It's all about Attitude

I've been feeling a little overwhelmed this week. We changed the schedule at the studio, so Mondays and Tuesdays have become pretty crazy (Tuesday I was at the studio for 13 hours). I spent Wednesday making up for everything I missed the first two days. Today I spent the entire morning at Sam's house wrapping up our final revisions and polishes to the manuscript. It went out this afternoon to our first round of beta readers.

Needless to say, when I arrived at the studio this afternoon, I was pretty overloaded. I did not eat well, so I was feeling a bit off anyway. I started considering skipping Black Belt class. I began to create excuses.

Something happened, though. I can't really pinpoint where it occurred, whether it was a comment someone made, whether it was one of my students, or if it was just me. But somewhere in this hectic afternoon, I realized that it's all about attitude.

I taught three classes this afternoon, and all three of them went great. I had a parent tell me that I am the best teacher she's ever seen. I nailed a difficult kick in Black Belt class. But it really came home during sparring class at the end of the night.

We're prepping for a tournament next week, so we had the full scoring system out and we were doing competitive matches. I was one of the last to fight, and I got to pick my opponent. I looked around the room. I could have picked a lot of different people. But when it came down to it, I knew that I needed to push myself. I picked a black belt of my same rank, a younger guy who weighs probably 50 pounds less than me. He's fast, and he's powerful. Of everyone there, he pushes me the most. He was also on fire tonight.

I got my butt handed to me. He nailed me left and right. Oh, sure, I got some good kicks in, and I worked on my spinning kicks the way I've been training. He's so fast, these don't really work on him. I ended up on the ground at least four times. But each time I popped up, ready to go again. The fight ended when he accidentally kicked me in the small of the back and knocked the wind out of me. But once I got my breath back, I popped right back up, ready to cheer for him for a really great fight.

I was on fire tonight. It didn't display physically--my game was definitely not on tonight. But tonight I had indomitable spirit. I pressed on through hard things, and I was happy about it. It wasn't fake or forced. Each time I fell, each time it was hard, I smiled and pressed on. By the end of the night, I was brimming with triumph. Not because of a fight won or lost, but because I had triumphed a mental game.

Taekwondo is only one part of my life. We all have things that are challenging that we have to work through. We all have things that get us down. But friends, it's all about attitude. That is how we triumph.

I'm going to kick butt next week. ;)

Ultimate Frisbee and the height of Cool

Last night for Family Home Evening, two of our groups combined to play Ultimate Frisbee in the dark. We had a glow-in-the-dark frisbee and everyone wore colored, glow-in-the-dark wristbands. And actually, it was really fun. I totally got into it, which was fun for me. Through the game, the guys (predictably) got REALLY competitive. Our FHE mom had to remind them that there were more than two of them on each team, because they weren't passing to anybody else. After that it got a little better, but they were still really competitive. For me, the choice was to either get in there and play right along with them, or not to have a good time and just be mad at them all. So, I played right along with them. I was racing all over the field, I got hit in the face by the frisbee, I got tripped and shoved, but I also tripped and shoved (not so much on purpose as in self defense!) and frankly I had a great time.

Afterward, I was at a friend's house with a small group of friends, and we were talking briefly about the game. At one point there was a touchy moment when we were talking about one of the guys who had gotten really competitive. The girls were not much impressed by this young man [we will call him Brad], but one of the guys declared, "Nah, he's so cool. I look at that guy and I wish I was him."

I started really contemplating what it means to be "cool". I was at the time thinking in reference to my singles ward. Certainly, coolness is based upon the admiration of others. In that way, Brad is certainly possessed of some coolness. In a related sense, it has to do with attention--people who are cool are people who can hold the attention of others, and then their admiration.

HOWEVER. I came to the conclusion last night that true coolness isn't one-sided. A person who is really "cool" includes instead of excludes. The people that others really admire are the ones who make them feel cool too. That's where Brad fails--he certainly doesn't make me feel cool when I'm around him (he just annoys me when I'm around him, but I'm working to overcome that). So I don't think he's cool. Our other friend feels cool around him, so he thinks Brad is cool.

I doubt this is as impressive a realization to anyone else as it was to me. I just realized that social acceptance isn't about exclusion, it's about inclusion, for real and true. People love people who make them feel loved and important. They may admire the ones who seem "cool", but they'll respect and love the ones who make them feel cool too. I guess it's really about the level of sincerity involved. Which means I need to get off my high horse and accept these boys in all their competitive, arrogant, and narrow-sighted glory. ;)

I am interested for your thoughts, if you have them. What does cool mean to you?

Profound thoughts of a profoundly profound nature

Or something like that...

The other day, I was talking to my friend Jameson about workplace satisfaction. He's in a business class, and they were talking about the factors that influence job satisfaction. Of course I don't know all of the details. But some of the things were pay scale and benefits, coworkers, and fulfillment from the work itself (among many other things).

