Retrospect

An excerpt from a post I wrote to my best friends May 8, 2010:

As my plane lifted off from the Salt Lake airport, I didn't feel angry or miserable or jealous. I had a distinct feeling that I didn't belong there right then. I feel like I've been anchored somewhere new and I know that it's a blessing that I'm starting to see it as a blessing.

It's hard to think that our day-to-day interactions will inevitably change...
I often find myself believing that I will ship off to college THIS September.  Living vicariously? Just a bit. One thing I know for sure-- living across the country hasn't weakened the friendships that matter.  Quite the opposite!  I'll always be there for you, I'll always love to talk to you, I'll always want to know that you're alright. 

I love this quote by President Monson:
 
Fill your minds with truth
Fill your hearts with love
Fill your lives with service

It's my new little mission statement.  My hope... is that I can be the kind of person I needed most in the darkest moments of last winter.


The piece pinpoints the time when I began to accept my new life in West Virginia. It's interesting to see how my perceptions shift as the years pass,how something so devastating one year morphs into something I can see in a positive light months and years later.  


It's a good reminder to me as I face challenges here at university.  The things that keep me tossing and turning in my bed late at night I'll likely look back on as insignificant, or character building months later.  If I even remember them at all. 


This too, shall pass. . .

Crowd Searching

It's inevitable.  Every time I'm in front of a crowd (like tonight--the bright spotlights gleaming off of my violin and gently toasting my face) my eyes are drawn to the empty space in the audience.  Right in the middle.  I look for you there, half expecting to see you filling up a seat.  Sometimes I think you're smiling at me, or browsing through your program, or chatting with an old lady nearby.  More often I blink and accept the cool emptiness of the red plush chair, its bare velvet cushion soaking in Rimsky-Korsakov's Overture, never to comprehend the rise and fall of the melody.

Time Stands Still

 I'm loving some throw-back All-American Rejects this week.

Not Out of This Mouth

Inspired by Paige and Lindsey, I give you my Things I Will Never Say list:

"Extra cheese, please."
"I wish I didn't have to sleep so much."
"His bad breath makes me want to lean in."
"Can I please write your paper for you?"
"I wish people would stop using you're and your in the correct context . . ."
"I'm really stoked for our cleaning check tonight!"
"I hate the city."
"Classical music is boring."
"Wear some camo with that!"
"I'm totally into this televised football game."
 And in the same vein. . .
"Go Utes!"
"Ke$ha?  My idol."
"Channing Tatum is my ideal man."
"I need to hit the tanning salon, I'm so disgustingly pasty."
"If I could, I would wear sweats all. the. time."
"The Harry Potter books? Not that good."
"Am I too tall in these heels?"
"Whyyyy am I not marrieeeed?"
"Please oh please let there be a quiz in class today!"
"No, I would not like a stick of your gum."

And borrowed from my girl Lindsey: "All I want to do with my life is clean my house, cook dinner, and have babies."


It's in the life plans, of course,  but I have a feeling that's only going to be half of my story. 

Snow Canyon and My Weekend in George

I loved this desert-y escape from reality. Trip complete with blasting music and cruising cars, famous frozen custard, hot tubs and freezing pools, homemade pizza, glow-in-the-dark caves and soaring red rocks, funny boys, quote-able movies, endless rounds of murder in the dark, tennis on a blustery day and no chance of melanoma (or a beautiful, glowing tan) thanks to the overcast weather.

Half Moons

Her sparkly brown Emma Watson eyes transform into half moons as her face lifts into another freckles-and-nose-crinkling smile.


I wasn't expecting this. 


Not the half moons or the ready smile, but the secret behind them.


Secret sorrow, 
Sparks our neural fibers,
Ashes penetrating the temporal lobe
Never fall deep enough to undo the memory of
Mental fire


Secret tallies of the invisible battle
Of shame and loss, trial and error
Intricately etched between each rib
A visceral reminder with each breath
If only In were not so intertwined with Out
Without.


I just didn't expect to learn her secret so matter-of-factly, so simply, it was so. . . different from the girl I had seen. The one who flicked her cascading brunette waves and had every male in the room quasi-hypnotized.

 I saw her pictures from the month it happened. The half moons were still there and if anything, she was glowing. It wasn't just her face, but her.  Her kind smile emanating from her innocent, open face.  I couldn't and still can't find any darkness about her.


I'm sorry?  That's the best I could do?

Nobody prepares you for the moment when someone says "My dad died of cancer a few months back."

"I'm sorry," that trite phrase, stale on my lips. A nervous sigh. Trying to muster the right amount of empathy in my eyes, without bordering on pity.  She must have seen and heard it a million times before.

And that's what humbled me.  No self pity, no gushing, no anger or annoyance.  A soft, sad smile and then a brighter one, moving forward.

Her eyes transforming from half moons to crescents.

Resilient

Images via

Sitting in church today, the thought crossed my mind: I am resilient.  It sat there in my brain, neither accepted nor rejected, just floating.  Hymns were sung, speakers spoke, and before I knew it, the thought had moved in. And I liked it there.  And I kept it. 

Because, you know, resilience - if you think of it in terms of the Gold Rush, then you'd be pretty depressed right now because the last nugget of gold would be gone. But the good thing is, with innovation, there isn't a last nugget. Every new thing creates two new questions and two new opportunities.
--Jeff Bezos


And you, you are resilient too.  We were made to break, re-shape and ultimately heal. 

February: Lived It Up, Wore it Out

February was a month of heavy-duty homeworking and work-working with some high points on the weekends.  A few highlights:

One of several dances this month, this one being on the more formal end.  How could we tell?  There were chocolate fountains involved. 

 Valentine making with thumb prints just like the second grade :).

An excellent apartment-wide late-night discussion aided by Julie's D.I. purchase of 365 Questions for Couples. Hilarious.

 And don't forget Apartment 262's monthly playlist!  We had some memorable lines this month:

Luke Bryan in honor of Lindsey's lovely new car and joy rides:

You've got your hands up, you're rocking in my truck, you got the radio on, you're singing every song.  I'm set on cruise control, I'm slowly losing hold of everything I got. . . 


Carly Rae Jepson in honor of the pick up line of the month:
Hey I just met you, and this is crazy, but here's my number, so call me maybe?


And finally, an ode to the mental and physical taxation of three midterms in three days: