Ermer Verdmer.

This is Emma.

Check her out.

She's all over the interwebz.

It's actually not her birthday because she was born on Leap Day. So whatever. #hipster

But. She's worth celebrating every year, not just every four years. So.

Here's a list of things she's taught me since I randomly, blessedly, luckily met her last year.

1. Middle parts aren't just for fashion-oblivious seventh graders.

2. Embrace your curls.

3. Tinder is actually the last name of every boy you meet on Tinder, e.g. Joey Tinder, Marcus Tinder.

4. Feminism is not a four-letter word. You actually probably already are a feminist.

5. It's possible to be a blogger and not be the worst.

6. It's cool to be best friends with your mom.

7. It's not necessary to shower every day.

8. Snapchat is actually the greatest form of communication there is.

9. Post whatever you want on the internet.

10. It's okay to like Miley Cyrus.

11. Life is to short to always check for typos.

12. There is beauty in your daily life when you look at the ordinary through new eyes.

13. Have dreams and go for them.

14. Be vulnerable and don't be ashamed of who you are. Being imperfect is what makes you beautiful.

15. Saying cheesy things is okay if you really mean them (see numbers 12-14).

Lurve yer.

Reek.

Yesterday, I left my house and it was surprisingly warm. I passively took in the clouds that were hanging low over Mount Timpanogos as I got in my car and drove to work.

Here's the thing. It started snowing. How come I couldn't see the signs? They were all there--the temperature, the clouds. But there I was, not in boots, but in flats, not having even thought twice about it.

I went up to school, where I walked across a campus of sidewalks all covered in a centimeter of water. My shoes soaked through, dried in class, and then soaked through again on the way back to the train.

The truth, and the reason I'm writing this, is that when I got home and took off my shoes, they reeked. So much so that I couldn't leave them by my bed, otherwise I wouldn't have been able to sleep.

I tossed them to the far side of my bedroom, and there I think they will stay for quite a long time.

A Fire Hose Straight at My Chest.

Today, there was traffic, so I walked into class a few minutes late.

A guest speaker was talking. We were talking about religions as nonprofits that day, and I remembered from the syllabus that she was a Christian Scientist.

I sat down and started listening, but I felt totally lost. She was talking about healing and "Take Me to Church" by Hozier and surfing as a religious experience and her husband's recent conversion. She was not talking, as I would have thought she would be, about how her church is organized or raises money.

I felt uncomfortable. Part of it was that I could tell the people next to me were uncomfortable--checking their email, checking facebook. I felt like they were doing anything to keep from looking at her.

But then there was a moment when I said to myself,

What if I didn't have to feel uncomfortable with what she's saying just because it's different from what I'm used to? What she's saying is beautiful and meaningful to her. Let her say it.

My elbows were on the table, my hands clasped in front of my face. I put them in my lap, physically opening up a path to my heart.

And I listened again, with a different heart. I still felt uncomfortable. It felt like a fire hose straight at my chest, but I let it.

Epilogue:

She left some pamphlets when she left, and I took some. I read them all the train ride home--I couldn't stop. They were touching. I shed tears.

It's All There Is.

What can you do when your friend is kind enough to make you lunch and send it home with you in a tupperware for the next day?

What can you do when you don't have social media to immediately tell the world how angelic she is?

Luckily, blogging is a loophole to the no-social-media-for-Lent rule.

I was feeling sick today, but somebody had already made me lunch. There's no way to describe how that made me feel, because it's so kind that it's painful to think about. I can't do anything but feel so grateful. 

And feeling grateful doesn't seem like it's enough, but it's all there is.

Stimulus Tuesday.

Today was Stimulus Tuesday at the movie theater, so we went to see "McFarland, USA."

This is a bold thing to say, but in terms of inspirational race-related sports films, it's maybe one of the best.

