Who am I?

I have a problem when people say,

"I don't even know who I am."

Honey,

it may feel that way.

But you really do know.

It's as easy to know

as knowing whether you like country music or not.

You've lived with yourself

for your whole life.

You know yourself.

You don't need to worry so much

about categorizing yourself

or defining yourself.

As a wise high school teacher once said,

"All you gotta do is live."

You're already you,

whether or not you think you know who that is.

I don't think there's some grand secret to discover,

unless it's that God loves you.

You can try and be

a better version of you,

but you should still try and be you--

the you that you are

when you're not thinking so hard

about not knowing who you are.

And if some days you like country music,

and some days you don't,

that's okay.

A little internal inconsistency

will not destroy

the framework of your identity.

Just be you,

and like it.

Because the you that you really are

is worthwhile.

Not because you're the center of the universe,

but because

to be human

is to be worthwhile.

There was an old woman who lived in a shoe.

I'm going to have twenty children

so my house is never empty.

We shall overcome someday.

Fifty years ago

was the great year

1963.

In the beginning of the year,

George Wallace became governor of Alabama

and inauspiciously began his term,

"Segregation now,

segregation tomorrow,

and segregation forever!"

But in August,

fifty years ago today,

black and white met

in a hallowed place

presided over by a great man of freedom.

And Dr. King

told us about his dream.

He said,

"Segregation never

and no more!"

He said words

that made us think of our own dreams--

words that still enter our hearts

fifty years later

with all the power that language can hold,

brimming with as many gleaming ideals

as feeble man can aspire to.

I'm glad that

"in the fell clutch of circumstance"

he didn't trade his ability to dream

for the drought of bitterness,

a mess of pottage

compared with the inestimable birthright

that was his as a son of Adam.

The human soul can endure

when it knows that it shall overcome.

"The most important verse

is the one they wrote down in Montgomery, Alabama.

They said,

'We are not afraid.'"

Beauty for beauty's sake.

I believe in beauty,

and it's one of the themes

I like to write about.

I believe that beautiful things

give us glimpses of God.

And appreciating the beauty of things

makes you more of a person.

Like beauty in a landscape,
or in words,

or in a film.

But what about beauty in people?

via

Appreciating a person

just because that person is beautiful

doesn't seem to expand your soul.

It makes you shallow.

In everything else in this world,

I espouse

beauty for beauty's sake.

But in people,

it's so different.

You're not allowed to appreciate a person

just for being beautiful

because they didn't do anything to get it.

They were born that way.

But we would never look at a sunset and say,

"That sunset doesn't deserve my appreciation

because it didn't work to be beautiful."

I guess we should look at beauty in people
and appreciate humanity and the chance to live
instead of consuming it on our lusts.

Because really,
people are the most beautiful thing

on this earth!

They of all creations

should be pondered

and admired

and found beautiful.

Big Yellow Taxi.

Four years ago today

I moved into Heritage Halls
to begin college.

I unpacked my stuff,

met my new roommates,

ate lunch at the Creamery with Ashley,

remarked that some of the boys walking by

didn't look a day over 15.

Then, I was alone all afternoon,

and sad.

I read my scriptures,

and then I recall eating a rice cake for dinner.
(I hadn't been able to believe how much
groceries had cost at the store that day.)

And that's how I,
at eighteen,
started my grand adventure.

Today,
I drove past Heritage
on my way to work.

The building I lived in
has been torn down.

And in its place--

it's too perfect--

is
a
parking
lot.

They paved paradise
and put up a parking lot.

I'll admit,
I cried as I drove by today.

I was so young
and I learned so much about love.

For a mad moment,
I thought I'd like to go back.
But then I realized
that would never do.

You can never go back.
You can only love your memories.

Introvert Weekend.

I can never quite decide

whether I'm an introvert

or an extrovert.

Historically,

I've been pretty shy

around people I don't know well.

At the same time,

I love being around other people.

I feel like

life offers you enough alone time

as it is:

when you're in the bathroom,

when you walk from place to place.

Hey,

you're alone with yourself in your head

all the time.

The rest of the time,

I'd like to be with others.

This weekend, however,

I completely introverted it.

via

I slept long,

and read books,

went places by myself.

Mostly, though,

I didn't leave my house

or talk to virtually anyone.

It was nice.

But it was enough.

I'm ready to reenter the land of the living.

Miss Pardee.

This is Amy.

And this is my favorite
picture of her.
And I love borrowing
that headband.

Today,

this girl put on her teacher pants,

walked into the second grade

and

taught

children.

She's not some student teacher.

She has her very own class.

For the whole year.

And today was just day one.

I know. 

I'm speechless too.

Whenever I think about doing that,

I get the hives.

Basically.

I mean,

what do you teach them

all

day

long?

Every.

Day.

How did any of us

make it through elementary school?

(To all my elementary school teachers:

Thank you.)

Anyway.

The thing is,

she's gonna make those kids

love second grade.

When you're around her,

she'll make ya laugh.

She'll make ya cry

(only in the good way).

She'll make ya learn stuff.

I used to take notes

when we would have our girl talks

because they were always so insightful.

True story.

Way to go, Miss Pardee!

You're a real woman.

I Heart the 70s.

I love the 50s.

I love the 60s.

