Lift Your Head and Stand Your Ground

Sometimes I worry that I might be too mature for my own good. And then I do something ridiculous like wear leggings with cats flying through space on them. Or I'll do something irresponsible like write a blogpost instead of my paper.

I'm only twenty-one years old. I have been through a lot in my life, and really I was fairly young when my mom stopped painting the world as a pretty, perfect place. But I wouldn't say I've had a life that forced me to grow-up immaturely and I would definitely say I'm a far cry from getting a special segment on Ellen or Oprah. I would say I've had a normal life, in which I had to start my journey to adulthood at the ripe old age of seventeen. I think most people could probably say they did the same thing. And it has been quite the journey, full of all the things that make people learn how to grow up (failure, heartache, financial stress, pain).

I was a quiet child. I was shy. I always enjoyed listening to people. I was constantly worried about being rude or someone that could have mean words said behind my back. Interestingly enough, I now study Sociology. I study how people interact and why they do what they act because of these situations. Along the way of my college journey - I have been allowed to better understand myself and the people around me.

Now let's just start off by admitting that I am human. I have just as many flaws as the next person, if not more. I also understand that other people are human and have flaws. Friendship is recognizing the flaws in someone and still talking to them anyway. And I have a lot of friends who are really patient me. Which is awesome. Because I sure do talk far too much and I sometimes can joke about things to a degree that people think that I personally am attacking them and sometimes I'm a horrid gossiper. I get impatient with my peers who cannot figure out how to be adults. But all of these things I'm trying to stop and aside from the talking too much thing, I do pretty well. I try to apologize. I try to make up for it. But like all humans, I falter.

This semester. I have been fighting a beast. I will not say if this beast is a person, my own thoughts, a disease, a book, or an animal. I will not say if this beast is actually real or a figment of my imagination. I will not say that I have conquered this beast. Because that would be not true. I have been patient. I have submitted to what the Lord has handed to me because it is better to be happy and share love than to be frustrated and cause contention.

I will admit these things though:
1. Maybe I have not always had the best attitude about life this semester. And as much as I'd like to blame the beast, it is not entirely the beast's fault.
2. The beast has made me into someone who entirely not myself. Many times. And I don't like who that person was. I will be happy when the beast exits my life, I will feel like myself again.
3. The beast has caused me to feel:

inadequate

FAT

stupid

messy

unintelligent

weak

hideously UGLY

unsuccessful

mean

worthless

I have felt like I am not smart enough to be a college student. I have felt like I don't deserve to have friends. I have felt like the world would be better if I turned into the shy girl who never talked. I felt like no man will ever love me. I have felt like my hair is keeping me from being beautiful. I have felt like I may never be good enough to accomplish anything of merit in this life. I have felt like crying.

I have felt a lot of awful, horrible things because of the beast's power.

I've been trying to release myself from the beast's power for a while now.

Since the moment I recognized the beast was trying to change me.

And although it has not been an easy fight, I have been mostly successful.

But I'd lie if I told you I haven't thought some of these things in the past week because of the beast.

But I have learned so much from the beast. First off, whatever the beast makes me feel, I am not any of those things listed above. I am a person and I deserve the right to be who I am.

And I want to be better. To turn my weaknesses into strengths. To not let anyone else be effected by the beast. I want to love more. I want to love better. I want to forget the beast and I also want to remember the beast so I never go through this again.

So I guess this is just a long post about why I haven't been writing. And about how we are all good enough. And we can all fight beasts. And we can all find strength to get through the rough times. We are all people and deserve to be treated as such. And if there is a beast in your life, a person, your grades, your thoughts, anything...FIGHT against it. Be who you are, because you are capable of so much.

Just Haven't Met You Yet

My junior year of high school was the year that I really recognized that I starting to lose my connection to California. I missed it. All of the time. I still do. I continually felt the need to be there to feel like home again. I'm sure that everyone misses the place where they grew up. I'm sure that's why my mom insisted on us moving back to Idaho after her being gone for nearly thirty years.

That was the year that I was taking AP English with one of my all-time favorite teachers. We had to write an essay in which we used description of a place to evoke emotion to our readers. A pretty basic assignment I would say. I chose to write about something that I had a lot of emotions about. Rinaldi's Market in Linden, CA. My teacher was amazed. She loved the paper, it was a major improvement from my previous assignment and it was full of my dramatic teenage emotions. My mom cried when she read my paper. I sent it to my friends in Linden and they loved it too. You may be sitting there, thinking to yourself: really, a grocery store? What makes it so special?

I can't really explain it. When this world seems to be getting so big, it's nice to know that a place like Rinaldi's exists. Or maybe thinking about how it was in the past makes me remember that I'm from a small town and that no matter where I go or what aspirations I have, that's where my roots are.

The other day, I was working on an assignment for class and I went through and read my paper about Rinaldi's. The first time in years. And guess what - it was a really bad paper. But there were some beautiful parts to it. It was titled "I Fell in Love at a Grocery Store". I remember how proud I was of that title. Then, I kid you not - seven months later, THIS VIDEO was released. It then became my dream to actually fall in love in a grocery store. But this isn't actually a blogpost about how I have recently fallen in love or anything.

