Today's my 25th birthday! I'm officially an adult in nearly every metric, given that I can now rent cars for cheap.
It was a great day. School started today, which is a blessing, because I do love learning. It will be a great semester. I have good people in my life and I am working towards something that's important to me. My birthday, while somewhat uneventful, was peaceful and quiet and filled with friends and laughter and ice cream.
The tiger in me is satisfied.
Tuesday, April 22, 2014
Saturday, April 19, 2014
Tiger
I had a pen pal who once asked what animal I would choose to be if I could be an animal; obviously, a tiger. His reply kind of struck me and has stayed with me ever since.
"I can totally see you being a cat. Large and imposing. But thoughtful and reserved. Very independent and at times distant. But strong when you need to be."
He knew that tigers are solitary creatures, that they don't share their space with other tigers often, and that they almost never interact with each other.
Last night, tigers came up again, this time in a conversation with a friend who needs to remember that she can do hard things. She likes to be compared to a lioness, so I told her to go and be the lioness she wants to be, and to own her situation and make it her bitch. I promised her that I'd try to do the same, and she asked what kind of animal I'd like to be in my situation.
I replied tiger again, because right now, that's what I aspire to be.
I'm not going to be so dramatic as to say that there's no one out there for me, but romantically, it's been a hard few months. I haven't been dating at all, but I've just wondered what my future looks like in that regard. I've been lonely, although things are going well in a lot of other areas, so I can't dismiss them altogether.
So, right now, I want to be a tiger. I want to acknowledge my own academic and professional badassery and blessings. I want to be independent and strong and reserved and thoughtful. I want to get shit done and move on to the next item of business. I want to own my life and make all my own decisions and do what's best for me, and I want to forget about being linked to another person, at least for now.
Of course, this is all easier said than done, because what I really want deep down is for that perfect individual to tell me that I'm the one and live happily ever after (barf). What I really want is to be wanted by someone who I want back. I want to be high on the priorities list of someone whom I prioritize. I kind of shudder to think of what I'd give up if it meant I could be involved in something that looks like love. That's not something a tiger would ever do.
But I'm going to try and change. I'm going to be the tiger I know I should be right now. I'm going to try really hard to put off love and let other things fall into place. Cuz I'm a tiger.
(Maybe if I keep saying it, it'll become real.)
Friday, April 18, 2014
Love letter
Dear you,
I'm a little tired of waiting.
I know it's a little ridiculous to expect so much of life at such a young age. I'm not even 25 and I have all these grandiose expectations of what life should be. I should be totally self-assured, I should be graduated from college and have a decent-paying job. I should be out of debt, have a decent savings fund, and I should own a nice little house with a workshop filled with an old BMW, two motorcycles, and a Tacoma 4x4.
I should have something resembling love in my life. Be it an understanding and dead-sexy wife and two kids or some devilishly handsome architect and our shelter-rescue mutt, there should be someone I'm sharing my life with.
But instead, I'm renting a small (admittedly cozy) apartment that I share with five other guys (all of whom I like a lot). I'm in debt, I make a pittance at my part-time job, and I'm doing pretty poorly at school. And at night, I get into my twin bed alone and fall asleep.
Don't get me wrong, I'm fine with where I'm at (except for my poor grades and debt, perhaps). I've got good friends and I like the place I live. I kinda like school and I enjoy learning new things. My family loves me (you should see the care packages I get on the regular). Life's good. I even love my car. Like, LOVE my car.
I'm good with waiting, but at the same time, I'm ready for you to come around, open my eyes to the world of fulfilling, expressive, passionate love.
I guess, until then, I'll save my love for you. I've got a lot of it to give. I look forward to surprising you with flowers or chocolates or a night out just because I felt like it. I look forward to driving home from work, proverbial tail wagging because I'm excited to see you once I get through this traffic. I'm even looking forward to fighting, to hating you for a few minutes before I cool down. I look forward to traditions and anniversaries and birthdays and holidays and kids and pets and a messy house and grey hairs and probably some balding (heaven forbid).