Jameson found my situation interesting. I find my job itself to be tedious, indicating one factor of dissatisfaction. I like my workplace itself, I enjoy my coworkers, and my pay/benefits are acceptable. However, I am allowed to write in my spare time once my work is done, which influences my overall satisfaction with my job. While it's not the work itself, I do find satisfaction while at work.

I've been reconsidering some pretty major decisions lately--particularly my decision to go back to school. My major drive to go back to college is in that search for fulfillment. Because I'm not pursuing my original passion/major (theatre) for personal reasons, I thought that I thereby could not find satisfaction in a job that I could obtain without a degree in something else. Thus, I would go back to school to obtain that degree.

However, I'm finding that I can be fulfilled in other ways besides my job. I don't mind my job--I like the people, it's steady and consistent, and while there I can write, which is an enormous passion that I will always pursue. I've discovered that I can find a lot of fulfillment in my ward and callings there, and I'm getting involved in volunteer work that is like nothing else I've ever done before--and which brings me immense satisfaction.

So I don't know that I really want to uproot yet again. I really want to stay in my ward, I want to have some consistency there. And if I'm not unhappy, if I can find that fulfillment that I was looking for in the first place, I'm not sure I'd go back to school except for my obsessive love of school itself. At this point, I don't feel like I'm missing anything that could be gained by going back. So, while I haven't made a firm decision, I'm leaning toward staying right where I'm at.

The Value of Hard Work

Today is Friday. Normally I am a great lover of Fridays. There's just something about them that makes them seem infinitely brighter than the rest of the week. Maybe it's the imminent freedom of the approaching weekend. Or maybe the sun just shines more on Fridays (not that it seems that way on this rainy day!!) Today's Friday seems particularly bright, however, because I am pretending the roadshow does not exist. That's right. Today there is no roadshow. It will come back tomorrow in full force, but for today I am blissfully ignoring its existence.

What I really wanted to write about today is the somewhat abstract concept of hard work. It's been on my mind as I watch people and society around me. Our society has grown remarkably lazy, as no one will hesitate to point out. People (I use the term in its most vague and general terms) seem to expect rewards to simply be handed to them. Jobs. Diplomas. Money. I see this at work a lot--people who call in wanting refunds, because times are hard, and expecting to get money just for the asking. Well, friends--times are hard for us, too.

Hard work is not a concept I have appreciated in every part of my life. I have had my lazier periods--still do, in fact. There are a lot of nasty or difficult tasks that come through a persons' life.

However, I am coming to appreciate just how beautiful and important hard work really is.

There are plenty of platitudes out there about hard work; I will try to spare you. But with utmost sincerity I can tell you that when you really work for something, when you work so hard you think you'll explode with the stress of it, when you've given everything you have and still you are asked to give more...well, I believe that's when you really find the value in it, whether it's a job, education or church, a relationship or a friendship. Putting in the effort gives these things value.

I look at my college experience, particularly in the theatre. My last show there, Henry V, was immensely challenging. It required hours upon hours of effort, and every last drop of ingenuity I had. I gave it my all, everything and more that I had to give. There were other shows like that too, but Henry V truly stands out as the crowning jewel of my experience there. I loved that show. And it's because I wanted to enjoy it. I wanted to be happy, working as hard as I was. And amazingly enough, it worked.

I look now at my singles' ward experience. Through college, I never had a ward that I really cared about. I always wanted cool callings, and was regularly disappointed by the things I was asked to do. My efforts therefore were lackluster--I went to church, I played the piano in Sacrament meeting or whatever my calling was, but that was the extent of my efforts. But my current ward...I went in with the desire and intention to challenge myself. I asked for a challenging calling--not a glory-filled one like I had always imagined that I 'deserved', but something that would stretch me and my skills, something that would take effort and preparation. I was called as a gospel doctrine teacher. Since that calling, nearly everyone I have told of it has sympathized, bemoaned my fate. And yet...I don't find myself complaining. It's difficult. It's a lot of work. It scares the crap out of me every single time. But...I wouldn't give it up for the world.

I look at this roadshow. I have been commended for taking it on, but honestly, I didn't think about it twice when I was asked. And it has been so rewarding--challenging, certainly. Frustrating at times. Chaotic and maddening. But I've gotten to know more people, I've gotten to write and direct, to teach a little and to enjoy these wonderful people who have sacrificed of their time to participate. Throughout the entire experience, I have not begrudged the work and the time and the effort, because it is so worth it!

I don't mean to be self-righteous, and I don't mean to preach. This is more a self-exploration of these things anyhow--realizing that when I have given of my efforts as selflessly as possible, I have enjoyed the experience more. I want to explore the things that I have realized are important.

