Television.

I don't really like

watching television.

I'm no saint

who sits around

reading great works of literature

all day, either.

Don't get the wrong idea.

But I do like

Parks & Recreation

quite a bit.

Last year,

there was a solid month

where all I did

was go to work,

go running,

and watch Parks & Rec.

I was very happy.

Today,

I finally decided

to catch up

on the new season.

And from the first instant,

it was pure joy!
Like catching up with friends

I haven't seen.

Hearing about

what's been going on with them

for the past 3 years--

their families,

their jobs.

I love them.

But.

There was a moment

when I caught sight

of my own reflection

in my computer screen.

The moment you see do that,

the magic is broken,

and you realize

that you're actually alone

at your kitchen table.

Just the way you are.

Today,

I ended up watching

two full episodes

of Mr. Rogers' Neighborhood

while trying to figure out

how to do

my stats homework.

I learned

how construction paper is made

and I watched a guy

play the saw like a cello,

and I heard how the first day of school

isn't as scary as you think.

It was compelling.

It was compelling

because it was soothing.

Like playing with

the grandpa I never had,

while he points out

things about the world

that I haven't learned yet.

Here's the thing.

He looks at you

and says,

"You're learning.

You're growing every day.

I care about your learning.

I do.

I'm one of the adults

in your life

who cares about your learning

because I like you

just the way you are."

We should all

say that to people.

We should all

sit across the table

from people

who value us,

who are happy to listen to us,

who don't act like we're weird

when we show

the broken parts of ourselves,

whose eyes sometimes get big

when we say something,

but only because

they're waiting to know more.

I'm just glad

he did that

and he put it on television

so all children

could hear it.

So I can keep hearing it

no matter how old

I get.

If you died tonight, would you be saved?

Today,

as I was walking onto

the train platform,

I saw two

normal-looking middle-aged women.

I think I looked right at them.

(First mistake.)

One smiled and said, "Hi!"

Of course,

my reaction was what?

But my body

was still pushing forward

(inertia)

and before I knew it,

she was right there

and I was right there

and she put a pamphlet

in my hand

and said,

"If you died tonight, would you be saved?"

Of course,
my reaction was what?
But somehow I said,

"Thank you,"

and inertia

kept carrying me forward.

I got on the train,

and then I pulled it out of my pocket
and read it.

It was called

God Will Forgive You.

Most of the things in there

were things I believed,

more or less.

There was a picture

of the author.

She looked nice.

Right?

And it is nice,

in a way,

isn't it?

That people take time

making pamphlets.

That they think

regular people

on a train platform

are worth it.

They don't know

which people on that platform

have giant pamphlet-sized holes

in their souls,

so they give one

to everyone.

They didn't know

what I would do

with their message,

but they didn't care.

They didn't know

that I stared off into space

and said to myself,

If I died tonight,

would I be saved?

The man across from me

on the train

was wearing a cowboy hat

with two University of Utah pins

pinned right to the front.

He had a mustache,

and was reading a book.

I looked at him and thought,

I bet

he never has occasion

to be shaken

by women with pamphlets.

I slouched down into my seat,

leaned onto the wall of the train,

and wished that its gentle rock,

like a great, cavernous mother,

might lull me to sleep.

Not Knowing.

Here's the thing.

Sometimes girls think I'm brave

when they hear

that I tell boys

that I like them.

But they're wrong.

I'm not brave.

I just

can't live

with not knowing.

I'm not brave--

I'm actually terrified.

Terrified

of

what

it

means

to

live

forever

and

never

know.

(This is a metaphor.)

A List that Currently has Eighteen Entries.

Today, I read

some random guy’s blog post

about all the girls he’s loved.

I don’t even know him

or care about him

in any way,

but I was obsessed with it.

So I spent the drive to work

counting all the boys

I've had a crush on

in the recent past.

It was hard to determine

who I actually liked long enough
or well enough

to make the list.

Here is a

hopefully (obsessively) interesting

description of 18 of them.

(*Some of the 18 may well read this. If that's you, I hope you're okay with this. I'm not trying to make you feel weird. It's just the urge to share overly personal things on the internet, you know? It's inexorable. I hope you find a description that you think is you, but I hope you're not quite sure whether it is. And I hope I've done you justice. I just double checked, and there are only incredible people on this list.)

#1 was my first guy best friend. We did fun things together. Sometimes it felt like a competition to see which one of us could be nicer to the other.

