The Last :(

Everyone, this is the end of Bodaciously G-Rated. Probably. Maybe. I dunno. I started a new one though, that will hopefully be even better. Don't stop reading about me and my awkward life just cause I'm "changing locations" OKAY?! K love you all bye.

Oh, right, the new one is: https://arbitraryarray.wordpress.com/

SEE YOU THERE

Laments of a Bike-Rider

Gas is expensive.
Exercise is healthy.
Parking on campus is a joke. 

These are only a few of the reasons that college students like myself choose to bike to their university campus rather than drive. And if you live close enough, why not, right?

I don't start classes until next week but I have started my campus job, which is great. I decided I would ride my bike whenever possible. Well. Riding my bike is great and I love it and I'm not about to start driving a car to school. But every bike-to-campus-er has moments where we start to wonder...what in the WORLD was I thinking?

It all starts off great. I'm leaving on time, I've got everything ready to go, I'm wearing a decent outfit for work, and things are looking up.

About 20 seconds later I have picked up significant speed and I am now realizing that 7:40 am can be quite chilly, even in the springtime. In fact, I can't feel exactly my face or hands anymore. Then it doesn't take long for icy-wind-tears to begin streaming down my cheeks. I imagine what anyone who sees me must think - she really really REALLY doesn't want to work, her car got stolen, her parents just kicked her out, who knows. 

A few minutes later I arrive at the uphill part of the journey, which is great because I start to warm up. Then it becomes not-so-great when I realize that I'm panting and beginning to sweat. NO! I need to be composed and nice-looking for work! Oh well, it's too late to take it slow. I left "on time," but on time for me is most people's "barely making it on time". By the time I park my bike, lock it, and walk up the stairs to the campus office where I work, I have already thought through possible parking scenarios for the next day. 

By the end of the day, I'm actually looking forward to some quality time with just me, my bike, and the sunshine. 

Once again, it only takes about 20 seconds for me to realize that weather conditions are not 100% desirable. I mean, it's a beautiful day outside. But then I start pedaling up a seemingly endless hill and start to wonder why in the world I even own any sweaters, and WHY did I wear one TODAY? Oh, right, because I definitely needed it in the morning. Tomorrow I'm wearing a cardigan and short-sleeved shirt, problem solved. 

The next day I do it all over again and as planned, wear a cardigan so I can ride home in short sleeves. It's still too hot. Then a nice cool breeze comes along to help me out. It's nice until the cool breeze turns into a full-on headwind. It still cools me down but it makes me work so much harder that you can hardly tell. Then that headwind brings a lovely surprise that almost makes me change my mind about the whole saving money on gas thing: A FLIPPING BEE GOES DOWN MY SHIRT.

If you know me at all, you can probably imagine what I did here. I am infamous for talking to myself, especially in stressful situations. I kept pedaling, but gradually slowed down as I got more and more worried. I was clutching the handlebars with one hand while the other held the little fiend trapped between two layers of fabric. I said repeatedly, "NO NO NO NO NO NO NO" and "OHMYGOSH OHMYGOSH OHMYGOSH" until I came to a stop and was able to remove the threat of a lifetime. I was, by some twist of fate, stopped right in front of where my best friend used to live. I don't know who lives there now, but I'm sure they're well acquainted with me by now. I did spend a good few minutes outside of their house doing a sort of "scared-out-of-my-wits-get-out-of-my-shirt-dance" and shouting "BE FREE, BE FREE!!!" to that sneaky little bee. It finally came out and flew away. I took a few deep breaths, took in my surroundings, and decided to remove myself as quickly as possible. After catching my breath and walking a few steps, I hopped back on and fought that headwind for the last stretch before my house. 

I arrived at my house sweaty and panting even though it was only about 70 degrees or less outside. And I decide that I need to start actually exercising. 

And even though it's uncomfortable and whatever, I somehow actually enjoy all this stuff! I love almost freezing to death, then nearly passing out of heat exhausting, and being attacked by wild creatures. 

Sometimes things are harder and don't make us feel good immediately. But once you are able to do it consistently, you can see all the good things coming from it and you feel a great sense of accomplishment. That's how I feel when I realize how much money I've saved, how much healthier I feel, and how many more crazy insects (mostly just bees) I have overcome. 

Yay for bike rides!

Scenes from a Stellar Spring Break

One of the perks of being in post-mission-not-in-school-yet-limbo is that you can go on vacation whenever you want, since you're essentially already on vacation. BYU is infamous for not having a Spring Break. But ha, ha, I got Spring Break anyway this year. We went to Lake Powell as a family (big surprise) and it was perfect.

The last few weeks had been kind of tough (doing nothing but scrapbooking and going to ward activities takes its toll after a while and you start to go craaaazzzzyy...), and even though I thought I was relaxing, I actually needed to get to Lake Powell to truly relax and recharge so I could feel ready to move forward, start working, start school, all that good stuff that's happening now. I don't know what it is about that place, but it's like a fountain of youth. We go there and we feel healed, even if we encounter countless mishaps and unplanned delays or challenges. Boats break down, people get sunburned and sore, sometimes we get ourselves into dangerous situations. But that doesn't keep us from loving it and feeling like we're in heaven.

I don't know what it is about this special place, but I absolutely love it. Here are a few pictures from this most recent trip (though the family computer has about 1.5 million similar photos from over the years).

We arrived late at night and had to creep through the lake to the houseboat, hoping for all we were worth that Nessie hadn't migrated to Glen Canyon.

Luckily we all survived and were able to sleep well that night. The next day we went out exploring in a nearby canyon that we often hike through. I love those canyon walls oh so much. 

Then we returned for lunch and had all afternoon to relax while a few people had to go into town for a few things we had forgotten to bring. We all sat up on top of the houseboat, soaking in that sunshine like warm honey right out of the microwave. I had a strict rotation to follow: 

read a few pages, sleep 30 minutes, take some photos; repeat. 

(photo cred goes to my little sister who thinks she's funny taking pictures when I'm not ready and then they end up being ALRIGHT)

That's why Spring Break at Powell is so great. The water's too cold to do any water sports or swim much, so there's plenty of time for just lounging around. There also are hardly any other people on the lake. And it's great just separating yourself from responsibilities, social media, pressures, decisions, and all the things we face in everyday life and just clear your head. I never understood, until now, how taking a vacation can do that for you. What a magical thing. 

The next day we had another great adventure exploring more canyons and, of course, fishing! I "caught you a delicious bass," except I don't know if it was actually delicious because it just a little smallmouth and I threw it back. Then we decided to go swimming. I lasted for about 3.7 seconds in the water and decided that I'd had enough swimming for the day. Lake Powell's April water isn't exactly the same temperature as its July water; shocking, right?

Then the next day we went for one last hike to another one of my favorite spots. 

We returned, cleaned the boat, packed up, and headed out. I was so exhausted the only thing I wanted to do was sleep. But as we were loading up the truck, my sister reminded me it was my turn to take the least desirable seat in the truck. The cab of my dad's truck has a seat in the front between the driver's seat and the passenger seat. It's kind of like banishment - whoever deserves a punishment, or in my case, just has the shortest legs, gets that seat. I acknowledged that yes, indeed, it was my turn, since she had ridden the whole way down in that seat. 

You might be thinking, "Wait! But if she's your little sister, shouldn't SHE have the shortest legs?!" I know, that's what I said. But some unfortunate discrepancies sneak up on you while you're out of the country, one of them being your youngest sister growing taller than you. It's no big deal, it's not that bad. When she bugs me about it I just look at her tauntingly and say "Well at least it'll be easier for me to find a husband who's shorter than I am! Ha, HA!" and turn away and go cry in a corner. 

Anyways...

Of course, there's no comfortable way to sleep in that particular spot, so instead I talked to my parents the whole 6-hour drive home. Luckily I survived. Just kidding, I actually really enjoyed it. I don't think I've EVER made it the whole drive home without sleeping. This time I was forced to. I didn't even read or do anything. It's crazy. Anyway here I am, not very well rested but 100% rejuvenated. 

I don't know if I'll ever really know what's SO great and SO relaxing about Powell. It must be because it's so familiar but still an adventure every time. This time was surprisingly calm and uneventful - we usually have SOME kind of mishap. It was just what I needed before diving back into work and school. I'm sure it won't always be like that (we're overdue for some malfunctions or something soon), but I enjoyed it while it lasted. 

Just a little end note: I was feeling too lazy to do any photo editing so what you see here is PURE NATURE. I LOVE NATURE.

High, Low, Filo Dough

This doesn't actually have anything to do with filo dough, I just wanted to rhyme. 

It IS about highs and lows, though. That's just what happens when you get home from serving a mission. 

"Let me explain.

No, there is too much. Let me sum up." (- Inigo Montoya)

I can't really tell about everything that happened in the last 18 months, but if you're curious, my mission blog is still 100% intact. You can find it HERE. 

But now that I'm back, I've decided to resume the blogging (by request of some, but mostly because I just like telling everyone about the weird stuff I think about). I've loved being home, but life is never easy, even when it seems like it should be. 

The first couple weeks home were awesome. I didn't admit in my emails how difficult being a missionary was for me. I had some very wonderful experiences and I learned some amazingly valuable lessons that I couldn't have learned anywhere else. I'm so grateful for how much better I was able to understand some parts of the Gospel, the Scriptures, and God himself. But there is always opposition, of course, and if I'm going to progress so much, I have to also go through a lot of difficulty. Unforeseen health issues, challenging companion relationships, and less-than-civil strangers are only a few of the common mission challenges that I (and all missionaries) faced. Arriving home to a family that loves me for who I am, is much more excited to see me than your average Chilean citizen was, where I don't have to follow a schedule, I can go to the temple whenever I want, I can sleep as long as I want, etc. was relaxing to say the least. 

I think what it comes down to is this: I expected too much of myself while on my mission and I was not able to enjoy my service as much as I should have, and coming home to a brief period where I basically had no expectations was like being able to breathe again. 