This post is mostly about how sometimes it's really nice to remember where you came from. 

It makes you want to look at where you're going and make it count.
I have this internal debate every time someone asks me where I'm from. It would seem so sad to forget the place I grew up. But I hate neglecting what Idaho gave to me as well. So I usually say both.

Because I like who I am.
And these places are a part of that.

Honestly. I want to see you be Brave.

It's time for my annual independence day post. "Independence Day?" You may be thinking to yourself...but in case you were wondering, on October 5, 2011 - I broke up with a boy. And then I went a whole year without dating anyone. I didn't hold a boy's hand. I wen on a total of one date (to some, this may not be a big deal, but for me, it was). And you wanna know something. I LIVED. The culmination of my thoughts were written and I took on another year. And you know what. I didn't go without dates. It hasn't by any means been a boy free year. It hasn't been a year without being hurt. But I still wanted to Celebrate.

"I'll remember those three letters. It will be O.K."

Last year, I was celebrating being able to be myself. Learning how to live and embrace my free spirit. I became comfortable with me. I know that I can be who I am and no one can change who that is. People can make me want to be better, inspire change - but I will always be who I am. And that was a good thing to learn. That was something happy to celebrate.

"Let your words be anything but empty"

Ever since the first time I heard this song, I felt like it was the most perfect anthem. This year, I think this is what I've learned. I've learned how to use my power. That I have power. To not be afraid to be or say what I feel. And yeah, maybe it's brought on some heartache, but the joy that I've been able to have afterwards and the lessons I've learned because of it is immeasurable.

I've learned how to recognize my weaknesses and improve my character. I've had other inspire change and then I've made the changes. I've improved, and that's really cool. So really, there is every reason to celebrate.

And I think that everyone should find reasons to celebrate their lives. Celebrate the changes. The miracles. The positive things in life. Because change is good. Progress is necessary and the beautiful thing about the life we've been given is that we are allowed to progress and improve.

So Independence Day has come and I am happy. And I am me. And I am still young, I am alive. And I am incredibly free.

I Whip My Hair Back and Forth

With people I've just met or people who don't even know me, a lot of the time, the first thing said to me is:

"I LOVE YOUR HAIR. Don't you just love it?"

and then as people get to know me, the question that almost always comes up is:

"Has your hair always been short?"

The responses to each of these questions respectively is "Thank you and yes it's the best thing I've ever done" and "No." It kind of blows my mind to think that there are people in my life who have never known me with long hair. It's strange how my short hair has become a part of who I am. When I cut it, I wrote a blogpost titled "It's just hair." But to be honest, it's always been more.

I realized at a pretty young age that my hair was my greatest asset. It was a beautiful color, it was fine and broke easily. My mom always kept it at my shoulders and had me count my brush strokes when I brushed it every night. It was my main point of vanity until I started putting it in ponytails as I got older. That was an attempt to hide it I think. Or I just stop caring because in middle school, I didn't think I'd ever be pretty so why try...

In high school, things changed a little bit. It became my greatest asset again. I loved my hair again, that was cool. But no one ever noticed it. It's not like it had a lot of power over people or that it made all the boys drop at my feet. It was just there. 

Soccer was where hair really counted. That ponytail is a symbol of status. Working for the soccer team at BYU, I have noticed a lot about female soccer players, and in turn, myself. But hair is an important part of that. The way each girl does her hair expresses individuality and seriousness of play. It just means something. I don't know if I can fully describe it. But trust me.

Being on stage, hair becomes extremely important. And this is an example of the ridiculousness I use to put myself through. But it's true. Whether you're acting or dancing, your hair is there and it changes things. I went and saw a dance performance last week. And I realized the importance of having long hair to put into perfect buns as a ballerina and beautiful up-do's as ballroom dancers. You notice when a woman is on stage with short hair.

This post is already getting long, but recently, a coworker and I were discussing how much we love our short hair and that although we pretend we cut our hair for ease. We also cut our hair to make a statement. My statement was particularly directed toward an idiot boy who said that girls were no longer attractive once they had short hair. And the statement is that as beautiful as long hair is, sometimes, a girl can really rock short hair and it can be beautiful just as much. This isn't a plea, by any means, for every girl to cut their hair short. 

This is just a plea for you to do what you want and to be happy. 

We're Only Several Miles from the Sun

When I worked in the store at the lake, there was a man who would come in every day to buy yogurt and a piece of fruit. Every morning, without fail. This man is none other than the original Elvis. He claims he was named Elvis before Elvis was even a musician, therefore he is the original. This man is older. He has tanned, wrinkly skin that looks like it's been turned into leather. He always wears a fleece vest with nothing underneath it and a pair of cargo shorts. I mean always, he could be a cartoon character. He sometimes drives his pickup to the lodge, which at all times has his bike and kayak attached to it. If he doesn't drive, he rides his bike there. He has grey hair that become wavy as it gets longer. He has a kind face but sometimes has crazy eyes.

