We all have our highs and our lows, emotionally speaking. Today was definitely a low point for me (putting it lightly). The stress and loneliness built up to such a point that I just about started to sob; I even felt homesick. This made me start to think about my life, though. I know, I know. Just what you wanted to hear about. At least I'm not ranting? That has to be some sort of benefit, I think.
Anyway, back to my not so grand revelation. This week is my birthday (yay!) and I move into a whole new realm of expectations. Most of my friends from high school are settling down: it seems a week cannot pass without an engagement or baby announcement flickering through my facebook feed. I'm happy for my friends, and I am excited that so many of them are finding their Happily Ever Afters. There are just days where I wonder when it's going to be my turn to ride off into the sunset. Now, I know I'm young. I know good things come to those who wait. But that doesn't make it any easier. Lately I've even started to gravitate towards listening to Adele and Kelly Clarkson because their music reflects the profound sadness of being alone. In many ways, their music is perfect for grad school. As silly as it sounds, grad school is one of the loneliest enterprises under the sun. We are all so busy and working so hard that we just...don't have time to be people any more. We get together to edit homework or discuss the readings for class--not much of a life, if you ask me. And making friends can be complicated, if only because the very nature of grad school is to isolate. How does this scattered little wheel of thought tie together? Well, as I told my bishop on Sunday, "How on Earth am I supposed to get married if I can't even land a date?!" As you can tell, this is a vivid point of frustration for me. In order to date, you have to have friends (at least, that's how it goes when you're someone like me). But having friends and being in grad school don't seem to match up... So, am I just doomed? There are days where I feel like I very well might be.
This entire conundrum is why I've decided to name the next year of my life the "Puppy or Man Year." Basically, it translates to "either I need a second puppy or I need a man in my life before I go absolutely bonkers." One puppy is nice and exciting, certainly, but when snuggling either my toes or my tummy get cold. A second puppy would be able to snuggle my toes while the first snuggled my tummy. It'd be perfect, I tell you! That, and first puppy would have a friend in second puppy! A husband could also fulfill the snuggling/friend position, but... Well, the likelihood of that one just... Mm. I'm not counting on it. So, I think I will instead budget for a second puppy. That seems far more realistic a goal for someone like me. At least there are plenty of dogs looking for a good woman to love them.
Tuesday, November 8, 2011
Thursday, October 27, 2011
The Disabilities Dichotomy
The fact I have a disability is pretty darn hard to miss. My skin looks like something escaped from a B sci-fi movie, and I get a lot of comments on my appearance. A lot of comments. Lately, though, something strange has been happening to me. I seem to be constantly forgetting that I have a skin disorder; I always seem to be surprised when I catch a glimpse of my skin. I know it makes no sense: how can I forget I have a skin disorder that I've had for nearly twenty-three years? Honestly, I can't explain the psychology behind it.
I have begun to think a lot about disabilities this week because of it, though. I know that there are many people who define me by my ichthyosis, and I honestly can't blame them. If one of my friends seemed to be the missing link between humans and dragons that'd stick out pretty firmly in my mind too. What surprises me the most, I suppose, are people who define me by something else. A long, long time ago (during my senior year of high school) I remember being brought to tears by a single comment. We had just finished one of the performances of the Holiday Dinner, a huge Christmas choir concert (with food) wherein I was one of the narrators. I was thinking about getting to go home and sleep off all of the wassail I'd consumed when a woman I didn't know approached me. She said, "You know, I really loved your performance. I was really touched."
My role, the Queen, had a particularly great monologue about the Savior and the meaning of Christmas. It frequently put me near tears, so I was not too surprised that it had an impact on someone else. "What really impressed me," the woman continued, "was you. I didn't notice your skin until someone else pointed it out to me. You were so confident and strong that I could only look at your eyes; you really know how beautiful you are." I was caught completely by surprise. I have never been a renown beauty; in fact, in high school I was officially one of those "awkwardly pretty" sorts that never got asked to dances. More than that, though, I was...astounded that she had not noticed my skin. I was under the impression that everyone noticed my skin first and me second. To have someone see beyond the scales was amazing. I started to cry even as I thanked her for her kind comment, which in turn made her cry My experience with that concert has always held a special place in my heart because of moments like that.
After a time I began to accept my skin as a banner of honor. I told myself that it meant I had survived the torture of elementary school, the agony of middle school, the dejection of junior high, and the loneliness of high school without giving up. I had been teased, oppressed, hurt, and neglected, but I was still alive. In some ways, pride in my disability began to get in my way. Frequently I would do idiotic things like push myself too hard or get involved in things that were unhealthy for me. (Like fencing... People who can't sweat really should not fence.) One day, though, someone asked me if I had an identity beyond my skin. The question made me uncomfortable, and with good cause. My skin was me; I was my ichthyosis. That lead to a time of major reevaluation of my priorities and paradigms. Not long after I was given a blessing to have my skin disorder healed; I was certain it would work. Weeks passed without my skin disorder clearing up, and I could tell the people around me were frustrated. They had thought that my skin needed to be healed, but what they did not realize was that I was what needed healing. My skin disorder is, in many ways, a psychological condition. Many of the ichthyosis youth hate themselves and hate their appearance. I understand why they do because I have been there and have felt that way. After the blessing, though, ichthyosis wasn't my identity, it wasn't the cross I had to bear, and it wasn't my badge of honor; ichthyosis was just something I happened to have.
