from the couch

when I was in the sixth grade, I fell off my little brother's bike.

if I could attempt to pinpoint the moment in my life when getting hurt became commonplace. I think that would be it.

shortly after this accident, I started playing soccer, and although only about 50% of my injuries in life have resulted because of soccer, it has played a major role.

in my mind, I have become invincible. I try anything because I am alive, and I am young and I am free.

yet, I like to throw myself at the ground and sometimes...the ground isn't cool with that.

upon my most recent fall, I texted my cousin and said "I'm so hardcore."

His reply.

There's a difference between being hardcore and being fragile.

I push too hard. especially that night.

there was this guy, he was being a jerk the whole night.

it was like he was trying to show off. but I'm not quite sure who he was impressing.

there came a point when I was guarding him and he said "throw it high, there's no way."

words cannot describe. not only did he make a stab at my height, but also my frisbee skills.

boy, I don't care how beautiful your face is (because really, he has a beautiful face). that isn't ever going to be endearing.

I have some great friends. friends who realized how rude it was, and also noticed how frustrated I was becoming. unfortunately, the more frustrated I become, the more reckless I also become. I started playing harder. Trying to prove that I was good enough. I was getting sore. I could feel my body getting angry.


then the pass came, I said in my mind "just going down on my knees, this won't hurt."
something happened.

couldn't stand. couldn't walk. so much pain. face in the grass.

carried home. put on the couch. given an ice pack.

and stayed.

for days.

not long after the fall. my roommate thought this was beyond comical. it's true.

I mentioned before that I have some great friends.

They took care of me.

I've been known to push through pain. But I was terrified to make it worse.

Knees are tricky.

So I actually rested. I hated almost every minute of it.

So much ice, so much sitting.

But it was good for me. I at least allowed the healing process to start normally.

I may be pushing through now. But I started it right.

I'm glad for friends.

I'm glad for healing.

and I know that I am fragile. and that maybe, I push too hard.

but I'm still alive, and young, and free.

so I'm going to keep playing.

"I can fit through there, you want to know why?"

I'm little.

I get it.

Ash is little, but that's what makes him fantastic. 

I don't see myself as little. This week, I have been reminded of such several times though.

And it always is a surprise.
My mom says I forget because I have such a big personality...
I don't know if that is a good thing or not.

It hits the hardest when I'm like, "oh, I'm not that short, I mean I'm taller than so-and-so."

and then a comparison is made and I am shorter or the same height as so-and-so.

But I never remember. I never see it as a defining quality.
But it kind of is.

And despite the fact that my friends think that I could pass as a 13 year old.

Even though I can't always reach things.

And various other things.

I kind of like being little.

Even though I don't always remember.

the love of the game

I don't think I can tell you the moment I first picked up a wiffleball bat.

And I don't know how many games my brothers and I played as children.

I don't know how to describe the countless Saturdays dedicated to Little League.

I can't count how many Stockton Ports games I've been to.

I don't know how many Oakland A's games I've been to.

I don't think I've ever mentioned it before, but now I will.

Baseball is kind of a piece of who I am.

When I think about it- most of my childhood memories involve baseball.

Or water...but that is a different story.

This past weekend, I fused the then with the now.

Baseball has entered my life once again.

And I love it.

I forgot that I loved it.

I forgot that I cared.

But I do.

There's this tiny part of me that wonders how I could ever let a love like this go. 

And how I could possibly find a way to love something else and just forget this part of me.

But it happened.

But somehow, baseball found it's way back.

And I couldn't be happier.

 

you can either give up, give in, or give it your all...

I often think back on life. Not so much as to dwell on the past, but more so to recall what I thought my future would be like. 

As I remember my ambitions, my secret desires and my sincerest hopes at different times in my life, I wonder what I was really like back then. I feel as if not much has changed about me. Yet those ambitions, desires, and hopes have all become much different.

I never imagined college life. Sure, I imagined getting a degree, and it's true, I imagined getting married at some point. But growing up, college was this giant roadblock between being a kid and living my dreams. I understand now that it's necessary. That I probably should have mentally prepped more for this time in my life. It's a time to take chances. A time when nothing is sure. A time for adventures. And a time to make choices that will determine the rest of your life.

What I use to expect of myself is now just a fleeting moment in the past. You can never plan your life. Well, I guess some people do. Some people know exactly what they want and do all they are capable of to achieve it. 

That was never me.

I never knew what I wanted.

A gymnast?

An artist?

A computer animator?

A psychiatrist?

A forest ranger?

A musician?

A math teacher?

At each time each of these "phases" came. I truly believed that was my calling in life. That is what I was truly talented at and able to do. Sometimes I like to think that I could have done any of those things. If I had really put my mind to it. What if I had just given up on these things?

And then I remember  that I don't want any of those things anymore.

I was discussing dreams and ambitions with a friend the other day and I mentioned how I can't even imagine why I ever thought I wanted to do something different than what I have planned now.

And I think that's what it's suppose to be like.

The way I see it, you can either give up on your dreams, give in to other people's dreams for you, or give your dreams all you have to give.