I think I've mentioned this before, but I'm reading Love in the Time of Cholera, by Gabriel García Márquez. And yes, I have been reading it for almost a year. Books are slow-going for me.
In any case, I'm really enjoying it. The first half or so was ridiculously romantic, written in such a syrupy, overwrought style that I secretly love, but then, it evened out by about midway through and became much more self-possessed and realistic. I love it.
Anyway, I've been thinking about love as much as usual, maybe more so because I've been reading this 60-year-long love story, and I decided to write a love letter.
Thursday, January 9, 2014
It's been awhile
Two holidays, three holiday destinations, a new vehicle, the end of an internship and the start of a semester, and one cross-country move later, and I'm still alive.
Dallas was amazing. I had a great time making new friends (and a not-so-great time making enemies out of my roommates) and my internship was everything I wanted it to be. I enjoyed Dallas in a lot of ways and I learned a few things about myself, but it was also a brutal, brutal four months. I'm not going to lie, I'm not sure if I can remember being more miserable than I did in a few moments down there. But like I said, I learned a lot professionally and had some fun times as well.
The biggest thing I learned was how to be alone. That sounds super-duper dramatic, but it wasn't really. I had a hard time initially because I lived so far away from the other interns and didn't get along with my roommates, but after not too long I learned to fall into my work and to make friends and to enjoy my time to myself. I spent one or two weekends locked in my room alternating between Netflix and hot chocolate and I occasionally got lost in downtown Dallas and found things to do. It was a really, really nice semester.
I also tried dating. It sucked. Not so great at dating, probably gonna put that on the back burner for a looooooong time.
Anyway, I'm alive and back in Rexburg, eager to throw down on another semester and achieve some giddy little heights for my last half-year here.
¡Paz afuera!
Dallas was amazing. I had a great time making new friends (and a not-so-great time making enemies out of my roommates) and my internship was everything I wanted it to be. I enjoyed Dallas in a lot of ways and I learned a few things about myself, but it was also a brutal, brutal four months. I'm not going to lie, I'm not sure if I can remember being more miserable than I did in a few moments down there. But like I said, I learned a lot professionally and had some fun times as well.
The biggest thing I learned was how to be alone. That sounds super-duper dramatic, but it wasn't really. I had a hard time initially because I lived so far away from the other interns and didn't get along with my roommates, but after not too long I learned to fall into my work and to make friends and to enjoy my time to myself. I spent one or two weekends locked in my room alternating between Netflix and hot chocolate and I occasionally got lost in downtown Dallas and found things to do. It was a really, really nice semester.
I also tried dating. It sucked. Not so great at dating, probably gonna put that on the back burner for a looooooong time.
Anyway, I'm alive and back in Rexburg, eager to throw down on another semester and achieve some giddy little heights for my last half-year here.
¡Paz afuera!
Wednesday, November 20, 2013
Labyrinth
I was introduced to a new religious archetype this weekend, the labyrinth.
Some friends and I were exploring the grounds of Vanderbilt University in Nashville, Tennessee and we found ourselves at the Scarritt Bennett Center, a religious institution and retreat. We followed the signs toward the garden and found a labyrinth set into the ground with paving stones. It was in the center of a lovely courtyard with trees dropping vibrant yellow and red leaves onto the grass below. The air was fresh with just a nip of cold in it, something that I didn't realize I missed, having spent my fall in humid, rainy Dallas. It was a lovely, affirming morning.
But it got even better.
The labyrinth is an interesting icon. Anthology has taught us that it was an important symbol in Greek myth, Tantric Buddhism, Native American mythology, and Egyptian culture. Many people use it the word synonymously with "maze," but they are not the same thing.
I started at the beginning of the labyrinth, sort of as a lark, but with each turn, I got more and more emotional until I was almost in tears by the time I stepped into the center. It was such a beautiful experience. My friends and I discussed it and made a few realizations.
