so distant. 

We visited a creek tucked away in a hidden valley well below the serenely flowing prairie grasses.  As the creek winds its way through the tree-shaded valley, it eventually widens and increases in enough depth to create a small swimming hole. 

Smooth, sandy cliffs contain the far side of the creek in this area, creating a soft contrast against the rich azure sky.  These cliffs host hundreds of bird's nests as well as flocks of avid cliff jumpers. Swallows and leaping children fill the air.

I love the stories of my Nana and Papa coming here as children.  I imagine them splashing in the crisp, tan water, oblivious to the way their live's paths would flow together.

Both of them with no idea of the way their children and grandchildren would travel for miles to reach the fabled swimming hole where their grandparents once swam after a long, hot week on the farm.

It makes me look forward to the day when I will look back and smile at the things I never could have guessed would happen. A day when my past is remembered by my children and grandchildren.  Perhaps another day on the prairie.

Summer Reading

Just finished:

This book was beautifully written. The author gave care to each word, artistically building witty and insightful descriptions of the life and mental state of a collegiate runner consumed by his sport.  I found myself laughing at the subtly humourous passages and reading unusual and delicious descriptions out loud to anyone around me.  Be warned, Once A Runner contained a lot more profanity than I expected, showing up in most of the dialouges. However, it didn't detract from my enjoyment of the work.

A gem from the novel:

"It is simply that we can all be good boys and wear our letter sweaters around and get our little degrees and find some nice girl to settle, you know, down with...Or we can blaze! Become legends in our own time, strike fear in the heart of mediocre talent everywhere! We can scald dogs, put records out of reach! Make the stands gasp as we blow into an unearthly kick from three hundred yards out! We can become God's own messengers delivering the dreaded scrolls! We can race dark Satan himself till he wheezes fiery cinders down the back straightaway....They'll speak our names in hushed tones, 'those guys are animals' they'll say! We can lay it on the line, bust a gut, show them a clean pair of heels. We can sprint the turn on a spring breeze and feel the winter leave our feet! We can let our demons loose and just wail on!"

Now who wouldn't want to go for a run after that?

Still ebbing away at:

I've been reading this book since December, but that doesn't mean it's slow reading. It's just really, really long-- and justly so, her life has been one long adventure.  Madam Secretary is (in my limited scope of reading), the best autobiography I've delved into.  This book has all of the components:  fascinating foriegn policy, touching personal accounts, and wildly funny anecdotes involving some of the world's greatest leaders. I've been so inspired by Madeleine Albright that after reading about her experiences at Wellesley College, I went ahead and applied.

Just started:

A classic!  I can't believe I haven't read it before.  It's a short book (a novella), and reads somewhat like a story book with no chapters to break up the prose.  I think I will finish it quickly and the move on to:

I have a deep love for futuristic dystopian novels that I hope this will feed.

And then:

It's been sitting on my shelf long enough that I want to break into it and let the story free.

 Hopefully I can get through most of these this month so I can fit in the rest of my list!  Dad and I are watching The Great Gatsby tonight, I'll see whether it inspires me to read the book or not.