My point here is that the joys of hard work apply everywhere, to everything. Nothing in this life is going to be easy, and if it is you're probably doing it wrong. The Gospel of Jesus Christ was not meant to be easy--we have to work for it, every moment of every day we have to restore our faith and our desire to follow the direction we have been given. Our daily life was not meant to be easy--we should find ways to challenge ourselves, to force ourselves to grow and improve. Whether its through work or hobbies or friendships, we will be happier if we are active and involved and seeking to challenge ourselves. And when the trials come--hardships through family or finances, through personal challenges or deep questions, my response to you is the same: just keep trying, and have faith. The same goes for relationships, whether with spouses or siblings or children or aunts or cousins or friends, close or the barest acquaintence. Relationships are not easy. They take work, hard and something grueling effort, whether to overcome anger or to overcome apathy, to fight the little annoyances, or to win their heart each and every day. Nothing worthwhile is easy, and if you stop working to keep the things that are important to you, you will lose them, more often than not simply through your own indifference.

A longing for Academia

I've pretty much decided to go back to school, though many of the details have yet to be worked out. I'm certainly one of those people who would be a perpetual student with the opportunity, but much too realistic to actually do so. However, I have almost--practically--decided to go back to school to pursue a second Bachelor's degree. I am certainly going to take a few classes and try it out. I am definitely going to take some sociology/social work classes, and test out that field. It appeals to me greatly, and I think I could find great fulfillment in a social work career, as long as I got the right job(s). I have great hope for it.

I have a great longing for academia in my life. I love the challenge, the passion, the expansion of my thoughts and critical thinking. I am very happy with who I am (if not with what I am doing) and I can give most of the credit to my formative college years. My opinions and my thought processes have developed extensively over the past four (and counting) years, and I long for continuing education in all aspects of my life. I feel that education is the only hope for a productive and fruitful society, and I will always be a proponent of higher education, as long as I live. Not least for myself!

Monotony vs Creativity

I had some down time at work today, and I opened a new document, fully intending to write SOMEthing, I didn't care what. I wanted to write, I had a bit of time to write, and I had every intention in the world of writing. I have two or three projects open right now that I could have worked on, or I could have randomly started something entirely new. Didn't matter to me.

Nothing would come.

Throughout most of my life, I wrote everywhere and anywhere. I have written during classes, during church, in cars (riding AND driving), on planes, in the morning, afternoon, evening and the dead of night. Sure, sometimes I have a little writer's block, every writer does. But today was different. Today, there just was...nothing. I couldn't think of a single thing to write. I was absolutely dry. I didn't much care for the feeling.

I think it's my life right now, especially my job. There is nothing, and I mean nothing whatsoever challenging about my life right now. I'm having some emotional and relationship challenges, but I don't consider that challenging, but interesting. I am at a level of monotony that frightens me. I need to bring some spice back in, or I am going to go totally dry, in more ways than just my writing.

On to the next challenge. On to greater passion.

Happy Pioneer Day...wish I had it here!

Do you ever notice certain words that stand out for you? When you're not really listening to something, to someone else's conversation, are there certain words that you pick up automatically? Words that hold special significance for you, perhaps?

Sitting backstage at a poetry/fiction reading this evening, I unfortunately couldn't hear the words very well. No backstage monitors turned the stories and poems into mush to my ears, with only every few words standing out. However, in both the technical rehearsal and the performance, one story--one word within one story--stuck out, even though I couldn't hear what the rest of the sentence was about.

"Church"

I find that, especially here, mention of religion always perks my interest. Especially when I hear it from my coworkers, I often catch myself thinking they are talking about me. The misfortune of being religious among a group of others who are not particularly so.

"Obama"

Ah yes, always. "Democrat" and "Republican" get me sometimes, but not as often. "McCain" just puts my hackles up.

Things that I'm interested in get me, too. "Creative writing" and "Stage management" always perk my interest. Here, that's enough to get a crick in your neck, since there's a whole department of creative writers. Stage management, not quite as much, since there's only two of us.

I wonder if we are hard-wired, if our ears pick out certain words simply by association, regardless of our interest, or if we secretly have a constant fascination with certain things, which results in our mind subconsciously being aware of these in-passing references.

Something of being an adult

Adult relationships. I'm not talking romance, I'm talking friendship, between adults. It's a lot different than childhood friendships, or even college-buddy friendships. But, as I am finding, they are still extremely satisfying.

Are you still friends with any of your high school buddies? (I am speaking to you, my compadres who are in or have graduated from college.) I mean really friends, you go to their house, spend hours in their company on a regular basis. If you are, I congratulate you. You are one of the lucky few. (Or is it unlucky, in your case? j/k)

Friendships, I have found, are such a tentative thing. They are beautiful, don't get me wrong. My friends are a crucial part of my life. But so often they are dependent on mutual circumstances and a frequent almost-necessity of shared company. Take high school--you probably have some classes together, you most likely eat lunch together every day, and sometimes you hang out for a couple hours after school. These are mutual circumstances--the rigors of high school--and frequent almost-necessity of shared company--simply being in the same place every day.