This was fun for a couple of weeks, as was seeing my cousins, friends, neighbors, and everyone else. But boredom is a dangerous thing, and I did everything to avoid it. With several months until being able to enter school again, I decided to apply for as many jobs as I could, attend the temple anytime anyone invited me, go to every ward activity, practice the piano, make hair bows and add lots of Etsy listings (view my shop here: ArbitraryArray), cook, read all the books I had been meaning to read, go on 5K runs or several-mile-long bike rides, scrapbook, make cookies for people, organize mission photos, sew new clothes/alter old ones, learn a new language by reading the Book of Mormon in Italian, write to my missionary friends who are still out, and most of all, find out who got married while I was gone and look through all their adorable photos on Facebook. (Seriously, I probably shouldn't calculate how much time I spent doing that my first couple days home). Eventually I secured a job on BYU campus, which I can't start until I'm closer to entering classes. And eventually, boredom set in. It's such a dangerous thing. Even though all those aforementioned things are plenty to fill infinite amounts of time, sometimes you just don't feel like doing any of it. 

Boredom is such a weird thing. It's not like there's nothing we COULD be doing. You could learn a new musical intrument, learn a new language, clean your house (your mom would love it, too), volunteer at just about anywhere, etc. etc. But being bored, I'm convinced, isn't about not having anything to do. It's about not feeling like doing any of the things you could be doing, or not feeling motivated. What an awful thing. After the excitement of being home wore off, I started feeling like that. I started staying in bed loooonger, while "reading" (but mostly sleeping). And mostly just lazying around. I still did some of my listed productive things, but you can only do so much when you just don't feel like doing anything, you know? 

Ha. Isn't it terrible that we sometimes have such limited vision that we decide to do nothing rather than do something? This is what leads to less-than-ideally-productive times. When I started falling into this, I began to create goals for myself, which I usually didn't keep, if I'm being honest. But I still haven't had a day where I stayed in my pajamas and didn't leave the house once, so I think we're doing okay. And I will never have time to relax like this again in my life! (Yikes that stuff scares me). 

Then a few days ago, I realized that I should just focus on music. I absolutely love music. Listening, playing the ukulele or piano, and especially singing. So I both auditioned for BYU Noteworthy (the 9-member a capella group) and played at an Open Mic Night in the same day. It was fun and exciting and got me excited about something once again. I never thought I should pursue music too much because I always thought I would never be a professional and as a hobby I just wouldn't have enough time. But it got me so excited these last couple days just to be doing something that I love! I didn't make Noteworthy (not even close haha) but I don't feel bad. It was an experience that built my confidence and made me realize how much I really want to be involved in music. Still not as a profession, but I think it's worth my time as a hobby. You'll most likely be hearing more about this, as I have made some goals to finish original songs I have begun writing and will want to share when they're done. 

I didn't expect this to turn out so lengthy, but I guess life is full of surprises, right? I just want you all to remember that life has its highs and lows. That there is something to be grateful for every day. And sometimes we can't really explain why something is so hard, but it just needs to be hard so that we will evaluate ourselves and decide to improve something. (Like me deciding that maybe I was so "bored" because I was spending waaaay to much time with social media. Yesterday I deleted the Vine app on my phone because...dang, some people on Vine are just toooo funny and you stay up watching their videos for hours and hours and it's just, yeah). So here I am, not feeling like I'm back to my highest level of happiness, but excited that I will be starting work soon. It's been fun to just relax and do some things I've wanted to do. I'm so grateful for every opportunity that I have to be better even though I miss most of them. 

Stay tuned, I have some things I've been wanting to write about that I'm really excited for. And thanks for sticking with me and reading all this! I have the best people following me. 

MY Mission Story

Tomorrow I will join the enormous fleet of young women invading every corner of the earth to teach about the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. I'm so excited, you guys! So here's how I got to this point. Sadly I will have to take a small (okay 18-month long) break from this here bloggins. You can follow my mission blog here: hermanaglazier.blogspot.com



And each of us has a different story, don't we? Well if you haven't heard enough yet, here's another story of how I went from somewhat school-focused 18-year-old to an excessively emotional and unfocused 18-year-old with a mission call in hand.

October 6, 2012. I was eating pancakes with my roommates, ready for another inspiring conference. I'm sure I'm not alone in saying that what would follow was shocking. The excitement and response could never have been foreseen by any of us. I'd heard rumors that the age for missionary service was going to be lowered - but I didn't expect they would take effect soon enough for it to affect my decision. Of course, I was wrong, and for once, the rumors were true.
When President Monson announced those fateful words, the words that would significantly alter the face of our entire generation and the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints, my heart quickened. Have you ever wanted to scream during a church meeting? (not because of that person who doesn't realize they are preaching false doctrine or using the pulpit as an inappropriate outlet for much-too-personal narratives, but because of excitement and happiness). This was definitely a first for me. We all felt bad for the following speakers. Facebook was fun that day.

