Little Victory

Little Victory

Yesterday marked an insignificant and yet monumental victory for myself. But first some back story.

This weekend my mom came up and she smiled with nostalgia as she talked about me when I was a little girl.  She said that I didn’t really ever play with dolls or even toys. “You played outside” she said, her voice rising as though she thought we didn’t believe her. “You played with rocks and sticks—you didn’t need toys because you had such a wild imagination.”

I have always been a dreamer. I started reading before most kids and my dreams reflected the books I read. I was a hopeless romantic. I wanted to grow up and fall in love. Wear beautiful dresses. Live in a castle somewhere.  I wanted to be an elf ( learned elvish). I wanted to live in the woods and go on important quests, maybe marry the King of Men. Always, I wanted to live in a little house on the prairie with a quiet but knowing husband who would conquer the plains with me. Our world would be small but it would be ours.

Throughout Jr. High and high school I fell in love with dark haired boys. I was enchanted by brown eyes looking up through thick lashes. But my princes never looked back. I was young, too young to be worried about it but being the worrier that I am I became convinced that I would never get married, never find love. I did find love. Sweet, innocent high school love. I knew it wasn’t going to be forever though, and I still fretted about finding my prince/Ranger/farmer.

I found him. Now I have bound myself to him in every way. He is mine. We are one. Except that now I tend to cling onto him tightly. Sometimes I even forget to keep dreaming.

Yesterday I won a small battle though. See yesterday, Justin and I both had the day off. Usually when these days come along we spend every minute together. Justin comes up with a plan for an adventure and I follow him—lovingly, happily, yeah it can get pretty sappy. In any case , yesterday was different because yesterday Justin had to fix a pipe in the side yard. This was an adventure I just couldn’t follow him on. I tried. I went with him to Lowe’s and tried to help find the part, tried to listen to what the guy said as he explained how to fix what was broken, but my dreams were calling me and I decided to listen.

So I spent the day in the dirt. I hefted a bag of soil on my shoulder and hoed and raked away at the raised bed Justin made for me. I added potting soil and did it again. I even went out to the desert and dug up some clay-like stuff and added that. It was hard work and time flew. Soon I had a bed that was ready for planting. So I asked Alonzo…hemhem Justin to help me place the seeds in the ground. It was really special. Sure it was just one teeny tiny garden and sure I am totally over exaggerating the epic-ness. But the point is that I got out there and did something I wanted to do. Learned something and applied it and I am proud. I have the sweetest husband in all the world but I don’t need him to plant a garden for me. That I did for myself. And he loves me all the more for it.

 P.S. Justin has the most beautiful brown eyes and the thickest lashes in all the land.

Who am I?

Hello Blogging world, sorry it’s been a while.

I know that everyone has their own opinions about Les Mis but I loved this version. I was particularly touched by this song, and have had the tendency to sing it the shower lately.

I’ve been thinking alot about identity. Justin and I are in a bit of a transition period of late, and it is wearing on me. It often feels like the majority of my life is being shelved away for the future, like a box of summer clothes left in a closet somewhere, put off until an undetermined date. We are waiting to hear back from the schools Justin applied to, and it feels like somehow I have been left behind somewhere.

It’s partly my own fault, for deciding not to pursue journalism right away. I think I was sort of depending on that , like I saw myself as a news writer...as though somehow writing news would anchor me firmly in place. Keep me the same. Make me who I am. I thought that’s what I wanted; saw myself reporting , wearing pencil skirts and nerdy-cool glasses…I don’t even wear glasses. It was a dream brought about by chick flicks and a decision made by a 15 year old me. I loved working at the school newspaper, but somehow I just can’t make that jump…don’t want to.

I’ll tell you what I really want to be. I really want to be a mom, a well educated Mom who raises her children up between the grass and the stars. A mom who teaches her kids how to get what they need without depending on anyone but their family and their Father in Heaven. I want to be a poet. The kind who lives out in the middle of nowhere and is inspired by the things around her. I want to be a painter. I want to go walking and discover the world as it was made for us. Not as we made it. I want to be a life-long runner. I want to be a coach. I want to be a good friend. I want to work for the city like I do now. I want to be a leader in my Church and in my community. I want too much. I don’t want enough.