The first is that if you look at the center or the other paths, you're going to be confused when the path you're on changes course unexpectedly. The best move, for motion-sickness-avoiding sake, is to look as far down your own path as you can and look for the turn ahead, then look for the next turn after that, and so on, and turn by turn, you'll eventually get where you're going.
The next is that there will be times when you're really close to the center, but your path will suddenly bear farther away for a few moments. It's actually really frustrating being one bank away from the center one moment and then four banks away the next. But that's how it goes.
The final thought we had is the difference between mazes and labyrinths. As the plaque in the SBC's courtyard explained, a labyrinth has no tricks or dead ends. There is one path and it always leads to the center if one presses forward long enough.
Do you remember the experience I had with my Heavenly Father a few weeks ago? When His soft, gentle voice told me that it would be okay someday, even though now was shit? Since then, my life has been exponentially easier. Don't get me wrong, it still sucks being me in a lot of ways (and it rocks being me in just as many ways [US Grand Prix was this weekend and I was there :) ]), but through it all, I have hope that it will be okay, and the mere presence of that hope makes all the difference.
That's what this labyrinth was to me. It was proof that life turns out okay, even if the path you're on is circuitous, serpentine, and inefficient. If you press forward and only look as far ahead as the next turn, you'll get there eventually.
I took a video of the path. Feel free to watch and experience it through my eyes.
Some friends and I were exploring the grounds of Vanderbilt University in Nashville, Tennessee and we found ourselves at the Scarritt Bennett Center, a religious institution and retreat. We followed the signs toward the garden and found a labyrinth set into the ground with paving stones. It was in the center of a lovely courtyard with trees dropping vibrant yellow and red leaves onto the grass below. The air was fresh with just a nip of cold in it, something that I didn't realize I missed, having spent my fall in humid, rainy Dallas. It was a lovely, affirming morning.
But it got even better.
The labyrinth is an interesting icon. Anthology has taught us that it was an important symbol in Greek myth, Tantric Buddhism, Native American mythology, and Egyptian culture. Many people use it the word synonymously with "maze," but they are not the same thing.
I started at the beginning of the labyrinth, sort of as a lark, but with each turn, I got more and more emotional until I was almost in tears by the time I stepped into the center. It was such a beautiful experience. My friends and I discussed it and made a few realizations.
The first is that if you look at the center or the other paths, you're going to be confused when the path you're on changes course unexpectedly. The best move, for motion-sickness-avoiding sake, is to look as far down your own path as you can and look for the turn ahead, then look for the next turn after that, and so on, and turn by turn, you'll eventually get where you're going.
The next is that there will be times when you're really close to the center, but your path will suddenly bear farther away for a few moments. It's actually really frustrating being one bank away from the center one moment and then four banks away the next. But that's how it goes.
The final thought we had is the difference between mazes and labyrinths. As the plaque in the SBC's courtyard explained, a labyrinth has no tricks or dead ends. There is one path and it always leads to the center if one presses forward long enough.
Do you remember the experience I had with my Heavenly Father a few weeks ago? When His soft, gentle voice told me that it would be okay someday, even though now was shit? Since then, my life has been exponentially easier. Don't get me wrong, it still sucks being me in a lot of ways (and it rocks being me in just as many ways [US Grand Prix was this weekend and I was there :) ]), but through it all, I have hope that it will be okay, and the mere presence of that hope makes all the difference.
That's what this labyrinth was to me. It was proof that life turns out okay, even if the path you're on is circuitous, serpentine, and inefficient. If you press forward and only look as far ahead as the next turn, you'll get there eventually.
I took a video of the path. Feel free to watch and experience it through my eyes.
Monday, November 11, 2013
Snapchat and religious devotion
I've got a friend at work who likes to organize little employee lunches. We all grab a bite at some dive, gossip about work and our social lives, laugh, cackle, guffaw, etc. Sometimes, it's just me and her at these lunches and I like those lunches better than most.
This girl swears like a sailor in her odd, Texas-meets-New York accent and her topics of choice usually include who's banging who, trips we all should take (usually to Vegas or Winstar Casino), good concerts coming up, and so on. She dresses well too and is always put together. In all respects, she's a pretty typical young American woman.