There was an IMMEDIATE and ENORMOUS response. So many girls were and are ready to serve. Ready to get out into the world and share what makes them happy. I also saw some ecstatic boys - boys that were young for our grade, who could now serve at the same time as all their friends. Who were itching to go but had been previously constrained by their birth date. Such a beautiful and inspiring thing to see people my age, so brave, so ready to change the world for the better.

But then, as always, there comes a negative connotation with such a huge wave of people doing the same thing. The inevitable "bandwagon" label creeps out, contaminating the beauty of the spiritual wave sweeping over the world. The idea that people are joining simply for the sake of joining makes it a little less sweet. The idea that people feel social and familial pressure to submit their mission papers, the idea that girls are breaking off engagements when they never had planned to serve a mission before, the idea that girls are about to sacrifice 18 months of their life for the sake of joining a bandwagon, makes it less exciting.

I wanted to be sure I wasn't going on a mission for the sake of joining a bandwagon.

Prayer. Scripture study. Soul searching. Reflection.
Yep, I'm really supposed to go. I'm supposed to go THIS SUMMER. I'm supposed to leave before my brother gets home from his mission, supposed to sacrifice . . .
well, that's the thing. As soon as I decided that I needed to serve a mission, it didn't feel like a sacrifice. I toyed with the idea of just waiting until my brother gets home in September so I could at least see him before I leave. But it just didn't feel right. The Lord knows when he wants me to serve, and I shouldn't toy with that. He knows everything. And while it would be contrary to the idea of agency to assume that He orchestrates every detail of our lives, I know that missionary service is something He cares about very much. I know that every call is inspired and every call is extended for a reason.

Mostly I just knew that serving a mission was right for me, and that the mission age change answered a lot of my questions.

For example, I had always wanted to serve a mission. I really did. Both of my parents did, a lot of my aunts and uncles did, most of my cousins older than me did. Most recently, my two older brothers did. But whenever I pictured myself at age 21, I couldn't picture myself serving a mission. For some reason I just didn't see it. It was unsettling. Equally unsettling was my inability to imagine what the next school year would bring. Last fall semester I would try to think about where I wanted to live or work or what classes I wanted and I couldn't picture it at all. I couldn't come to any conclusive goals or even ideas of what I would be doing with my life. The announcement that I would be able to serve a mission explained everything perfectly.

I would like to believe that I was rewarded for trusting in the Lord's timing for me to serve a mission. Opening my call was the most enormous flood of emotion I have ever felt in my entire life. For one thing, I had been anticipating it for what felt like ages. I had submitted my papers the exact day I was eligible to. Then, my call came while I was on a trip with my friends in Las Vegas. We were gone Thursday - Saturday night, and my call came Thursday. I was FLIPPING. OUT. I tried to convince my mom to open it and tell me on the phone, but it's a good thing she didn't. I wouldn't have believed her without seeing it with my own eyes. See, that same week, my dear cousin left for a mission to Concepción, Chile. We grew up together and have always been best pals. When I opened my call and read that I would be going to the SAME MISSION as my dear best cousin, I was overcome. I started screaming before I could even read it out loud. (I'm sorry, family, I know that was cruel). And ever since then I've been so incredibly excited that focusing on anything has been difficult




It's strange how distracted we can become when we know what we should be focusing on. I think Satan tries to work against us more than ever when we are preparing for a mission, because he doesn't want us to serve, of course. The last few months have been quite a struggle. But I made it this far, and I'm [almost] ready to go. The whole packing thing, well . . . let's just say it's . . . coming. Ha.
I think something that made it hard to focus is that I didn't know precisely when I would be leaving. Soon after receiving my call, I did an oral Spanish test which placed me in the advanced program for the MTC - that means I'll only be there for 2 weeks! This made it necessary to change my arrival date. This is the evolution of my MTC entry date over the course of a few weeks:

July 3, Provo
June 19, Provo
June 19, Mexico
May 8 instead of May 22 (????), Provo
July 31, Provo

It took me a while to accept that July 31 was my REAL date. They kept calling and emailing with new things and I was so confused. The fact that they haven't changed it again (yet...) is reassuring.

People, this doesn't seem real! How can I be so excited about something, yet it feels SO unreal? I don't even know what to say anymore. I love you all, miss you all, be good while I'm gone. Hopefully the Internet will still exist in 18 months am I right? Ha. ha.

See ya later! (NOT goodbye).

1st Year College Tips

Your guide to success as you embark on your next adventure after high school. 

Hello there, class of 2013! I have compiled a list of what I think are some valuable tips that will help you navigate this big, scary world. Whether you're headed for the community college down the street or the Ivy Leagues, this comprehensive guide will lead you through a successful freshman year.

1. Forget about sleep. Everyone says sleep is so important, blah blah blah, but we all know there are much more important (and memorable) ways to spend those 7-9 hours. Examples:

• Eating Nutella from a spoon in your kitchen
• Spying on other dorms from your window
• Driving around barking at people
• Watching this video:
• Or this video:
• Or this video:
• Need I mention Netflix?
• Reading your textbooks? No. If you get to that point, you'd better just go to sleep. You won't remember what you read in the morning anyway.