College is a little different, because the scheduling is a little more scattered. In this case, your friends are most likely your roommates, or people you spend a lot of class/club time with, like a shared major. Sometimes these friendships linger after the circumstances change (ie old roommates). Sometimes they don't.

But what about afterward? And particularly following a marriage, which usually changes circumstances and shared experiences drastically. What happens after you move in different directions, or when you no longer share an apartment, or when you no longer see each other every day, or...ever?

A lot of the time, friendships fail. They just diminish, and there's very little we can do about it. We still call, every now and then, we email and say hi on Facebook and Myspace. Eventually those drop off in frequency too. It's human nature. We'll still think fondly of each other, still remember the good times with a laugh. It just will be a thing of the past.

On very rare occasions, we are able to maintain friendships simply by virtue of the depth of the initial relationship, or by changing the boundaries of the relationship to include the new circumstances. A best friend that you call often to talk, even though you can't be together. A married friend whose spouse you also befriend to stay close, taking part now in their shared existence. These friendships are the ones who have hope of continuing, the ones that both parties are dedicating to continuing. These are the adult relationships. They may or may not have the fervor of the previous friendships enjoyed, but they will have a maturity and depth that will surpass them. These friendships will have a beauty and a value to cherish in the years to come.

Hormones

God must've had a real laugh when he designed the menstrual cycle. Either that, or feeling particularly sadistic.

I've been craving chocolate for two days. Starting on the rag didn't make that go away. I think I ate five chocolate chip cookies this evening. Enough to make me feel slightly sick to my stomach, but not nearly enough to make the craving go away.

I think I was a little short with my nephew tonight. He's five, and his baby sister is in the hospital, which means their mom has been at the hospital with her as much as possible--which means little Ben misses his mom a lot. Which, in his case, means he acts out. He's constantly attention-seeking, which unfortunately means he's almost constantly causing trouble. I love the little bugger, but he frequently drives me crazy, and tonight I was probably a little harsher than I needed to be.

Cramps make it hard for me to concentrate. I wrote about 4000 words today, but I'll need to remember to read it over carefully in a few days--I kept catching my fingers typing things my brain didn't mean--words were missing, or misspelled, or misplaced, or a totally new one took its place without my brain ever thinking it. In fact, if this blog is a little topsy-turvy, you know where to place the blame.

Mood-swings are the worst. Tonight was especially bad. I had a great day--I sat outside all afternoon and wrote wrote wrote, listening to my music, watching my dad work in the yard, and the dog chase birds. She can do that for hours--and did. Great afternoon. Then my mom made cookies, which I proceeded to consume. Then we got to talk to my brother for a few minutes--he's on an LDS mission in Virginia, which means we don't normally get to talk to him on the phone. But he was in a bicycle accident, he got a concussion and possible a fracture in his cheekbone, so he was at the hospital, and his mission president let us talk to him for a few minutes. Ben told him he needed training wheels! lol. After finally getting Ben to bed, my parents and I sat down and watched "Pursuit of Happyness", which is a swell movie. And now, despite this wonderful day, I'm in a bad mood. I couldn't even begin to tell you why, except for one thing:

Hormones.

They are the bane of human existence. For women, because we have to endure them, and for men because they have to live with them. Force of nature, my friend.

Transcending Ages

Today I would like to write about a specific element of popular culture:

Star Wars.

I have decided that Star Wars is a phenomenon. It transcends generations, along with the normal social and societal boundaries associated with cult fiction. Star Wars affects everybody--the old, the young, the popular and the nerdy, the intellectual and the oblivious. I can think of nothing else that does this--not Harry Potter (not yet, anyway), not Pirates, not even Lord of the Rings. In all those cases, somebody looks down on it, somebody criticizes, somebody snubs, and somebody takes it wildly out of control. Star Wars is different.

For example: My parents and I recently visited Disneyland. While there, we stopped to watch the "Jedi Academy" in Tomorrowland. It's a show, where "Jedi Masters" invite children of the audience to enter the Academy and learn the art of a lightsaber. It's a Kodak moment for the parents, of course, particularly when Darth Vader and Darth Maul enter the amphitheater with stormtroopers and duel with their kids. Perfectly charming.

However, my attention was drawn several times away from the stage and into the audience. The adults were enjoying this nearly as much as the kids--they certainly cheered for the Jedi, and booed and hissed the Sith, and were overjoyed when Yoda's overamplified voice echoed from the speakers overhead. One woman in particular was totally in the moment--in her sixties at least, she bowed to the Jedi as they came in, and theatrically cringed away from the Stormtroopers at their entrance. This proud grandmother did not seem the least bit abashed at her cultish behavior.