Sunday, November 3, 2013
I can wait.
About a week ago, I was on the receiving end of some pretty sad emotional wounds. Church is hard, dating is hard, family is hard, and I'm just not adjusting very well to life away from what is familiar.
The straw finally came on Wednesday when I found out that a friend of mine had been lying about stuff to avoid hanging out with me. I felt betrayed and cheap and sad and I immediately started weeping bitterly.
As a sidebar, I often feel as though God chooses to love me in a passive-aggressive way. I feel incredible guilt when He blesses me, but when life is difficult for whatever reason, I always interpret it to be a manifestation of His anger. I'm not blaming any of this on Him, but I can't seem to ever feel His love. I always feel like He's either dangling blessings in front of me and then guilting me when He gives them, or He withholds love from me like a petulant child. Unconditional love is not something I understand.
As I cried silently into my pillow, I prayed that if God knew the end from the beginning, then He knew how my story was going to turn out. I asked Him to tell me if things ever got better and if I'd ever be happy somehow. Almost immediately, I felt calm and tranquil and knew that my happy ending would come, even if I didn't know how or when. I knew that God knew, and without putting any qualifications on it, He gave me that knowledge to calm me down and help me feel peace.
I was still sad, but the tears stopped flowing and for the first time in a LONG time, I felt humble. I said, out loud, "Okay, I'll wait. I can wait for things to be good."
Things aren't good. But they will be good. And that's enough. I can wait.
The straw finally came on Wednesday when I found out that a friend of mine had been lying about stuff to avoid hanging out with me. I felt betrayed and cheap and sad and I immediately started weeping bitterly.
As a sidebar, I often feel as though God chooses to love me in a passive-aggressive way. I feel incredible guilt when He blesses me, but when life is difficult for whatever reason, I always interpret it to be a manifestation of His anger. I'm not blaming any of this on Him, but I can't seem to ever feel His love. I always feel like He's either dangling blessings in front of me and then guilting me when He gives them, or He withholds love from me like a petulant child. Unconditional love is not something I understand.
As I cried silently into my pillow, I prayed that if God knew the end from the beginning, then He knew how my story was going to turn out. I asked Him to tell me if things ever got better and if I'd ever be happy somehow. Almost immediately, I felt calm and tranquil and knew that my happy ending would come, even if I didn't know how or when. I knew that God knew, and without putting any qualifications on it, He gave me that knowledge to calm me down and help me feel peace.
I was still sad, but the tears stopped flowing and for the first time in a LONG time, I felt humble. I said, out loud, "Okay, I'll wait. I can wait for things to be good."
Things aren't good. But they will be good. And that's enough. I can wait.
Tuesday, October 8, 2013
Another General Conference blog post from a Mormon blogger
You can't be even slightly Mormon without posting something about General Conference this weekend, and I certainly don't want to be left out! Remember FoMO?
I didn't attend conference in real time this year. My internship provides for plenty of travel opportunity and I certainly won't be missing out on the chance to visit any major city I want over the weekend. So instead of going to conference this year, I went to New York. Truth be told, I was pretty excited to not go to conference. I'm going inactive pretty rapidly; I haven't attended my own ward since I moved to Dallas (although to be fair I've been visiting my brother in Austin each weekend and attending church with his family), but nevertheless, I haven't even met my bishop or fellow ward members yet.
Even so, I woke up this morning a few hours before my alarm and decided to watch a session. I've been enjoying it thus far. It's nothing earth-shattering yet, but I hear this session has some gems, so I'm looking forward to hearing it.
I'm trying to reconnect to the spiritual side of myself. I feel pretty dead inside lots of the time, like God doesn't really care about me or any of us. I wonder more and more each day if religion isn't anything more than that great opiate, something to make us feel better by believing that there's someone out there listening, someone who loves and knows and appreciates us.
These are fleeting thoughts; they pass quickly and are replaced by that familiar testimony that Jesus Christ lived, died, and lived again for all of us, both collectively and as individuals.