Can one person really want all those things, be all those things? I think we all know the answer is yes. People are multi-faceted, complicated beings after all. I’ve learned that as I’ve listened to grandparents and great grandparents ( my own and others ) tell their stories. When it’s all said and done none of us will just have been an accountant or an artist or a Grandma. We are all those things.

Despite my meandering thoughts on the subject, I still feel like I am losing myself. My life is hinged upon Justin’s application status. I don’t know where I’ll be working, or in what field. I don’t know if my baby will have to wait another year to come into this world. I’m waiting, nervously, to see where life will take me.

That is as it should be, I guess. Life rarely lets us take the wheel. However much control you think you have will have changed by tomorrow. You’ll panic, you’ll stress out, and then you will add another title to the ever increasing list that makes up who you are.

I am a writer. A runner. A Mormon.  A video editor. A wife. A friend. A blogger. A daughter. An animal lover. Everything I was, everything I am , and everything I will be makes up a seemingly arbitrary scribble. Trace the pathway of my life and you will find only one common denominator. Me.

Embrace who you were. Love who you are. Strive everyday to be better.

Watch Les Miserable. Write blog posts about it.

And then smile, and know that you’ve found yourself again.

Me, lately.

Saturn's Rings

In ancients days, in the far corners of the world today, and in the horoscopes section of 17 magazine,  the planets were and are thought to impact one’s fate. In our case, we started of 2013 under the influence of Saturn’s rings.

More absorbing to us than the planet Saturn though , was our car, the 2002 Saturn L200. It broke down as we were pulling out of Justin’s driveway on our way to California. Anxious to get to California for Christmas, we left it in Mesa, borrowed Justin’s Dads’ car and went on our way. When we got back, our lives were consumed with getting the car in working order. Last week, Justin spent several days in Mesa trying to nurse the car back to health but it was all for naught. One of the rings inside one of the pistons is broken( or something like that ), a job which would cost much more than the car is worth to repair. Alas, the Saturn rings have left it on its last leg and we are in the market for a cheap used car that will get us where were going.

As this little family crisis consumed us, I can’t help but think about how lucky Justin and I are to have what we have. But for the whim of fate, the car breaking down would have meant some very bad things for Justin and I. At the very least, we would have had to take out some kind of loan and  and dug even deeper the neat little hole of debt we are currently standing in. Mind you, our debt is minimal considering that so far we’ve got a degree each, and that situation too is largely the product of luck or fate. You see, Justin and I both were born into pretty cush situations. We’re white*, American citizens with married, hard working parents. We are living with Justin’s grandma without a chunk of money going to rent each month. We had the chance to go to a BYU school and pay low tuition fees. Even if we fail, we’ve got a huge safety net to bounce us once and lower us harmlessly back onto solid ground. In the very worst of situations we would simply have to move in with my parents and start from scratch . Still a warm bed, food , and fun no matter how you slice it.

How many people in the world have that luxury? Not many . Bordieu* makes some interesting suggestions about the nature of success based on what fate you're born with. His term "symbolic violence" refers to his observation that kids with culturally astute parents and money backing them tend to succeed, while success is much farther out of reach for those without such advantages. He further discusses how despite these obvious advantages we tell the little man that if he would just try or work harder that he could be where we are.

I think it’s really important to be realistic about our circumstances, and acknowledge the advantages that we do have. With that in mind I am committing myself to the following :

Be thankful for what you’re blessed with. Then, realize that the people around you might not have those advantages, and might not have as much say in their success as you think. Once you’ve come to terms with that, it’s time to do something about it. First and foremost do this; Consider a person or a people’s advantages and disadvantages before you make a judgement about their work ethic. Secondly, be grateful for the fate you were born with. Third, seek to help those who are less advantaged in a personal, and day-to-day kind of way.

* I point out that we are white because I wish to acknowledge the fact that there is a cultural advantage for us there, in the United States. I am in no way stating that my skin color should merit advantages, but simply observing that it does.
* To read about Language and Symbolic power according to Pierre Bordieu click here, then click download if you dare.

Reaction

I'm sick. Do I even dare?

I hesitate to ask the question, because the answer isn't one I'll like. The answer is another question -- a more complicated question. A question I'll be answering for the rest of my life.