#2 was 9 years older than me, I think. He’s important, because he’s the last boy that I liked from afar. Maybe I was a little old to finally be giving up I’ve-never-talked-to-you-but-I’m-in-love-with-you crushes, but at least it happened. And early on in the list.

#3 may, to this day, be the nicest person I’ve ever met. He was the first boy who had served a mission to ask me on a date, so that made me feel incredibly grown up.

#4 dazzled me because he talked to me about things. He was incredible. Just ask anyone. At first it was always me that did the talking; later on, it was always him.

I stopped liking #5 when I found out every other girl did. But they were right to. He taught me everything I know.

#6 was probably the first person who would have really dated me. At first I said, "Why not?" But then I figured out why before I did it.

#7 is the other nicest person on the earth. Wanting to talk to him is the most natural feeling in the world. He was the first person I said, "I like you," to, and I haven't stopped since.

#8 was as annoying as can be. I had a crush on him once, and then almost-crushes on him a hundred other times.

#9 is the other other nicest person that's ever lived. (Last one, I promise.) Of course I liked him. We made things together on our dates, and I loved that. I'm looking at one of them right now.

#10 and I talked for hours. He always picked up just where we'd stopped the day before. We both acted weird.

The first time I met #11, he made eye contact with me while I was talking. So when I had the chance to get to know him months later, I liked him. He told me not to be afraid of life.

I settled on #12 when #11 didn't share my feelings. We never quite made sense, but I'll always think he's the greatest.

#13 is the other other other nicest person in the world. (Whoops, I forgot that he was going to come up.) One time we were sitting next to each other at church, and he leaned forward when I did, and then he leaned back when I did. It was always like that.

#14 was a crazy dream that I realized I didn't want to come true.

#15 came out of nowhere, but not really. He made you want to dance. He unlocked the part of me that wanted to be happy. I think I'll say good things about him for the rest of my life.

#16 came out of left field. It was so unlikely. I still don't know to explain how it happened.

#17 is the guy in the room that you know you want to be friends with. My favorite thing was making eye contact and smiling about the same thing.

#18 is everyone's favorite human being, but that's not why I liked him. Everything felt inevitable from start to finish.

The end.

The end?

That's the thing.
It doesn't have an end
because I haven't
lived out the rest of my life
yet.

So here's to #19, I guess.

Can't be Contained.

I think we underestimate

the power we have

in this world.

Every couple

who becomes a couple

adds to the net joy

of this world.

It's easiest to feel

at the local level,

but it affects

the whole world.

Someone a few continents away

is smiling bigger

because you held a boy's hand.

And someone nearby

is watching

and is glad.

The joy of building

and of kindness

can't be contained, can it?

.

.

.

So it follows

that every couple

who breaks up

adds to the net sorrow

of this world.

It's easiest to feel

at the local level,

but it affects

the whole world.

Someone a few continents away

is hanging his head

because you only walk

with your hands in your pockets now.

And someone nearby

is watching

and is devastated.

The sorrow of entropy

and of undoing

can't be contained, can it?

.

.

.

We should all stop pretending

that other people

can't hurt us

if we don't let them in close.

We can all hurt one another

at any time.

It has to be that way

for us to be human.

Saul Steinberg, "Kiss"

How could I not?

Today,

I was praying.

I told God

why I was mad.

When it came time to listen,

I remembered

that the most important

part of prayer

is not falling asleep.

So I got up from kneeling

and stood in front of

the bathroom mirror

and watched myself cry.

My nostrils flared

and my lips quivered

of their own volition.

I watched each tear

travel a different path

down my face,

like clips

on a Plinko board.

And I had

a conversation

with God.

Me: Why do I exist?

God: You exist

so you can experience

all the beautiful parts of life.

You exist

so you can help people

and bring them joy.

You exist

so you can create good things.

You exist

because I made you.

I made you,

and I want you to be like I am.

Me: Well, why did you make me?

Of all the infinite children

you made,

why me?

God: How could I not?

How could we not?

"The Coatmakers."

I once had

a coat that I loved

more than anything else

I owned.

It was perfect

in every way.

And so I wore it

every day of every winter

for years.

My other coat

languished in the closet,

but my heart was taken.

As I noticed it fraying

at the wrists and elbows,

it pained my little heart.

I hadn't looked hard,

but I knew

there was no coat like it

in this world.

This coat

was my only exception.

.

.

.

When last winter ended,

I decided I had to let it go.