I think it's because Emily has been really into her Latin American Humanities class lately. She tells me about it and sometimes has me read short stories by Sandra Cisneros. And then on Friday nights, we watch "From Prada to Nada," which is a retelling of Sense & Sensibility about Latina girls in Los Angeles.

I've never wanted to be another ethnicity. But, like Emily says, their culture is so intoxicating. 

It's full of color--colors that burst out of the land when the earth was formed that they've been passing down from mother to son and father to daughter since the beginning of time.

It's full of dancing that twists and turns in a sweet singsong like the sound of their words.

It's full of faith, where God is ever-present, and worshiping Him is as natural as crossing a room or breaking into a smile, so that the sacred and the secular mingle intimately from moment to moment.

It's full of love, like a big room of people you know you're related to, but aren't sure how.

Everyone is just as worthwhile as everyone else. When you realize that, sometimes you give away a kidney. Sometimes you want to end poverty in other countries and end discrimination against people whose culture is so intoxicating.

But instead, sometimes all you do is win cross-country meets. Instead, sometimes all you do is ignore everything and go to the movies for Stimulus Tuesday.

The Most Horrible Time of the Year?

I just wrote an entire post about how elections week at UVU is the worst week of the year. I said I hate it even more than boys' basketball tournament week each summer, when the halls are overrun with junior high boys on razor scooters.

I complained about how many posters litter the school, about how it seems like the richest team can just buy the presidency with flashy marketing, about how no one even knows what they do.

I called it a dirty sham.

I had written it all, read through it several times, made sure that it had line breaks where I wanted them and no typographical errors.

But then.

I went digging through news articles on the UVU Review website. I read about their platforms. You know what? I think they actually do do things! They actually do care about what they're doing. They actually do love UVU, just the way I do.

So this is what I'm saying instead: I hate your posters, and I'd still like to know whether you're governed by any campaign finance rules, but it's okay.

The marketing that got Team Rise elected last year.

A 24-Year-Old's Birthday List.

The other day my mom texted me to see if I wanted anything for my birthday.

I responded,

"I can't really think of anything.

Just one more day in each week,

a boyfriend,

the ability to keep my desk clean at work,

more daring,

a time machine so I can visit 1964,

the ability to read faster,

and/or a collection of illuminated manuscripts."

The one thing I forgot is a pair of black jeans that don't lose their dye when you wash them.

Maybe I could practice speed reading on the illuminated manuscripts.

#twobirdsonestone

Four Years.

Guess what today is? This blog's fourth birthday!

via

The past four years with this guy have been great. 

A place to say things,

a record of me becoming a cooler a person and a better writer,

a way to win friends and influence people.

He does it all. (I just made him a boy. I don't know.)

I was 19 and thought I should have a blog. 

It sounded like something I would do.

And college girls have blogs. Right?

Now here we are,

498 posts, 48900 views, and 4 layouts later.

I can't imagine ever stopping.

And would I be the me I am without it? I don't think so.

That's such a good feeling.

I hate everything I've never tried.

Today, I got sushi for the first time.

We went out to celebrate Kristen passing her licensing exam, but I, of course, stole the limelight when I kept going on and on about how nervous I was.

A few months ago, I got into an actual argument with my coworkers because they said I couldn't say I didn't like sushi if I had never tried it.

But why did I have to try it if I just knew I wouldn't like it?

Anyway, there I found myself, and it was too late to turn back. I was a mess. The woman tried to hand us a dish to put our soy sauce in and I just sat there and stared at her and wouldn't take it out of her hand.

But we made it through that debacle and I ordered the California Crunch--crab and avocado, tempura style. Because crab dip is good, right?

The truth is it was okay.

I mean, it was. It was okay. It didn't make me gag. I didn't like the fishy taste, but I did eat the whole roll, besides the pieces I shared with my friends.

By the last piece, though, my ability to lie to myself that I actually liked it was wearing thin. I downed a lot of water as soon as possible.

But I did it. I tried it. EventhoughtobehonestIwasrightallalongwhenIsaidIwouldn'tlikeit.