Furthermore, when my father and I sat down for a (nauseating) ride on Star Tours, the ride attendant (wearing a rather unfortunate bright-orange jumpsuit like Luke's X-wing flightsuit) wished us a good ride and said, of course, "And may the Force be with you." A woman behind me said then--and I quote--"I would give anything to wear an orange suit and say "May the Force be with you" to people and get paid for it!"

All I could think was, Yeah you'd enjoy it--the first five times. After that, I'm pretty sure the thrill would wear off.

My nephew Ben is just discovering Star Wars. He's five. You would not believe how many similar five-year-olds I saw running around California with toy lightsabers and padowan robes. Do you know how much they charge for those things? The robes--a cut-out piece of brown fabric that would rip if you looked at it funny--cost over fifty dollars. I don't know how much the toy lightsabers cost, but I imagine they are similarly astronomical. Star Wars is a money-making machine that will never die--no matter how terrible the new movies are.

What I'm forced to wonder is whether George Lucas had any idea what he was creating. I'm sure he claims some awe-inspiring vision of the future, but I imagine it was more an accident of fate. Our society needed inspiration, and the ham-handed filmmaker handed it to us with some cheap new tricks and some lucky finds on the acting side.

Speaking of which--Indy comes out in two weeks. I hope that it's good--it would be terrible to ruin the first three fifteen years after the fact!

The Nature of my Passion for Theatre

This spawns from a conversation I had with my mother Monday night. We were talking about why it wasn't entirely a bad thing that I didn't get into grad school--but that is not the point here. Let me explain.

My passion for theatre is not just about doing shows. If that were the case, I would have attached myself to a community theatre four months ago, and would be perfectly happy wiling away the hours for no money, but plenty of enjoyment. But that's not it. My passion for theatre (and I'm sure many of my theatre friends would agree with me) stems from the challenge.

Sure, we could do Seussical and The Importance of Being Earnest until our hair falls out, but there's very little challenge in many shows. I felt that in high school--once a year, my drama teacher would do a big musical with every student she could cast, and very little effort on anybody's part. Sure, it was a lot of work, a lot of time, but it didn't take soul. That's what I'm talking about.

These little community theaters don't often have it. They are trying to make a profit, trying to stay on their feet, so they do fun family shows that bring in the audiences. Around here, anyway--but that's Utah for you. They're not pushing artistic boundaries in any way, they're just trying to do a show with what little money and talent they have available to them. Now, this is no offense meant to community theatre--I practically grew up in one, and I would not love theatre the way I do without that experience. But I'm an adult now, and I've learned what I want.

Theatre is meant to push boundaries. It is meant to make people think. That's why it's there. If you just want entertainment, you might as well go to the movies. Live theatre, in its nature pushes boundaries simply by nature of having real people right in front of you. Theatre is supposed to cause the audience to reflect, to take what they see and apply it in some small way to their own lives. And as is very frequently the case, they often do so by affecting your sensibilities.

I'm a good Mormon girl. I try not to swear, I try not to be vulgar, I try to leave certain things, certain topics alone. But some of the most profound theatrical experiences I have had, have come from watching or working on shows that offend my sensibilities--Sticks and Bones or The Pillowman. Sometimes it's not even a matter of sensibilities, but rather shows that challenge artistically, like Henry V or Shooting Stars. Anybody in those shows will attest that they were an entirely different experience from How to Succeed or Lend Me a Tenor. All shows have the capacity to be good. Most shows have the capacity to be challenging. But only some shows have soul.

Okay, now that I've insulted half of you by dissing your favorite shows, hear me out. I liked those shows too. But there is something different that I am trying to achieve. It's not enough for me just to do shows. I--like many of you--give every show I work on everything I have to offer, heart and soul and blood. It is only rewarding when I get something back, when I feel like I have truly achieved something at the end. Otherwise, you just end up feeling drained and resentful. Haven't you ever felt that way at the end of a show? If not, I think you must be on something. It happens that way all the time, because not every show can be so rewarding, or the world would explode.

Nevertheless, this is what I seek. The challenge.

Just doing theatre isn't it. Just getting a job at some theatre somewhere isn't it. Sure, I could do that. I could live out of my suitcase for five years, jumping from theatre to theatre, and at the end of it, feeling pretty much the same as I do now. That's not the life for me. I applaud those of you for whom nothing appeals more. I thought it would, too, but I've gotten a few months under my belt and I have a better picture of 'real life' than I ever did before I graduated. I have a better picture of what I want out of my life.

I've talked to a few people about possibly going back to school to get my teaching license, and teaching high school drama. Generally, my theatre friends don't seem to like this idea--they seem to think I'm settling, that I'm not reaching for my dreams the way they want me to. But I can see the potential in teaching--the potential challenge.

