Counting Down.

In January,

my best friend Ashley

told me

that she and her husband

are moving to California

when the semester ends.

And since then,

I have been washed with dread

every time I think about it.

The number of months of our lives

that Ashley and I have not lived

in the same place

is probably six.

Tops.

We don't see each other that often anymore--

maybe once every month or so,

maybe a little less.

But there's a security

that comes from knowing

she's only a few blocks away.

She'll be there when I need her.

And it's not necessarily that I need her,

but that I need the security of knowing 

that she's as close to me physically

as she is to my heart.

The likelihood of us

ever living in the same town again

is about to plummet to zero.

I know that she will be my best friend

no matter what,

no matter when.

But I still feel like

I'm wasting precious time

by not spending every minute 

of the next two months

with her

and Marshall

and Huey

and Lancelot.

I was wrong about myself.

Have you ever thought about

what particular traits you have

that make you lovable?

Maybe it's just me,

but I have a short list in my head

of things that I would like

the people who love me

to love me for.

I remember once,

there was a boy who liked me.

And I was sure

that he didn't know me well enough

to appreciate the things

on my list.

And so his crush on me made me mad.

No!

How can you think you like me

if you don't know the things about me

worth appreciating?

(Not saying

that was the best way

to view the situation.

I know

I was immature about it.)

Anyway,

I've always thought

that right at the top of my list

was my perspective.

The way I view the world.

The way I see beauty in everything.

I love that about myself.

But lately,

I realized

that I was wrong about myself.

The best thing about me,

the most important thing about me,

is 

the way 

I love people.

I can't believe I didn't see that.

via

Almost Famous.

It's been almost two months

since I moved into the Almost Famous house.

And they've been almost perfect months.

I love the quiet little street I live on.

Timpanogos looms over it 

in all her splendor.

I love the humans that live here.

Ellie makes me laugh

40% more often

than the average human.

She does everything

and does it all well.

I love when Brooke and I

meet up in the living room

and talk about boys.

I love when she practices singing.

She thinks it's annoying,

but it's not.

Emma makes the world around her

a more beautiful place.

I want to dress like her

and dream like her

and be like her.

Betsy sends the best texts

and writes the best tweets.

I love it every time

she emerges from the basement

and we have talks in the kitchen.

Kaitlin is friends with

over half of the humans in Provo.

When you meet her, you know why.

She is as kind as can be

and as crazy as can be.

It's such a blessing

that I moved in with 5 strangers

and it turned out so well.

They're just what I needed.

Almost.

Sounds Familiar.

Today, I realized

I was right all along.

The theme to 

Saved by the Bell: The College Years

and

Learn to Fly

by the Foo Fighters

do

in fact

sound like each other.

But you don't have to take my word for it.

Saved by the Bell The College Years Intro

(For some reason,

they don't have this video on Youtube.

I can't imagine why not.)

Feelings.

Let me tell you

about one of my favorite things:

talking about feelings.

It's funny,

because I used to hate it.

I literally couldn't start a sentence

with the words I feel

without feeling uncomfortable.

But I changed.

Thankfully.

I love stating my opinions

(sometimes forcefully)

and resolving disagreements with friends.

The best kind of feelings to share

are relationship feelings.

Of course.

The thought of having the loathed

"Define the Relationship" talk

fills me with excitement.

Yes!

Talking. Feelings.

Let's define this relationship.

You get to say

everything you've been wanting to say

all along.

Like

this is when I started liking you

and

this is why I like you

and just plain

I like you.

Call me crazy,

but I even love break up talks.

Everyone's feelings are valid,

even when their feelings are

I don't like you anymore.

When you're being completely honest

about your feelings

and he's being completely honest

about his feelings,

you're both being transparent.

There are no walls between you,

so you understand each other.

You become closer, almost,

as your relationship is ending.

I don't know, guys.

Maybe I am crazy.

But talking about feelings

has made me happier

than not talking about feelings

ever has.

Try it.

What a Difference a Day Made.

Presidents Day is my favorite holiday.

And here's why today was the best one

I've ever had:

Calling my mom at 7 am

to make sure she hadn't died

like she had in my dream.

(She hadn't.)

Lying in bed until 10,

listening to my 70s playlist.

Going on a run,

and getting tears in my eyes

on the way back

because it's unseasonably warm

and I'm so tired

and a good song is playing

and the mountains are beautiful.

Lunch at Zupas with Amy

and running into Megan there.

Taking so much longer to finish my food

than she does

because I'm talking so much.

Lying around all afternoon

with Amy,

learning about selfies

and teaching her about Instagram.

Going to see the angels,

and feeling so happy

that their apartment still feels like heaven.