2. Don't let professors get the best of you. 90% of test questions are specifically formulated to torture your mind. The best way to defeat this system is just create face silhouettes in your bubble sheets instead of wasting effort. Then you will have brain power left over for the REAL tests in life.

3. When emailing a professor, always use all caps. This lets the teacher know you are serious. If you don't use all caps you may as well put "don't read this, I'm wasting my time by sending it" as the subject line. 

4. Eat your roommates' food. They put it in the apartment, they want you to eat it. I promise you'll be doing them a favor. When they get mad at you, don't worry. They just don't know what they want.

5. Freshman 15? Don't worry about it. If it happens to everyone, then it won't seem like it happened to anyone. It's all relative, right?

6. You CAN read while listening to music. You won't take it in. But guess how much it matters. Guess. GUESS.
IT DOESN'T MATTER.

7. Don't wear sweats to class? Look presentable? More like wear whatever you want cause class is nap time AM I RIGHT?!?!?!

8. Bacon.

9. Greater satisfaction comes from cooking a meal without using a single cutting board than passing any number of difficult classes.

10. You haven't experienced freshman year until:

• You've laid on your kitchen floor spouting nonsense to your roommates because you've taken one too many finals that day.
• You've saran wrapped a car or apartment.
• You've have wrestling matches with your roommates because you are THAT GOOD at procrastinating.
• You've watched an entire season of a TV show without doing a single homework assignment in between.

Seriously though, when I say you haven't experienced freshman year until you've done these things, I mean your credits aren't accepted until you have. Send a monthly report to your school so they can see that you're dedicated to the stuff that REALLY matters for your education. 

There you go. I hope that was helpful, because college is a new, scary world, and you need all the help you can get. 

One final tip: disregard everything I just said.

The Cave

A wonderful song by the most stellar of stellar bands. But not what I'm here to talk about.

I'm here to tell you an epic tale of one girl's journey through the times of social media. It's the story of one teenager and how she became a somewhat distracted youth who loves to laugh at her own tweets.

The reason I must tell you this story is not something I'm proud of. I caved recently. I started using both Spotify and Pinterest. PINTEREST, you guys! I was never planning on using Pinterest because I was already spending a lot of time with my other social medias. Social media accounts. Forms of social media. Whatever. Both of these websites were things that I've known about, but until this week didn't allow myself to get distracted by. But something happened, as has happened many times in the past - the cave.

It all started with Hotmail. 

Don't worry, Gmail took over soon after. 

Then there was Bebo (I wasn't allowed to get MySpace, and this was kind of like an even more tweeny version or something. I dunno. Not my proudest cave. I don't know if it even exists anymore).

That led to Facebook. Facebook was enough for a long time. 

Somewhere along the line I created a YouTube account and started actually subscribing to people. 

It usually takes me a long time to cave for social media. I'm like "uh, I shouldn't because I already spend so much time on Facebook." (as if I won't find less entertaining ways to waste time...psh...)

That's why it took me so long to get a blog. BUT. Guess what. I got a blog. True, I have spent hours and hours writing less than useful gibberish to post to the interwebs. But it was probably better-spent time than what I would have been doing otherwise: staring at my wall. Taking pictures of my carpet. Trying to invent recipes that more than always end up being less than edible. Trying to convince my mom to buy me a puppy. Making sock puppets. Curling my hair (forreals how much time have I spent doing this TOO MUCH IS HOW MUCH). 

So, I caved to Blogger. This was one of my more dramatic caves. Because I also, for some lame reason, always have a hard time using social media just because it's what everyone else is doing. I'm like BUT THEN I'LL BE LIKE THEMMMM!!! NOOOOO!!! 

But I always get over it. 

Perhaps the most dramatic caves were Twitter and Instagram. Instagram became my most favoritest social media of ever. 

Facebook became pesky thing that you just keep around because once in a while you need to use it, you've spent a lot of time perfecting your profile, you have uploaded so many photos, and you hope that one day you can show it to your children (HA. AS IF). 

Twitter soon replaced Instagram as my most favoritest. I just really love words. 

The next cave was Vine. Twitter is still my most favoritest but Vine is fun. 

It's kind of sad that I can spend so much time talking about the history of my caving to social media. My absolute MOST favoritest is still real people. Chillin like villains (haven't heard that one since the "cool" days of Facebook have you?). Getting shaved ice in the summer and hot chocolate in the winter. Driving around and barking out the window at people (if a human has ever barked at you from a car, DO NOT consider this my confession. I'm sure there are other people in the world that do it too, not just me!!! ... I hope. I surely surely hope. And don't call me Shirley. I haven't even seen that movie since I was little. Why am I still dwelling in the land of the parentheses). 

The cave to Pinterest was purely business-related. Pinterest is a great way to promote an Etsy shop, which is exactly what I was doing. Speaking of which, check out my Etsy shop. ArbitraryArray. The link's on the right side of the page. Go there. Share it with your fraaaaands. 