#justsaying

My one consolation was that I at least knew how to use chopsticks.

That was that.

Graduate school fills your head with ideas--for better or for worse.

After my nonprofits class, I can't help thinking about volunteering and donating and ending world poverty.

On the train home from school tonight, there was a girl walking up and down the car, asking everyone for money. Just a dollar or two. She'd left her wallet somewhere.

She got to me, and I took out my headphones. Her speech was slow and it seemed too young. Her face was toward mine, level with mine, but her eyes weren't looking where I thought they would be.

While she was still explaining, I got two dollar bills out of my pocket. I didn't even unfold them, just put them in her hand and said, "Here's two dollars."

She said thank you and moved on to the next person and rehearsed her lines. I put in my headphones and that was that.

That was that. That was that. That's all there was to it. She walked away and who she was and where she was headed and what she would do with my two dollars was of no concern. And whether I had done the right thing was of no concern.

That was that.

That's what I told myself, at least.

Are you happy?

Today, a friend at work looked straight at me and asked, 

"Are you happy?"

Out of nowhere.

As I was handing him a ruler he had asked to borrow.

It was odd, but it wouldn't have been as odd, except he wasn't the first person to say something like that to me recently. 

He was the third.

After I laughed and told him that fact, he persisted, 

"Well, are you?"

And I said, "I don't know."

With his directness, it had hit me as a strange question. 

Am I happy? I don't know. Should I be? Is that what people ask themselves? Is that the mark of a good life? Am I unhappy because I don't worry about whether I'm happy or not? 

There must be a reason that it's important to him that I am happy--someone he shares pleasant smiles with at work but don't know all that well. There must be a reason that three people asked me that within two weeks. There must be a reason that this idea won't go away.

If I'm unhappy, is that such a terrible thing?

I don't know what to say.

Fat Tuesday.

This morning at work,

I realized

that it was Fat Tuesday.

Mardi Gras if you will.

Fitting,

since the only thing

I had to bring for lunch today

was a package of fudge

my mom sent me

for Valentine's Day.

I would have

eaten it for lunch anyway,

no qualms,

but it's good to have a reason.

After rounding out the day

with In-N-Out Burger for dinner

(#gobigorgohome),

it was time to get down to business:

I've decided

to participate in Lent

this year.

All growing up

my friends did

and my teachers did,

but I never did.

It's not part

of my religious tradition.

But the older I get,

the more beauty I see

in Lent.

I'm giving up social media.

I think I might die,

but isn't that the point?

To really do something difficult?

So of course

I spent the last few hours of freedom

binging on facebook,

sending friend requests

that I'll have to wait 40 days

to learn the outcome of.

And now,

I think I understand

the concept of Fat Tuesday

for the first time.

#getitwhileyoucan

#eatdrinkandbemerry

#tomorrowwedie

(St.) George, Washington (County)

For Presidents' Day,

we took a quick trip

down to St. George,

Washington County, Utah.

I thought it was appropriate.

Really anything that lets you

wear sandals in February

is appropriate.

On a road trip,

you can drive four hours,

get out of the car,

and suddenly it's warm.

You can drive four hours

and suddenly see the stars.

You can creep up

to 95 miles an hour on the highway

like it's nothing.

You can tell the story

of every boy you've ever loved

and learn all the presidents

in order

and listen to every cd you have,

and still not be there yet.

You can go in 150-year-old buildings

that pioneers built.

You can order something

called piccadilly chips

from a 40-year-old drive-in

and burn your mouth on them.

You can hike past giant rocks

that look like turtle heads
in sandals
because you forgot your shoes.

You can drive around

listening to Louis Armstrong,

feeling like

it's the red rocks themselves

blowing on that horn.

You can make new friends

and be reminded of

all the charming things

you love 

about the friends

you already have.

Vicarious.