I even had an epiphany about the 80s once.

But besides my obvious affinity for Richard Nixon,

I've neglected the 70s.

And I couldn't feel good about that.

So I recently took

a

bold

foray

into 70s music.

What I've learned:

1. Turns out You're So Vain 
is actually a good song.
Who'd've thought?

2. Probably my favorite song of all time
is from the 70s.
Go figure.

3. Sometimes, you have to accept the 70s,

no questions asked.

A song about anthropomorphic muskrats?

Sure, why not?

 

She is me.

Four years ago today,

I received my patriarchal blessing.

The person it describes

is a beautiful person:

kind and vibrant.

And she is me!

It is nice to see

how much more like her

I have become

in only a few years.

I Open at the Close.

I really like closure.

When I wake up tomorrow,

Allyson will be gone forever.

So I've been wanting to make every moment matter.

Last time at Panda Express.

Last trip to Provo Bakery.

Last episode of Project Runway.

Last twilit walk.

I've wanted to do all these things

with a lot of fanfare

and imbue meaning and wistfulness into them.

To pronounce in solemn and sonorous tones,

"That was our last twilit walk,"

and let the weight of that sink in

while we stand with our hands over our hearts,

looking out over the deep, still valley.

But you can't.

You just go on your walk

and let it happen.

The whole way there we talked,

but on the way back,

we were quiet.

And that was okay,

even though it was the last time.

...

Allyson leaving marks the end of summer.

And I always get nostalgic at the end of summer.

But in the oranges and deep blues of sunset,

wrapped around the trunk of every tree,

dappled on the leaves in the darkness,

was the promise:

Something is going to happen.

It was so sure and inexorable

that I was surprised

when I stuck my hand out

and couldn't feel it tangible

in the air in front of me.

via

Be careful in whom you share your confidence.

Today I ate at Panda Express with Allyson

since she's heading back east

in less than two days :(

My fortune said:

Be careful in whom

you share your confidence.

Immediately, I threw it down and said,

"Pshh! I never do that."

My next thought was,

"I want to blog about this."

Which just further proves my point.

via

Proximity.

I love

that love grows

from proximity.

I love that all it takes

to make people become dear to you

is living on the same block,

going to church together,

and passing each other

on the way to school.

So dear to you

that you like to look at their faces

when they aren't looking,

because the lines of the jaw

and the breadth of the cheek

emit the warm glow of love.

Look at a stranger's face,

and you'll find it's just not the same.

via

Things That Made Me Cry Today.

A picture of my friend and his wife

dressed up in pioneer clothes.

A story about a birthday gift

sparkling with real-life romance.

The pattern of the disco ball

swirling on the floor.

via

You don't get to meet Amys too often.

This is Amy.

I met her at work.

I don't know her that well,

but I do know

that she's always kind to people.

She lets you know

that you're a special person

to her.

She always tries her very best at things.

I can't imagine her quitting

or giving up.

If she did,

she would be sure

to learn a lesson from it

and do better next time.

It sure is something

to know a girl like her.

You don't get to meet Amys

too often.

So when you do,

you should take a moment to appreciate it.

America the Beautiful.

"When they study our civilization

two thousand years from now,

there will only be three things

that Americans will be known for:

the Constitution,

baseball,

and jazz music.

They're the three most beautiful things

Americans have ever created."

-Gerald Early

I have to agree.

Mona Lisa.

I really don't like Brad Paisley at all,

(to my roommate Ashley, I apologize)

but I recently heard this song.

I feel like the frame

that gets to hold the Mona Lisa

and I don't care

if that's all I ever do.

I found it interesting

that that's even a song.

When I go to art museums,

I often like the frames as much as,

if not more than,

the paintings themselves.

Let's be honest.

That's a beautiful frame.

Better looking,

I would submit,

than Lisa herself.

You'll Be in My Heart (Pop Version).

This is Katie.

We're sisters.

Today is her birthday.

The greatest tribute

that I can give to her life

is with my own life.

So much of me is because of her.
All the cool parts of me are, at least.

The music I like.
The movies I quote.
The sports I watch.
The food I order at restaurants.

Wherever I go,
people like me because of her.

Where would my fond memories of growing up be
without playing Barbies
long after she was too old for them,
"dejunking" our room
while we listened to Now 3,
playing duets,
and watching tennis tournaments
while eating Texas toast and soft pretzels?

I'm glad she's my monkey sister,
sistergirl honey child butternut squash,
white beaver,
graduate of loonbuggy school,
etc.
etc.
etc.

I want to meet the cow that made this.

I want to love life so much

that when I eat ice cream,

my first wish is to meet the cow that made it

so I can give her props.

How nice it would be

to be so easily touched

by the little things in life,

and to be so aware

of where thanks are due.

Waiting up.

When you decide to wait up

for your roommate to come home from her date,

you're in for the long haul.

Seriously.

So much drooling on the couch.

But it's worth it.

No girl should walk in,

starry-eyed,

from a nearly magical evening

and have to

proceed 

straight 

to 

bed.

There should be someone

drooling on the couch,

waiting to hear her dreamy sighs

and giggle with her

and watch the awe on her face

as she stares into space.

And it's nice to be that someone waiting,

who gets to take part in

the fresh excitement,

and not the tempered feelings

of the next morning.