[EDIT: The talks by the lovable ones (Uchtdorf, Holland, Monson) are the ones that get remembered, but I think the talks by the no-names (in this case, Ulisses Soares) are the ones that have the most doctrine on more specific topics.]
That's all. Go do something cool now.
I didn't attend conference in real time this year. My internship provides for plenty of travel opportunity and I certainly won't be missing out on the chance to visit any major city I want over the weekend. So instead of going to conference this year, I went to New York. Truth be told, I was pretty excited to not go to conference. I'm going inactive pretty rapidly; I haven't attended my own ward since I moved to Dallas (although to be fair I've been visiting my brother in Austin each weekend and attending church with his family), but nevertheless, I haven't even met my bishop or fellow ward members yet.
Even so, I woke up this morning a few hours before my alarm and decided to watch a session. I've been enjoying it thus far. It's nothing earth-shattering yet, but I hear this session has some gems, so I'm looking forward to hearing it.
I'm trying to reconnect to the spiritual side of myself. I feel pretty dead inside lots of the time, like God doesn't really care about me or any of us. I wonder more and more each day if religion isn't anything more than that great opiate, something to make us feel better by believing that there's someone out there listening, someone who loves and knows and appreciates us.
These are fleeting thoughts; they pass quickly and are replaced by that familiar testimony that Jesus Christ lived, died, and lived again for all of us, both collectively and as individuals.
[EDIT: The talks by the lovable ones (Uchtdorf, Holland, Monson) are the ones that get remembered, but I think the talks by the no-names (in this case, Ulisses Soares) are the ones that have the most doctrine on more specific topics.]
That's all. Go do something cool now.
 |
| Go do this now. This is better than the Internet. Source |
Thursday, October 3, 2013
FoMO: Strategies to overcome it
Ever since I was little, I have had a serious, legitimate fear of missing out (FoMO). It permeated everything I did. Going to bed was hard because I was sad I'd miss out on parents' or siblings' conversations or activities. Having to choose between two sports that practiced on the same days was brutal because what if the one I didn't pick ended up going to the championships? And I recall many a Scout camp that was cut short because I talked my parents into picking me up and bringing me to the family reunion that was the same weekend. And even now, I make the rounds every New Year's Eve and then stop at the best party for midnight (in theory at least). Hell, I can't even order food at a restaurant, because what if I like my (male) date's food better?
I've always been one to try it all and then pick the best at the end, and when all the options aren't available to me, I get nervous and panicky. I hate having to choose, having to miss out on one thing in favor of doing another.
The same thing applies to navigating the rift between my faith and my sexuality. What if I choose gay and then get to the end of the line and find that I made the wrong choice and will then have to miss out on Celestial glory with my Heavenly Father, the one who is supposed to be able to love me most perfectly? On the other hand, what if I choose the church and then get to the end and find that God wanted me to be happy as long as I was good and kind, and therefore have missed out on a lifetime of joy with a man who I loved?
Tonight I was confronted with my FoMO pretty rashly. I missed out on an intern event because I had to work later than expected, and of course, my car doesn't run so I couldn't meet them up later. So instead, I went home and logged onto Facebook (which is like steroids for the FoMO virus) and saw another group of interns I wish I was friends with at some cool restaurant here in Dallas. So, for the first time I googled "fear of missing out" and found a raft of resources to help people stop fearing.
The first thing I have learned to do (and will start implementing ASAP) is to stop. Just stop.
I'm fond of passing this video on to my friends when I want them to stop doing something. It's always a joke, but damn! Bob Newhart's advice is good! I can't deny, it fits here too.
So the next time I'm fearing I'm missing out, I'm going to stop. I'm going to evaluate myself, my surroundings, and find out if I should really be regretting that I'm not somewhere else. Tonight, I sure as hell would rather be at the state fair or some restaurant with people I'd like to make friends with, but on the upside, I get to be at home alone and to blast some really sad music and indulge my misery and really enjoy it. There's something enjoyable about misery...