One great thing

about being a girl

is that you can meet another girl

and within 10 minutes,

she'll start telling you

about a boy she used to date

who did her wrong

and you're instantly interested.

By the end of the story,

you're ready to TP his house.

Or she can tell you

about how she met her fiance,

and by the end of the story,

you have hearts in your eyes.

You don't have to know her,

and you never have to

talk to her again,

and still you know

that you're friends.

Let's be more than Franz.

My favorite thing

about Valentine's Day

is the valentines.

The Autobiography Game.

Alyssa and I

like to make up games

that we can play at work.

One of the best is

The Autobiography Game.

One person thinks up

a title for an autobiography.

At the same time,

the other person thinks up

a famous person.

And then they say them

paired together.

As if that person

had written that book.

"My Life as a Teenage Spy, by..."

"...Aaron Burr."

You get the idea.

Here are book covers

for some of the best

we've ever come up with.

(The first ever autobiography

we dreamed up.)

 

 

The Memory for Tears.

They say elephants never forget,

but it's eyes

that I wish

didn't have such a good memory.

Their memory for tears

is uncanny.

I shed a tear or two

almost daily,

from seeing or hearing

some beautiful

or inspiring

or devastating thing.

And then I can feel

more tears

just waiting.

Lurking,

preying on me.

The edges of my eyes

feel watery

and tired

every time I blink.

Sometimes for hours afterward.

They remember me crying.

They can't forget.

In the most tragic sense.

Tonight, I was on the phone

with my dad.

He said that

the older he gets,

the less his career

matters to him.

All that matters

is Mom

and me

and my siblings.

I tried to ask him

how I could make him so happy.

I'm just a person.

I've never done anything

noble for him.

I haven't added to his honor

through my accomplishments

or my virtue

or my wealth.

I've used up his money,

I've cried and screamed,

I've taken up time

in his prayers.

He couldn't explain it

in a way I could accept.

And I knew I couldn't understand

because I'm really just a child,

and I won't know

until I have my own child.

Without a way to understand,

I could only feel angry.

So angry that someone loved me

so much

even though 

I didn't deserve it.

.

.

.

Sometimes it's tempting to think

that you can draw a box around yourself.

There's a little door

through which you let in love.

And you think

you can keep out

the rest of the things

that you don't accept.

Sometimes the thing

that you don't accept

is someone loving you

in a way that you're not

ready to understand.

.

.

.

Almost two years ago,

I heard this quote by C.S. Lewis.

It has stayed with me

and meant something to me

since then.

I think I maybe

actually

understand it

a little bit

for the first time.

[God] has paid us

the intolerable compliment

of loving us

in the deepest,

most tragic,

most inexorable sense.

From "The Problem of Pain"

What if Zell Kravinsky isn't crazy?

Today, I became acquainted

with Zell Kravinsky,

and I want you

to meet him too.

He's a teacher

and a professor,

a regular guy.

He started with $1000,

and made millions

in real estate.

Then he gave

his millions

away.

All of them,

until his family was left

living again a normal life

in their modest home.

His moral principle is

the greatest good

for the greatest number of people.

He had a lifelong dream

to give away a kidney.

He learned that

he would have a 1 in 4,000

chance of dying

if he did.

"To withhold a kidney,"

he said,

"from some who would otherwise die

means valuing one's own life

at 4,000 times

that of a stranger."

He said that was "obscene."

So he gave his kidney

to a stranger.

"What if one of our kids

someday needs your kidney?"

his wife asked.

But he couldn't see

how it was right

to value his children's lives

more than anyone else's.

When asked if he would let

his own child die

to save 1,000 other children,

he said yes.

He said

he would let his own child die

to save two children.

But isn't that obscene,

to use his own word?

Doesn't it go against

every proclivity of the human heart?

.

.

.

If you google Zell Kravinsky,

you will find an article called

"What if Zell Kravinsky isn't crazy?"

What if he's not?

Hasn't he,

in losing his life,

found it?