He likes to talk to people, constantly asking them questions about their lives. All the girls in the store enjoyed talking to him. He was just a regular in our day and it was nice to have a customer who was kind and actually kind of cared about your life outside of being the person selling them overpriced souvenirs and necessities.

Elvis thought that I was a genius. He was impressed with my interest in math. He wanted me to marry his grandson who was studying engineering at Michigan State. I've always thought Elvis to be a strange sort of genius, you know like the ones that helped build the atomic bomb and then were never quite the same again. If anything, he is a character. 

But more than Elvis's strange habits, wardrobe, and ideas on life. I have always admired his ability to connect with people. Last week, I saw Elvis. It was the first time since that summer. He remembered my name, my major, where I go to school. It was incredible. Some people would think it creepy, but there's more to it than that.

In today's world, it's so common to find pride in being forgetful and shame in being able to remember things and people and those little things. You're more likely to hear someone confess to forgetting names easily than to hear someone admit that they can remember everything in a conversation they had with one person one time. Sometimes people who do remember feel the need to pretend like they don't so they don't seem creepy. But maybe we need to change that because when someone remembers, it makes you feel happy. It makes you feel loved. I guess that's the moral of this whole story. We should put more emphasis on kindness, on listening to others and really letting it sink in. Because the more we remember --the more we can truly touch a person's life. 

If I only had a heart

I've been thinking a lot  lately about love. Not the kind of love that girls normally think of though. It's the kind of love that you feel for your friends. It's the kind of love that a person can potentially feel for everyone. To me and those with my beliefs, it is the love of Christ. It is charity. To others, it is simply the feeling of being understanding the human race or being one with nature or being one with oneself. But whatever you believe this love is, it is humanly possible.

This quote inspired this post.

Sometimes I don't understand it. Sometimes I don't know how I can love a person so much and feel so much pure joy in their being and their being in my life but also feel completely frustrated with them and not want to even be with them. I think that's the hardest part. I feel all of these positive feelings for a person but can have such negative emotions. It doesn't make sense. Sometimes I wish I could just love each person in my life perfectly all the time. Or sometimes I feel like it would be easier if I didn't love anyone. But that's not really possible.

I don't really know what I'm trying to say. One time someone told me that she believed that I have a bottomless heart. I will forever be flattered by that statement. But I don't think I've reached that point yet. But I think I have the potential. I think everyone does, actually. Love is such a peculiar feeling. It can't be explained. It can't be measured. It is simply something that you have. It's something that you grow. That you make better. It's something you earn, something you can lose. It has so many different facets and so many different expressions. It's simply what it is.

So I guess that maybe I'm trying to say that I don't love everyone perfectly all of the time. But there are moments in my life where I've known that it was possible. And if I can feel that, then everybody can.

daughters will love like you do

I don't know how I feel about bragging about my father on the interwebs. But I feel that maybe he will appreciate that I feel like he's worth bragging about. I know yesterday was Father's Day was yesterday, but better late than never, right?

I actually got into a fight with my friend in which we were trying to decide which one of our dads would win in a fight which would establish them as the true best dad. It was pretty intense. But really, I think my dad's pretty fantastic. I've always been a "daddy's girl". I'm not ashamed, I'm actually quite proud (let's not devalue my mother, I'm my mother's best friend, but my daddy's girl).

My dad is fantastic. He's taught me everything I know and some things I've forgotten. He taught me to love math, to play poker, to jump in the cold water and love every minute while you're in it. He's an example of a patient person, someone who always is willing to help, a man who wants to do what is right. He taught me how to be a soccer player who never backs down. He taught me to love old cars. To be proud, to work hard and to be smart with money. He's an amazing example of how to fulfill a calling. He taught me to love animals, to remember your passions. He has shown me that maybe life doesn't always go exactly the way you dreamed, but it will go the way that will make you happy.He supports me in just about everything I do. I think he believes that I could walk on the moon if I chose to do it. And that support is everything to me. My dad has shown me how to love the people around me, how to get to know people. I've always loved the way that people admire my father for simply being himself. He's taught me that things like this are completely possible. And he's taught me most of these things by example. He always gave us time. He still does.

whenever I'm hurt, he's there to help me understand and make it better.

I will be the first to admit that I would have been a mess in high school if my dad had not been there the whole time. As a teacher, a mentor, the provider of advice, the encouragement to carry on. He was there. Even in college, he has helped me find my way and constantly look forward with hope.

 He thinks a lot of things are really funny. I love that he laughs at so many things.

 If you notice, he and I are on the opposite sides of the group, making the same exact face. That is one of the reasons why this picture is so perfect.

I simple love this man. As far as father's go, he's pretty grand.

And just for side shout-out:

My brothers have turned out to be some pretty fabulous dad's as well. They are incredible. Kind of like their dad.

I don't think I have even come close to accurately describing my love and appreciation for my father. But I tried to do my best. And if I have not accurately shown my love and appreciation for my brothers, I have at least shown you their adorable children (minus Annie, I couldn't find a picture of Keith and Annie, but she's cute too).