I wonder what the next cave will be? I'm actually going to have NONE of them for 18 months, so it'll be really interesting to see what happens in the time I'm gone. It'll also be interesting to see what happens to my brain when I don't have a billion little outlets for all of my photos, less-than-140-character thoughts, etc. Will people get more and more into social media as time goes by, or will people start to reject and go back to more face-to-face interaction? These are the kinds of things that occupy my mind, and now can occupy yours because of this blog right here. So. I'm not sure what my point, conclusion, or take-home message is. We'll see what I cave to after the mish.

The CHALLENGE.

I usually pretty bad at keeping my own goals. But every once in a while I get something in my mind that I just can't not do.

This past week it was reading the Book of Mormon. (Non-LDS Followers, I know I'm going to lose you here. But let me just warn you, if you run away now, you will miss out on one of the most epic tales of all time. It is a tale of fierce bravery, adventure, insane chance encounters, cheesecake, sleep deprivation, and basically none of those things except sleep deprivation).

I am always reading the Book of Mormon, at least a few verses a day. My Bishop recommended that I study it for 30 minutes a day leading up to my mission. I did pretty well until I moved back home for summer. I still had been reading every day, but not as much as I should have. I calculated earlier last week that I would have to read 8 pages every single day to finish the whole book before entering the MTC. I was discussing this with my used-to-be-roommate/basically mom, when she suggested I should just read a ton at once and get ahead. I was like UM YEAH. SOUNDS GREAT. She was thinking like 20 pages a day for a few days so I can go easy later on.

Then, I got one of my most brilliant ideas ever! (FEEL my sarcasm. FEEL IT. It is DRIPPING from those words like a popsicle in a small child's hand in summer). I said "Wait a second, I should just read the WHOLE thing by the end of this week so I don't have to worry about staying caught up when I'm on vacation later." Roomie/mom said "yeah okay" like she always does. Just agrees with me to make me feel good. I was already in the book of Mosiah, and I was like "yeah I can do this, no biggie." That was Tuesday.

Wednesday I didn't read much, so I decided I needed something to motivate me. They say you're much more likely to meet a goal if you tell other people about it. So I tweeted that I was going to finish by the end of the week, that way I would be accountable to all 56 of my Twitter followers (although I'm fairly certain that like 40% of them are spam accounts. It's whatevs).

Thursday I finished the book of Mosiah. I planned to read the whole book of Alma on Friday, then finish the rest Saturday. For those of you who are unfamiliar, Alma has 63 chapters. BILLIONS of pages (yes, I'm exaggerating, but that's kinda what it seemed like). It came to be about midnight on Friday (so, yes, technically already Saturday. But I still consider it the same day if I haven't gone to bed yet) when I realized that I had 50 chapters left if I was going to finish Alma. I remembered that I had 56 faithful Twitter followers, plus roommate/mom counting on me, and I couldn't let them down!

I live tweeted the whole night, if you wanna check out my tweeeeeeter page.  Wait, if you don't already follow me on Twitter, what the heck, why? Oh. You don't have a Twitter account. Okay. That is the only valid excuse. If you have an account though, sheesh. Follow me. Okay. Moving on.

It. Was. Brutal. I'm not going to say how late I was up (or early . . . as the case was . . . ) because my parents would be like are you kidding me that's the worst thing ever you can't live here anymore you aren't our daughter GO LEAVE WE DON'T WANT YOU YOU'RE ADOPTED ANYWAY NO CAKE FOR YOU YOU'RE GROU-

Let's just stop that train before it goes any further. Okay. Deep breaths. Just don't tell my parents that I was up until almost 4:30, doing laundry and sitting in really weird positions to keep myself awake. I was also mostly speed-reading/skimming. Surprisingly, I picked up a good amount of the story. And the cool part it, it's easier to keep track of who everyone is and how they relate to each other when you read that many years worth of history in that small amount of time. It was actually a cool experience, except the part where I was thinking "WHAT HAVE I GOTTEN MYSELF INTO" the whole time.

The cool part is, I didn't hate everything at the end. Usually when I HAVE to keep a goal and I do something unwise like stay up until 4 am to do so, I just hate myself and the whole world. But when I read the concluding words of the 63rd chapter, I felt good. Relieved to be done, yes, but calm. I didn't feel like I was going to hate my life the next day and regret it. And I don't regret it.

I finished the rest over the next two days, and I feel great. I got a little less sleep than normal, yes, but everything worked out. I'm fine. And I actually kept a goal I had. And it was a worthy goal. The scriptures are great. You might be thinking, this is a terrible way to end such an "epic" story that wasn't even that epic. But the point is that we really can push ourselves and accomplish crazy things. And even if those things don't end up being worth it, they might at least make a blog-worthy story.

The Unfairness of Missions

I'm planning on serving a mission at the end of this summer. (I'm working on a post that tells that whole story, so stay tuned for that). I am more grateful and excited than I can explain. And guess what?
It isn't fair.

I attended both of my older brothers' high school graduation ceremonies. In other words, I endured the most boring hours of my life to support those guys. Seriously. Graduation is BORING. Don't even try to argue with me on this.
They were both serving missions in different parts of the world during my high school graduation. Not. Fair.
You'd think I might just give the same treatment for my other siblings, right? Nope. I'll be back in time for my other siblings' graduation ceremonies, and I will attend with all the love and support I can muster. (It will be hard, because like I said, graduation ceremonies are literally the worst).