But you have to give.

in four years time

April 23, 2008:

Concert Band Festival day. I got to school early, got on a bus, drove to Burly. After a successful performance in which I had several solos, we got back on the bus and returned to school. I sat impatiently through the last half hour of seminary and then rushed home. My brother was going to be there with his new fiance and him being home was always a special treat. We got home and he, my little brother, and I went to the school and played some tennis. It was a lot of fun. Then we had to hurry home so I could get ready for rehearsal. It was for the spring musical, Annie Get your Gun, and I was in the pit orchestra, playing first chair trumpet.

Turns out, in little Jerome, there isn't a pit in the auditorium, so the orchestra sat on the wing of the stage. I had been sitting second chair in for a while and that day my band director thought he'd try having me sit on the outside. I switched chairs and looked at the zero space I had between the edge of the stage and my chair. My friend was sitting in the audience and I said I was nervous and she said, "Don't worry Callie, if you fall, I'll be here to catch you." We laughed about it. And ten minutes later, she left to go somewhere else.

I remember it often. The moment where I shifted my chair a bit, bent over to pick up my mute, my chair shifted again while I was sitting up straight. I looked over the edge and saw the leg of my chair in midair. I opened my mouth to scream.

Then there was the screaming. I couldn't figure out why or who, but everything hurt. I was on my back. And I soon realized. I was the one screaming. There were two people around me who I didn't know. They were parents. They kept telling me not to close my eyes and I couldn't figure out why, didn't these people understand that my eyes hurt and they felt better closed. I instantly asked where my brother was, not because I needed his comfort, but because I thought he'd need me to comfort him. He was freaking out. I told him to call mom. So he left and did so. The next question was "Where is my trumpet?" They looked at me like I was delusional and then promptly told me that my trumpet was "over there". I said that I wanted to see it, I wanted to know if it was okay. They wouldn't let me look at it. I was so upset, they kept telling me that it was fine. But I did not believe them (and rightfully so, my trumpet had to be completely re-piped after that).

My brother said that no one was home. So I told him to call our older brother, who's phone number I had memorized the day before. My mom eventually came, my screaming was not as constant, but it happened more than I'm proud to say. I was carried to the car by two good friends. I remember the look of terror on their faces as they loaded me into the car.

After that was countless hours in the emergency room. Most of which were on a backboard, which give me panic attacks. There were lots of CT scans, MRIs, blood tests and X-rays. I was in a lot of pain. My head hurt, the parents said that it looked like the chair could have landed on my stomach, my leg felt like there was a knife in it. It was a pretty traumatic experience.

Falling off the stage became a large part of who I am. But I have never understood why. It's not like that's what people remember about me. Most people have probably forgotten. For which I am grateful.

But something changed that day. There is part of me that feels like my life has been divided into the person I was before the fall, and the person I've become since. The past four years have been filled with four more concussions, countless amounts of days in pain due to limbs or post-concussion syndrome. But I don't notice it as much any more. If there's anything I learned from my fall is that when you are hurt, the world does not stop for you. You may not want to do anything or even get out of bed, but life is going on. I figured out that I can't stop living because I'm in pain. If I took a day off every time something hurt, I would have missed out on so much fun. I try to never look at a situation and say "I can't do that because of the limits of my body." I say, "I will try my best."

I guess I have kind of a strange relationship with pain. It has become a friend, that I can do anything with, there are no limits. I have learned to manage my life with pain and even not feel it's negative effects. I almost thrive off of pain. My pain has increased and strengthened my relationship with my Heavenly Father and Christ.

I am usually careful about who I tell about this story and what parts I tell them. It was a strange personal event for me. Yet I feel like if there is not some mention of it, people will never truly understand who I am and how I came to be.

Several times in the past four years, I have described this event as the time I almost died. I don't know if that is exactly true. But I know that for the past four years, I have been trying to make the most of the life I've been given. Because you never know when your chair will slip.

motivators

sometimes, I'll be going through my day, and it hits me-

reality.

I'm a college student.

a step toward true adulthood-

and I'm making it.

I remember at six or seven, writing to my cousins going to college at the magical BYU.

...they were superheroes...

as I sit in an apartment just upstairs from the one that they sat in 13 years ago, reading a letter from their little cousin-

I wouldn't necessarily call myself a superhero.

but I know, my six year old self is incredibly proud.

now, fast forward ten years- age 16:

I should have been thinking about college a little more seriously, but I wasn't.

I had a boyfriend. I had a flawless GPA. I had my best friends. I had loads of extracurricular's. I had a flourishing social life.

And I had some fabulous teachers.

All of which, I see pretty much every time I go home.

except one.

and she's the one that I wish I could see.

She is one of the best teachers I have ever had.

ever.

She taught me to love learning. She taught me how to write.

She taught me to push myself, to take my creativity and make it a masterpiece.

She taught me that I could do anything. She constantly validated my work.

But she also constantly pushed me to improve.

I fell in love with learning because of her.

She is also the one that lead me to insects.

And that has turned into a love affair that is going to support me for the rest of my college career.

And I wonder if she even knows.

leap day

we have an extra day this year. use it well.

anyway, in honor of the 29th of February - we watched the movie Leap Year.

I decided as I was watching it, that people like the idea of love at first sight, or falling in love in a few days because it makes it look so easy.

But in reality, we don't want that to happen to us.

We want time.

If we fell in love that fast, it would freak us out.

interesting.