It's not going to be for me, personally. I would never reach my artistic potential. That's not the point. But do you realize, that rather than just direct The Music Man every year, I could help those kids find their challenge, find the soul in those shows--every year! Every year its a new journey, a new challenge, and new experiment to find what means soul to those kids. That's what my drama teacher did for me. God bless Syd Riggs, who showed hundreds of kids at Orem High what it meant to produce art, rather than just having a good time! So many people tell me, "Oh yeah, I did drama in high school," but in the end it didn't mean anything more than being a part of something, having friends. That's good too, but there is something more that can be achieved, if the teacher will only try.

I'm not sure I'll go back to school for that, I'm not sure I'm up to being a teacher. I haven't made that decision yet. But that's why it appeals to me. I'm not settling--I'm striving to find potential in a life that will give me what I want out of my life. But that's another story.

Waiting in line

You do it at the grocery store.

You do it at the dentists office.

You do it at the bank.

So why do people think it's going to be any different when they come to get their blood drawn?

I mean, seriously folks, if you're going to the hospital--for any reason--you should expect to wait. You'll wait in line to get registered, you'll wait to get shown where you need to be, then you'll wait to have your paperwork processed, then you'll wait to see the nurse/doctor/phlebotomist extraordinaire. If you're on a tight schedule, you should just come another time, because you'll just stress yourself out doing all that waiting, and it's not worth ANYbody's time to have you yelling. So just breathe, sit back in that waiting room chair, and relax. It'll be over before you know it.

...both a drug, and not a drug...

Everyone should have a group of friends with whom they can do absolutely anything, or be absolutely anybody. Everyone should have this intimate circle where everything is okay, and yet you still strive to make the most out of yourself to please these other selves that have somehow actually come into being.

I don't think any of the ACIDS read this blog, or they might be embarrassed by the depths of my feelings. I often say how much I love (and often miss) the ACIDS--my core group of friends from high school, who--despite them all marrying and now starting to have children--have remained some of my very best friends in adulthood. Just this last Christmas we inducted Sam's wife Ashley, which made us five. And I hardly ever feel like a third wheel. We're just family--and I have no idea how I will ever get a sixth element to mix into it, but that's neither here nor there.

Today was my 'brother' Michael's 22nd birthday--"Over the Hill" said the card I gave him with a laugh. That makes it about eight and a half years since our friendship began. Boy, just saying that makes me feel old.

These are my true sibs, my blood-brothers and sisters, though different genes flow in each of our veins. With these, I know I will always be able to come back, and find things the same. Different, and yet infinitely the same. Sam and Michael will still do the scary clown, and Whitnee and I will always roll our eyes. Ashley will always be there, sardonic and yet so lovable. And I fear that Sam and I will always quote movies (if not Pirates 3) at each other, and he will always, always inspire my creativity like nothing else in the world.

I value all of my friends dearly, but also very differently. There are things you can tell your best friend that you can't tell your brother, just like there are stories you shared with your brother that are never quite as funny to anybody else. The ACIDS are these sibs, who will always have my adolescence in their hearts when they look at me, just as I do theirs.

Meeting Expectations

I've discovered over the years that there are certain people whom I will always want to please or impress--some to a greater degree than others. I can pinpoint these people, and I have a good relationship with each of them, albeit a very different relationship in each and every case.

For instance, there is my best friend. I always crave her good opinion of me, and I simultaneously always crave her own happiness. At the core of our relationship, however, is our religion--I feel that the closer I am to my religion, the more peaceful our relationship is. HOWEVER, this is the one person who I can completely be myself with. There is no one else whom I so completely trust, with every aspect of my life. I think everyone should have such a person.

I have another friend, a very close friend. We've gone through four years of college together, pursuing the same career--sometimes a cause for contention or competition, but most often a source of mutual aspirations. Despite everything, I always want to impress this dear friend with my prospects--where I'm working for the summer, where I'm going in six months, my dreams and goals. We've shared them for a long time. But recently we've kind of met a fork in the road--he got into grad school and I didn't. But in addition to that, I've realized that this road we've been traveling together isn't one I want to be on anymore. But, because of the nature of our friendship, I don't know how to explain to him that I don't share these mutual goals and aspirations anymore. The path that I want to take may not be as impressive to him, and I fear losing his respect.

There is my family, particularly my parents. For their sakes, I want to make something of myself. Pursuing our religion helps, but mostly I just want to be able to do things that make them proud of me. Oh, and my mother really wants grandchildren. I'll be perfectly happy to oblige her, as soon as I find their father.

I also have a favorite cousin, and I think for her it's good enough just to be myself. We've made similar mistakes, we share a lot of opinions, we share in the immediacy of our family, and she's honestly the one person whom I can talk childbirth with, without it getting awkward because I don't have my son anymore.

There are my high school friends--God bless them--who are dearer to me than nearly anything else in the world. For them, it's frequently a religion thing: am I dating, what's my calling, etc. They could often care less about my career, as long as its something that makes me happy. And as long as I'm doing SOMEthing. Hopefully soon I'll be able to remedy that. The only problem is that they don't want me to move away. My career would cause that, but my chosen career is becoming less appealing every day.