My family always grows a big garden. One of my older brothers was here for the planting, but left for his mission before all of the harvest. This year, he will be returning in time for some of the harvest, after missing all of the planting.
I am here for the planting right now, and I will not reap the rewards. I will get the harvest when I return, of course, but I will also be home in time for the planting. Fair? No!

One of my brothers decided to go away for the summer to pursue an economic endeavor. (Sales. Wish him luck, that crazy man). So, while I was forced to play the piano at his farewell service and homecoming service, he won't even be attending my farewell. This one's just downright sad. And unfair. My other brother is still serving his mission, so he won't be attending either.

I could continue. But I won't, because I'm kind of illustrating the opposite of the point I'm trying to make. The importance of these examples is grossly exaggerated here - who flipping cares about whether they attended my graduation ceremony? My parents bought the DVD of it anyway. Who cares whether they are at my farewell? The important thing is that I am going to share the gospel with others, not who hears me speak before I leave.

The real point I want to make is this: We can perceive all kinds of reasons why missionary service is inconvenient. Why life isn't fair. And we are right about it not being fair. Just sometimes we're thinking of it from the wrong perspective. We think it isn't fair for us, when it's actually unfair on the other end. The Lord blesses us so much for the small sacrifices we make. The blessings of missionary service are immense, immeasurable, beautiful, and wonderful. No matter what we do, no matter how hard we think we are working, the blessings (whether they be in this life or the next), outweigh them by a million times. It's not fair that we only have to improve ourselves a little bit every day to receive strength and inspiration. It's not fair that we only have to keep the covenants we have made so that we can have the Holy Ghost with us constantly. It's not fair that all we have to do is speak a few words to ask for an answer to any number of important questions. It's not fair because God loves us just that much.

In the end, fairness doesn't matter. All things are justified in the end. What matters is doing what's right.

I Can't Talk To People

My friends have been joking for years about how "awkward" I am. Ha, ha, very funny, guys. It's usually just a joke, but then there are times where I just don't know what to say to people.

About a month ago, I moved home from my first year of college. I started attending my home young adult ward. The first activity I went to, I was lost. I literally couldn't remember how to talk to people. Sounds silly, right? But it's true. The explanation I came up with was this:
For the past school year, I had been living with a bunch of other college freshmen, surrounded by people who were basically experiencing the same thing I was. It's relatively easy to start a conversation with these people, there are pretty standard topics that we can all relate to. But once I was back to being surrounded by people who are different ages, go to different schools, and are mostly in a different stage of life than I am, I couldn't think of anything to say.

While this seemed like a pretty valid explanation for a while, I finally discovered an even better answer. It was at another ward activity earlier this week. I talked to one of my old friends a couple times, and this is what I started with:
"I think I just kind of hit a deer" and "I really want a gazebo".
These are NOT normal conversation starters. No wonder I can't talk to normal people!
I either need to learn how to talk like a normal person, or just accept that I'm going to talk like a weirdo. I think the weirdo thing sounds pretty good, what do you guys think?

Safety or Happiness?

The Freakonomics guys love to talk about how humans are terrible at assessing risks.

I agree.

Why do we feel safe in the middle of cars moving at lethal speeds and nothing but symbolic paint lines to keep them from plowing into your face?

Why do we use social media so liberally?

Why do we eat basically anything someone else gives to us?

I guess when I think about it, we probably just don't want the stress that paranoia brings. Anything we could gain from being ultra-paranoid is probably outweighed by the happiness lost by living in fear.

We may be terrible at assessing risks, but I think it's better to be good at letting ourselves be happy.

Make Your Dreams A Reality

Good advice?

Once upon a time I went to my favorite super-authentic Chinese restaurant, Panda Express. 

When I say "super-authentic" I mean "I'm not really sure what this is but I'm pretty sure it's not Chinese and I'm VERY sure that it is DELICIOUS."

If you've ever been to Panda Express, then you know that with every meal comes a cute little fortune cookie.  (and if you haven't been to Panda, seriously what are you doing with your life). 

On this particular day, this was my fortune:

This would be a pretty average, generic, applies-to-anybody kind of feel-good fortune, except for one problem. What if I don't want to make my dreams a reality? I know it probably meant that I should shoot for the great things I want to accomplish in my life, etc. But all I could think about was my dream from the night before. I don't usually remember dreams, so this one really stood out.

I was at Target with my friend's older sister. A super creepy guy who worked there was following us around. He attacked my friend's sister but backed off when the store manager saw him. The manager didn't do anything about it. I tried to say "Hey! This is unacceptable! He should be fired!" but the manager just shrugged and walked away. 

I know that's not exactly the most horrific dream, but it was unsettling. And I definitely don't want to make it a reality. Please, fortune cookie writers, be a little bit considerate. Some things don't apply to everyone after all. 