Seeing Rachel on Presidents Day

for the first time in three years.

Watching the sunset over Utah Lake

and the snow on Mount Timpanogos.

Doing things you've never done before.

Watching Seinfeld with Justin

and laughing so hard.

Roommates returning from weekends away.

Skyping with my best friends, the Knowltons.

And, you know.

All these guys.

via

What a difference a day made.

Behind Their Backs.

A couple of years ago

something funny kept happening to me.

All the time,

people would say,

"I heard you have

a great blog,"

or,
"Someone was saying 

nice things about you."

And I'd say,

"Who?"

And they'd say,

"Oh, I don't remember."

Like, often.

Someone was spreading

nice rumors about me,

and I never figured out who it was.

I could tell you about other times

when someone told me

something unbelievably nice

that someone else had said about me.

Every time I was thrilled

and speechless

and couldn't quite believe it.

That person really

said that about me?

I can only imagine

that this happens all the time,

not just to me.

It makes me want to say

nice things about people

behind their backs.

And to their faces.

via

You are my sunshine.

This is Lizzie.

My dear, dear Lizzie.

She's in a tree

because she's the most adventurous girl

you could ever dream of knowing.

It was because of her

that we skipped work and class

and left at 11 p.m. 

to drive through the night to San Diego.

And I saw palm trees for the first time.

Knowing her is an adventure, too,

because she is spectacularly interesting.

And you get to learn that 

a piece at a time,

one secret special bit at a time.

Here is the condensed version:

She's a bohemian cowgirl,

a maker of stunning meals,

a first-rate hugger,

a teller of hilarious bad date stories.

She wants to do everything

and I'm sure she could

if only she had five lives' worth of hours

to do it all in.

When I think of her,

I think of someone who spends her time well,

who improves herself,

who has good things to say about people,

and includes them.

Her hair is sunshine

and her smile is sunshine

and her life is sunshine.

And I love her.

One of the best things about her

is how modest she is.

She blushes and giggles

if you say anything nice about her.

Which is an extra perk

of writing this blog post.

Indian Spring.

I was pretty devastated last year

when summer ended.

But surprisingly,

winter hasn't been that bad.

Nevertheless,

I was thrilled today

when Provo was 45 degrees.

(Also, Delaware was getting pummeled with snow.)

I wore flats instead of boots

and the tops of my feet got to see the sun.

I took a ten minute walk outside

in the warmth

during the middle of work.

And I thought,

I would gladly live through the pain

of a million summers dying

if it means that I get to have

days like today.

There would never be that kind of joy

without that kind of pain.

via

Proud.

My grandma died this week.

She was my last living grandparent.

I will always picture her

sitting on my living room couch,

doing crossword puzzles.

When I was little,

her house meant

her collection of salt & pepper shakers,

the canopy bed in my mom's old bedroom,

the organ in the basement,

The Family Circus comic books.

In high school,

the first day in chem lab,

we turned on the burners

and I said,

"Oh, this smells like my grandma's house."

That baby in that picture is my grandmother.

She was born in a tiny place in Utah,

but when she married my grandpa,

she went with him to Las Vegas

and then Maryland.

We never talked to each other much,

but I remember the day we ate lunch together

and I asked her about what presidents she voted for

when she was young.

My grandma played the piano.

I remember so well

when my mom told me

that she was proud of me

because I played well.

My heart swelled with pride.

I remember when she sent me a card

and said she was proud of me.

I remember the one year

I was kind enough

to call her on her birthday.

I called,

said happy birthday

and hung up.

And I loved Christmas this year.

After we read the Christmas story

from the scriptures,

we sang carol after carol.

And she wanted us to keep singing.

For my mother's life,

and in turn for my own life,

I am indebted to her--

for leaving her father's house

and making her own life.

For Christmas one year,

she gave me 8 pairs 

of these wonderful fuzzy socks.

When I found out she died,

I wanted put some on.

I think it was a miracle that I found a pair.

They should have all been in the wash.

Married Friends.

I love hanging out with my married friends.

They invite me to their houses,

and I sit in their living rooms and talk with them.

I love that I can talk to the wife

just like we talked before she was a wife,

when she was just my friend.

We can talk about boys

and anything else

with her husband in the room.

And it feels just the same as

before he was in the picture--

except better,

because he usually has funny things to add.

I love that my friends are still my friends,

except better,

because of the way their eyes light up

when they talk about their husbands.

I love the comfort of being a third wheel.

There is something normal

about being with a married couple.

It's like being with a family.

I sit in the living room

with my friend

and her husband

and feel completely accepted.

I never feel quite that way

anywhere else,

except at my parents' house.