My professors, for the most part, want me to be successful at this chosen career--and NOT succumb to this religious inclination toward home and babies. Certainly, I want them to be proud of me also, but I think they are going to be the first ones I disappoint.

So what of myself? This is what puzzles me on a daily basis. What expectations do I hold for myself? They are often conflicting. I want to be successful, but as the days roll by, I more and more often question what exactly I want to succeed at. Certainly, there is much temporal glory to be had by being a woman pursuing a career. I have wanted that. But do I anymore? The older I get, the less that seems to matter. I used to mock women of my age (and younger) who settled down and started their families, without ever pursuing anything outside the home. I thought "They're not making anything of themselves, they're wasting their brains." But I don't really think that anymore. There are plenty of important things to do, at every stage of life. Pursuing a career is very grand, and I would love to do it. I love the theatre, I love the arts. But I don't think I could be content living that life. There is so much more to it.

I guess the greatest expectations I have to meet are the ones that HF and I work out between us--what satisfies His expectations while still generating my own happiness. I just have to figure them out, that's all.

A Disagreement with Modernising

When my dad was my age, all one needed for a really good job was a Bachelors degree. That little piece of paper could practically guarantee a job, with good benefits and a nice salary. As has been said in many circles, the Masters degree is today's equivalent, as the Bachelors is now the equivalent of the high school diploma. You practically have to have one of those to work at Pizza Hut.

I have a Bachelors degree (although I don't get my diploma until this summer, but lets stay on topic). Somehow, when I was approaching graduation, I thought this would get my foot in the door at a lot of places I wanted to go--at least in the local market of boring everyday jobs. I was told time and again that this little piece of paper was all I needed to make it in the world.

Let me correct a few perceptions.

Just having a degree doesn't do it anymore. Companies are expecting--for their entry-level jobs!--at least two years of experience, a degree in the field, not to mention a good resume and excellent interview. They want expertise, professionalism, and some other characteristic that a simple degree just doesn't bring. I'm talking about entry-level receptionist and administrative assistant positions. It makes me want to scream sometimes--how is anybody supposed to get those two years of experience, when no one will hire them in the first place?

Personally, I'm circumventing this ridiculous situation by getting a different certification, but I find it highly discouraging that I spent four years in college, only to spend six weeks in a class to go into a completely different field. I think that they should at least warn you that you're spending your time, effort and money on something that essentially does nothing for you.

Disappointment versus Devastation

I got two rejection letters today, one from UC Irvine and one from the University of Delaware.

Okay, so of course I'm disappointed. I really wanted to go to grad school. I'd be one of the first in my family to do so. It would have been a great experience. But I'm not devastated. My mother held me like she expected me to cry when I told her, but I didn't cry. Maybe I will later, I don't know. Frankly, I'm just glad I'm not waiting around anymore. Waiting to hear was even worse than knowing the answer.

Now, I can move on with my life. Where I'll be moving on to, I have no idea. I'd kinda been hoping to go to grad school so it would occupy the next three years of my life and I wouldn't have to make any big life-changing decisions. But alas, HF never makes things easy.

Next week is my last class in Phlebotomy. I have to pass the final exam, complete an externship, and then I'll get my certificate and be a phlebotomist. So far, I find it entertaining. Whether I can do it long term, I have no idea. But it's a place to start.

I am spending the summer in Pennsylvania again this year. At least I'll get a little theatre in 2008, even if its the weird version of my art that PGSA offers. I think it'll be fun, and help me not feel like an utter failure as a theatre student.

Realistically, looking back, I thought I'd be married by now. I still hope that will happen in the relatively near future, but as HF has taught me again and again, I can't stake anything on it--I just have to wait, and do what I can in that area to make things happen. Eventually it will work out.

So, yeah. I'm a little directionless right now, but I have hope and limitless possibilities (except, of course, that I'm limited from grad school!) I can go in any direction I choose, I just have to do that--choose.

Analysis

I've been in mourning for the past few weeks, because life has really sucked. A myriad of things have made it so, and I've let the despair of it degenerate me into someone nearly unrecognizable from the passionate, over-involved girl who left Cedar City two months ago.

The conclusion that I've come to (that I am still trying to come to grips with) is that life is made up of the little things. I keep waiting and hoping for some big, miraculous something to happen. I keep expecting life to get better, for something to happen to make it so. But that's not what life is about. Getting the best job in the universe, getting married, getting into grad school--these are things that happen only in the rarest of circumstances, and though they do change your life completely, they take you on a path you're already on. So in order for them to happen and make you happy, you already have to be on the path.