As I sit here letting more and more of the story unfold, I can't understand.
The question just hangs there, threatening tangibility, threatening to force itself from my lips.It chokes me as I choke back the sobs. A whimpering starts deep within and I wipe angrily at the tears sparking in my eyes. These aren't my tears to cry.

Images, jumbled and mostly imagined, flash before me. A part of me is fighting, trying to tell myself it can be stopped, that it won't happen to me, won't happen to--no I can't think it. I won't. But it wells up inside of me and overwhelms.That question. " How can I bring a child into this kind of world?"

Rain, Romance, and Taylor Swift

   I think you know someone is right for you when you can be all of yourselves in front of them and not feel like you're telling a secret. You know how you have different sides, like how you talk differently, sit differently, and even think differently when you are talking to your boss than you do when your talking to your dog? Like how you are totally cool with your family's annoyance as you belt out Wicked songs, but you'd be mortified if said belting were overheard by say your college professor. See, you know you've found your soul mate when you can scream Backstreet Boys songs in a little girl voice for the duration of a 40 minute bike ride, then turn right around and shy away from asking for ketchup at McDonald's.

   Back in the days when Justin was my boyfriend, I used to drop everything and sprint to his house whenever there was the slightest hint of rain. The thing is, I had this notion that dancing in the rain- and just not caring whether it ruined my hairstyle or not -was romantic.The the thing is that it was really a silly thing, and yet my husband-to-be would smile , everytime, and turn up the volume on his phone's music app. I am a hopeless romantic, and I am and have always been accepted as such by the love of my life.

   There isn't much rain here in Arizona so our romantic dances have taken on a new trigger...Taylor Swift. Say what you will, but the point is that whether the song is actually about a lasting relationship or not doesn't really make a difference to us. Only that stolen moment in which we are completely ourselves, and completely in love with each other.

    So naturally when Justin came sprinting in after a basketball night saying "Hurry, the song's almost over" and dragging me out to the garage to finish a T Swift song playing over the car speakers, I just absolutely had to blog about it.

Ins and Outs

     Have you missed me? 3 weeks it's been since my last post. I had plenty of ideas for posts in the meantime but, I guess I am getting choosier about what I post and when an why. My apologies.

Maybe I'm being a little selfish but I wanted to share with you all how very proud of myself I am. Over the last few months I have been working very hard to change some of my less-endearing habits and I now feel that my success is complete enough to share.

That's right, I've altogether stopped being a slob. Well I guess that's not entirely fair--I still am a chronic mess-maker, but I have learned how to counter it. Yes, over the past few months I've been doing an increasingly good job of keeping the house in homeostasis. Best of all , Justin appreciates it. The other day was the first time I really sat back and thought "something is different here." "Hey," I said , all thoughtful, " this house hasn't been messy for longer than 6bconsecutive hours in a long time..." "Yeah, " he said, "your actually like a clean person now- I'm not gonna lie, for a while there I was worried."

Poor Justin, I guess it took me a lot longer than most people to figure out my own inner workings. I was trying to be clean and organized all along, but I think the difference is that I've finally learned what works for me, rather than trying other people's routines on for size.

What I've learned about me:

1. Just trying to pick up after myself immediately after I make a mess ( say putting my clothes in the hamper after taking them off) just doesn't work for me. For whatever reason I can not get my mind focused enough to do it consistently.
2. Establishing a plan or routine before learning the ins and outs of a new schedule doesn't work for me. For years I've tried to be "with it" and say this is how it's going to work, I have to make myself do it this way before really knowing at what points in the day I'll be exhausted or hungry or in a "cleaning mood".
3.Procrastinating doesn't work for me.

It took me years to figure out the doesn'ts, but when I did the doeses just fell right into place.

1. Having frequent, set times throughout the day and week in which I clean does work for me.
2. Waiting a week or two to see when those times naturally fall into place, and then holding myself to that "natural" schedule does work for me.
3. Once I've done 1&2, doing it now and not waiting for a better time where I "feel more like it" does work for me.

It feels good to have gotten a handle on this part of myself I just hope I can keep it up!

P.S. In case you were wondering, Justin and I did in fact watch all 6 of the Star Wars movies recently, and I have since been using Yoda's classic diction in my everyday life, if some of these effects have rubbed off on my blogging I either apologize or say your welcome.

3.