This article quotes Emily Dickinson, the agoraphobic depressive recluse, when she says, "To live is so startling that it hardly leaves time for anything else." And dammit, she's right. I'm alone tonight. BFD. I'm alive and I have some good music playing and I have a drink in my hand and the air conditioning is blowing cool breezes through my hair and I'm gonna go to bed early and sleep really, really well. And tomorrow, I'm gonna get up early, walk to work alone, and enjoy the hell out of my life.
Bam. Fuck you, FoMO.
I've always been one to try it all and then pick the best at the end, and when all the options aren't available to me, I get nervous and panicky. I hate having to choose, having to miss out on one thing in favor of doing another.
The same thing applies to navigating the rift between my faith and my sexuality. What if I choose gay and then get to the end of the line and find that I made the wrong choice and will then have to miss out on Celestial glory with my Heavenly Father, the one who is supposed to be able to love me most perfectly? On the other hand, what if I choose the church and then get to the end and find that God wanted me to be happy as long as I was good and kind, and therefore have missed out on a lifetime of joy with a man who I loved?
Tonight I was confronted with my FoMO pretty rashly. I missed out on an intern event because I had to work later than expected, and of course, my car doesn't run so I couldn't meet them up later. So instead, I went home and logged onto Facebook (which is like steroids for the FoMO virus) and saw another group of interns I wish I was friends with at some cool restaurant here in Dallas. So, for the first time I googled "fear of missing out" and found a raft of resources to help people stop fearing.
The first thing I have learned to do (and will start implementing ASAP) is to stop. Just stop.
I'm fond of passing this video on to my friends when I want them to stop doing something. It's always a joke, but damn! Bob Newhart's advice is good! I can't deny, it fits here too.
So the next time I'm fearing I'm missing out, I'm going to stop. I'm going to evaluate myself, my surroundings, and find out if I should really be regretting that I'm not somewhere else. Tonight, I sure as hell would rather be at the state fair or some restaurant with people I'd like to make friends with, but on the upside, I get to be at home alone and to blast some really sad music and indulge my misery and really enjoy it. There's something enjoyable about misery...
This article quotes Emily Dickinson, the agoraphobic depressive recluse, when she says, "To live is so startling that it hardly leaves time for anything else." And dammit, she's right. I'm alone tonight. BFD. I'm alive and I have some good music playing and I have a drink in my hand and the air conditioning is blowing cool breezes through my hair and I'm gonna go to bed early and sleep really, really well. And tomorrow, I'm gonna get up early, walk to work alone, and enjoy the hell out of my life.
Bam. Fuck you, FoMO.
Saturday, September 14, 2013
A Voice
I feel silly for even bringing this up.
I have a whole blog, a semi-captive audience, upon whom I regularly force my voice. My opinions, fears, concerns, etc.
But I can't deny that for the past few weeks I've felt that voice squelched and silenced. It seems that I haven't been able to find the words I need to say and that the moment has never been right to say them. There have been weddings, births, school and work...just a slew of events where being whatever self I am doesn't seem appropriate. I can't talk to friends or family because there are precious few people around whom I feel safe right now (if you're reading this, I promise you it's not you I'm talking about) and I dunno. I feel like I need to say something.
But it's not there. I open my mouth to say something deep and emotional but then I crack a joke or quote John Mulaney or take an Istagram instead.
I have a whole blog, a semi-captive audience, upon whom I regularly force my voice. My opinions, fears, concerns, etc.
But I can't deny that for the past few weeks I've felt that voice squelched and silenced. It seems that I haven't been able to find the words I need to say and that the moment has never been right to say them. There have been weddings, births, school and work...just a slew of events where being whatever self I am doesn't seem appropriate. I can't talk to friends or family because there are precious few people around whom I feel safe right now (if you're reading this, I promise you it's not you I'm talking about) and I dunno. I feel like I need to say something.
But it's not there. I open my mouth to say something deep and emotional but then I crack a joke or quote John Mulaney or take an Istagram instead.
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