Summer came and went,

and then fall came.

One day,

we were shopping,

and I saw a coat.

I fell in love with it

instantly.

I tried it on right there.

It was perfect in every way--

too expensive,

and in a store

whose quality I questioned.

But it was perfect.

I bought it.

And I have worn it

every day.

.

.

.

Yesterday,

call me crazy,

but I took my old coat

out of the closet

and put it on.

It was the strangest feeling.

I loved this coat?

So much

that I thought

I could never love

another coat

ever again?

It suddenly seemed

so uninspired.

It was still

a nice coat,

to be sure.

And it still felt natural

to love it.

But the me that loved it

isn't the same me

that wakes up every morning

and goes to sleep every night.

That me is gone.

Now I can't decide

whether it's sad

or surprisingly freeing

to realize

that I will someday

love another coat

more than I love

the one I have now.

(This is a metaphor.)

This isn't

an actual picture

of either of the coats.

Everyone is Right.

I've never been interested
in politics.

That's not true.

I love the presidents
of the United States.
I love political history,
and learning about
how the pendulum
has swung back and forth
over the years
between conservative
and liberal.

But the part where
you pick a party
and make choices
about your values
and how you think
things should be done?

No thank you.
I always shied away
and said I was nonpartisan.

Really,
that's just because
I didn't think
I would ever have
enough information
to be able to say
what would be right
for everyone.

It's too big of a task,
so I politely declined.

When I started
my masters of public administration
last semester,
I was surprised by
how much politics
there was everywhere.

Everywhere.

People making choices
is politics.
So everything is politics.

And I had to learn
about the issues,
and why people felt
one way or another.

But this is what I discovered.

Even if you had
all the information
you needed,
it wouldn't be easy
to choose
which way to go.

Because
if your mind
is open at all,
you will soon learn
that
everyone
is
right
to some degree.

(This is a metaphor.)

The Radio.

There ain't nothing
in this world
like listening to the radio.

Shuffle mode is our best attempt
to counterfeit it.

Sure, you feel joy
when the unexpectedly perfect song
comes on shuffle.

But shuffle is still limited
to the music you've previously chosen.

It's not the same
as being handed a gift
from the radio gods.

With the radio,
anything is possible.

Literally anything.

Only on the radio
could get the guilty pleasure
of listening to
"Bad Day" by Daniel Powter
and "Jar of Hearts" by Christina Perri
back-to-back.

Only the radio
could be playing
(arguably) my two least favorite songs
of all time
on consecutive stations:
"Life is a Highway" by Rascal Flats
and "Stronger" by Kelly Clarkson.

You can never realize
how much you like
"Hollaback Girl"
and "Hey Ya!"
until they come on the radio.

I only wish
there was a way
that my radio
could automatically
tune in
to any station
playing Taylor Swift
so I don't just catch
the last chorus of "Blank Space"
every
time.

I bet Hey Ya! just came on.

Will You Marry Me?

It all started

when I decided

that engagement rings

are sexist.

Why does a woman

wear an outward symbol

of her commitment,

but the man

doesn't have to?

You're both committed.

I think you both should

or neither should.

.

.

.

Then I thought about

the proposal.

It doesn't make sense

that one person should ask

and another should answer.

Shouldn't both ask?

"Will you marry me?"

"Yes.

Will you marry me?"

"Yes!"

If you're both in love,

you should both

want to find out

the answer

to that question.

The man

doesn't make

all the decisions

about when

and how

and how much.

You both do.

You're in love

with each other.

Both of you

at the same time.

Am I crazy?

The Setup.

Today,

my friend

set me up on a date

with myself.

She gave me

a gift card to Jamba Juice

and a gift card to Barnes & Noble

and made me promise

that I'd do it.

I looked forward to it

all day.

And as soon as work was done,

I untucked my shirt,

and went on my date.

I got the pomegranate flavored one,

because I do that.

I listened to

sad jazz music

in the car.

I looked at every book

at Barnes & Noble.

I thought about getting

a little booklet

of self-scoring personality tests,

a book about astronomy,

The Feminine Mystique,

a coffee table book

of all the covers

of National Geographic.

I bought

Man's Search for Meaning

by Viktor Frankl,

but not before

I lamented to myself

that book stores

have more tricks than books,

that the Fiction and Literature section

is more fiction than literature,

and is smaller than

the teen paranormal romance section.

But, anyway.

It was probably
the most successful setup
I've ever been on.