Life is in the little things. It's in the evenings with friends, it's in the little triumphs at work, its in the good books or movies, its in the simple sensation of a good life. It's in the good meals cooked, its in the time spent. It's in the hobbies. It's in the pictures taken. It's in the people, the places, the sights and the smells and the random adventures at nine o'clock at night or two in the morning. Its the little things.

I've heard it before. I think I've even said it before. I'm still working on accepting it. My life in college was made up of big things--shows, mostly--that were all-consuming for more than just me. So scaling back my life to these little things to find meaning is hard. It's hard to brag about the pizza you made last night when your friends and family expect 'great' things from you. It's hard to live life with--apparently--nothing to show for it. So I have to accept the value of these little things before I can be at peace with life--but I think that once I do, I will be content.

The nature of Boredom

Okay, officially real life sucks. I mean, seriously, what do people do with themselves? I've come up with the theory that people (at least Mormon people) just get married to fill their time. I can't think of a single person I know besides my compadres who didn't get married either IN school, or directly after graduating. Most of my high school friends float that boat. They're in school or they're hitched, or they're in school AND hitched.

But without either of those two items in my life...it's empty. The hours stretch endlessly day to day. Dixy discovered this phenomenon recently, and really started complaining about it today--boredom filled the house.

I've kind of gotten used to it. I've grown accustomed to sitting at home all day long--it's gotten to the point where I don't want to leave the house. I read a lot. I've been trying to write (with only minimal success). I take random excursions sometimes, those are fun, but only by myself and only when I keep myself on a leash. I have a tendency to spend my money whenever I leave the house, and I don't have that much to begin with.

Poor Dixy. She doesn't enjoy reading as much as I do, and she's much more a social creature than I--how odd to hear myself say that! I used to be the most social person in the world (as I saw it), but the years have tamed that side of me, and these days I'm--almost--content to spend most of my days alone. Yes, it's lonely, but I don't freak out like I used to.

So, the nature of boredom. I think this particular bout of boredom (for Dixy and myself) has more to do with loneliness than actual boredom. It starts with having too much time on your hands. We're of a society that feels the need to fill every waking hour with some objective. So when one suddenly has free hours, one immediately feels the need to find something to fill them. For a social creature like Dixy or myself, those plans would best be filled with the company of other people. But without plans, it's impossible to invite other people (particularly young men who like structure) but without these others it's impossible to make plans. It's a strange paradox. So one feels frustrated by the lack of anything to do AND by the lack of other people to share it with.

As a matter of note, Dixy and I completely wasted our evening. We accomplished nothing. We didn't read, write, watch a movie, or anything. Dixy talked on the phone for awhile, I played the piano for a while, we both surfed the net for awhile. I think the proper phrase here would be "killing time." Watching it pass without doing anything to fill it, just waiting for the next meaningful moment.

I need a new hobby. Hobbies seem like a good way to fill this space. But the sum of it all? I can't wait to go back to school!

Chris suggested that maybe I go to a treatment center

I killed Bertie. One week, that's all he lasted before he died.

What kind of monster can't even keep a goldfish alive for more than a week? Me, that's what kind.

I have this abnormally strong reaction to pets dying. Like, I can handle people dying, even people I know well and love. I was in the house when my grandma died, I went to my grandfather's funeral. These bother me on an emotional level, but I can handle it like a normal person.

Pets dying, though, is another matter entirely. I just freak out. Can't handle it. The cold little bodies... It just gets to me.

Bertie's bowl was in the living room. After visiting him this morning and realizing he was dead (which actually took me about twenty minutes to finally conclude [I thought he was sleeping]) I couldn't bring myself to go in the living room for about two hours. I just stayed in my bedroom, or skipped over to the kitchen, averting my eyes from where he rested. I couldn't even be in the room.

After a while I realized how ridiculous this was. For a time I held the hope that one of my roommates would come home and take care of Bertie so I wouldn't have to. However, it was about 10 o'clock in the morning, and my roommates are hardly ever home, let alone in the middle of the day. So I worked myself up to do it.

First I went and got the little fish-net, and put it in the bathroom. Then I went and did something else for awhile.

Then I went and got the bowl. I tell you, I was shuddering and shivering the whole time, totally freaking out. I didn't even look, I just locked my eyes right out in front of me as I walked to the bathroom. I didn't turn the lights on. I set the bowl on the counter. Then I took the net, fished Bertie out, flung him into the toilet, flushed, and ran. I washed my hands in the other bathroom for about five solid minutes before I calmed down.

I haven't been back in the bathroom yet. Bertie's bowl is still in there. It gives me the heebie-geebies just to walk by.

I know this is not normal. Normal people do not have this kind of freak-out over a dead goldfish they've only had for a week. I just can't handle it, I don't know why.

I need a shrink.

Guidance Counselor

I find it ironic that I've become a relationship counselor to my roommates, especially Dixy. I don't seem to have much success, but I suppose I have some experience. Mostly, I guess, I just have hope.