The Clap-Along

You can talk about pet peeves or things you hate or whatever.
You can ask me in a cute little get-to-know-you survey "what is your biggest pet peeve?" and my mind will go completely blank.
I try not to let every little thing bother me because duh then I'd be annoyed all the time.
But there is one thing I forget how much I hate.
Until it happens.
And it happens. A lot.

The clap-along, my friends. It's everywhere.
You're playing your favorite song in the school talent show. You're nervous, but the adrenaline gives you the boost to give it all you've got.
The audience is enjoying it, their enthusiasm gets you even more excited to be on stage.
Then they decide it's their responsibility to keep the beat for you. That one kid, the one who yells at everything, that makes it a goal to draw as much attention to themselves as possible, starts clapping. It spreads like a seething epidemic, infecting the whole crowd. Each member of the audience becomes a mindless zombie, their hands begin moving on their own, clapping to the beat. Ask them why they are putting their hands together, they will have no answer.
But the beat can't stay pure forever. It speeds up, becomes disjointed.
Do you speed up with them? Do you attempt to stay on the original beat? Do you tell the crowd to stop? There is no solution. You must continue the best you can, and wait for the mindless crowd to realize their folly. You may recover eventually, but there will forever be a dark spot on your performance.

Then there's the clap-along to recorded music at basketball games. Equally heinous.
It's awkward. It's unattractive. It ruins good people and turns them into mindless robots that conform to the will of the mob.

Let's end this madness.

Okay, okay, okay. It's not THAT bad. It's acceptable, even, but ONLY if the performer themselves starts it.
But other than that, seriously guys, can we just not?

Kthanksbye.

Reflections on a College Testing Center

one student's epic poetic musings on the acutely stressful situation of taking two tests in one day, both of which she is desperately unprepared for, due to her own negligence. 

It always starts with denial.

"Hooommmeeworrrrrk?" says my brain. 

Every day the wall goes up. 

The wall that points to other, more enjoyable activities that won't make me fall asleep. 

Sleep? Oh. Ha.  

This time I am determined to sleep long enough. 

Determined to be alert for my 2-test day. 

They say 8 hours is enough. 

But you can't trust the system

Because I did what they said

And 8 hours later, there I was.

In the testing center. 

White paper.

Red bubble sheet. 

Red, the blood of martyred students. 

Martyred by their own apathy for the institution they pay to attend.

Orange pencil. Mocks me with its cheery hue. 

Cookies N Cream milk promises sugar rush and sweet, sweet reassurance. 

Too sugary. 

500 calories in all. Not comforting.

Woeful glances at the clock. 

No real time limit

But limited by sanity-meter

Drained by the second

"DID YOU KNOW THIS SEEMINGLY INNOCENT PLASTIC BOTTLE CONTAINS WAY TOO MUCH SUGAR? AND I JUST DRANK THE WHOLE THING!!!"

I only shout in my brain.

I'd rather wallow in my own insanity

Than allow strangers to be in on the secret.

Sleep finds me now. It seems 8 hours can never be enough.

20 minutes? 30 minutes? You don't sense time when your head's against the wall. 

When you're far away from that dingy curtain and ice-cold vent by your feet. 

I wake up and fill in the bubbles.

In 3rd grade, filling in the bubbles was a courageous task.

The risk of wrong answer was outweighed 

By the risk of stray marks outside the lines.

Now I need to know which lines. Which. Bubble. Which bubble.

Test finished. Practically sprinting.

Drop it on the grading desk like a venomous snake.

Out of my hand, ye fiendish stapled stack.

73%. 

It's what I deserve.

Study. Attempt to study. Another test awaits. 

Library. 

A friend. We quiz each other. We don't know what lies ahead.

We only prepare the best we know how. 

It's too late for listening better in class

For reading the whole textbook

For taking better notes

It's here and now, the final countdown. 

I feel better

Good

Ready?

Not ready. Never ever ever ever ready.

Always just "as ready as I can be"

But this time I'm confident.

Too confident, perhaps, for we all must be humbled.

The Great Assembly Maximilian Robespierre Japanese Imperialism Charles Fourier Catherine the Great

CATHERINE THE GREAT

I thought I knew you, Catherine,

But none of these answers look familiar

CATHERIIINNNNNNNNE!

I throw my desk to the ground

Spring up with a rebel yell

Scream at the top of my lungs

Raise my fists in the air

"CATHERINE THE GREAT KILLED HER HUSBAND BUT I DON'T KNOW WHAT ELSE" 

I yell as I wave the flag of the impoverished university students

I am the standard bearer of the downtrodden

I run through the halls, a hero

No

No

I don't. I sit. 

I want that daydream to be real. But instead I must complete the task in front of me.

I must fill in bubbles and engrave words into a blank essay response page.

The essay embraces me, and we are friends together. 

I stride with dignity to the grading desk for the second time.

I watch dreams crumble.

Very, very bad score. 

Very very bad.

Very bad.

iPod, give me some comfort.

Oh you prophetic device. Feist speaks through you. 

The song is "Past in Present."

The words that play immediately into my eardrums are 

"It's okay you know

It's okay you know

It's okay you know

It's okay you know"

And it is. It really is.