Over the years I have learned to laugh at my skin. I tell little kids that I am one of the X-men (since I'm an actual mutant) and at fantasy conventions I joke that I could write the best dragon narrative ever (life with scales is never accurately represented). I've learned to smile at the people who ask me if I'm burned or dirty, and the stares don't burn into me the way they used to. My identity has changed, and I love the new way I view myself.
This week, though, I want to address something that concerns me a little. I have a very dear friend who I love very much. She always tells me how brave and smart and wonderful I am--even when I'm not. This past month this friend's brother has been the focus of a lot of media attention. He is an autistic teenager who did something I admire very much: he earned all of the merit badges in scouting. Now, I do not want anyone to misunderstand me. I think his accomplishment is fantastic, and I think he deserves all the praise this world has to give. What confuses me is that I have known several young men who have made the same accomplishment without getting any recognition beyond a little four line blurb in the town newspaper. Were their accomplishments less because they don't have autism? I had been under the impression that any young man who earned all his badges was something of a superhero, and I wish they would get as many accolades as my friend's brother.
Forgive me if I am not making very much sense. I suppose what this is all about is a matter of two words: "special" and "unique." Now, I know that these words have a whole lot of meaning behind them, and that most people can't agree on how they're different. I believe that "special" is something that comes from a person's heart while "unique" is something innate about them (like autism or ichthyosis). This week I have asked myself time and time again, "Am I special because I am unique, or am I unique because I am special?" In other words, I wonder if God gave me my skin disorder because I am special or if something special came out in my personality because of my ichthyosis. Confused yet? I know I am.
At the heart of this entire matter is the issue of how other people perceive me. I am grateful that so many people look up to me and admire all that I have accomplished; their belief in me gives me strength. I sometimes worry, though, that if I did not have ichthyosis that my accomplishments would not seem as great. I worry that I would be just like the hundreds of boys who are "normal" and are never recognized for the amazing things they do. This world would be a much better place if everyone felt like their accomplishments mattered and that no one was more "special" than anyone else. But it won't happen. What I ask instead is that people see me as a talented young woman with the determination to overcome any sort of obstacle that is put in my path rather than that "amazing girl with ichthyosis." I think most of the people in this world who are disabled feel the same way. We want to be our actions and our accomplishments rather than a single element of ourselves. Most importantly, though, I want to recognize the fantastic, amazing, and special people in my life. They have overcome so many trials and obstacles that would have brought less people down and they still find such great joy in life. They are my heroes; they are who I want to be like when I grow up. They are the truly victorious.
I have begun to think a lot about disabilities this week because of it, though. I know that there are many people who define me by my ichthyosis, and I honestly can't blame them. If one of my friends seemed to be the missing link between humans and dragons that'd stick out pretty firmly in my mind too. What surprises me the most, I suppose, are people who define me by something else. A long, long time ago (during my senior year of high school) I remember being brought to tears by a single comment. We had just finished one of the performances of the Holiday Dinner, a huge Christmas choir concert (with food) wherein I was one of the narrators. I was thinking about getting to go home and sleep off all of the wassail I'd consumed when a woman I didn't know approached me. She said, "You know, I really loved your performance. I was really touched."
After a time I began to accept my skin as a banner of honor. I told myself that it meant I had survived the torture of elementary school, the agony of middle school, the dejection of junior high, and the loneliness of high school without giving up. I had been teased, oppressed, hurt, and neglected, but I was still alive. In some ways, pride in my disability began to get in my way. Frequently I would do idiotic things like push myself too hard or get involved in things that were unhealthy for me. (Like fencing... People who can't sweat really should not fence.) One day, though, someone asked me if I had an identity beyond my skin. The question made me uncomfortable, and with good cause. My skin was me; I was my ichthyosis. That lead to a time of major reevaluation of my priorities and paradigms. Not long after I was given a blessing to have my skin disorder healed; I was certain it would work. Weeks passed without my skin disorder clearing up, and I could tell the people around me were frustrated. They had thought that my skin needed to be healed, but what they did not realize was that I was what needed healing. My skin disorder is, in many ways, a psychological condition. Many of the ichthyosis youth hate themselves and hate their appearance. I understand why they do because I have been there and have felt that way. After the blessing, though, ichthyosis wasn't my identity, it wasn't the cross I had to bear, and it wasn't my badge of honor; ichthyosis was just something I happened to have.
This week, though, I want to address something that concerns me a little. I have a very dear friend who I love very much. She always tells me how brave and smart and wonderful I am--even when I'm not. This past month this friend's brother has been the focus of a lot of media attention. He is an autistic teenager who did something I admire very much: he earned all of the merit badges in scouting. Now, I do not want anyone to misunderstand me. I think his accomplishment is fantastic, and I think he deserves all the praise this world has to give. What confuses me is that I have known several young men who have made the same accomplishment without getting any recognition beyond a little four line blurb in the town newspaper. Were their accomplishments less because they don't have autism? I had been under the impression that any young man who earned all his badges was something of a superhero, and I wish they would get as many accolades as my friend's brother.
Forgive me if I am not making very much sense. I suppose what this is all about is a matter of two words: "special" and "unique." Now, I know that these words have a whole lot of meaning behind them, and that most people can't agree on how they're different. I believe that "special" is something that comes from a person's heart while "unique" is something innate about them (like autism or ichthyosis). This week I have asked myself time and time again, "Am I special because I am unique, or am I unique because I am special?" In other words, I wonder if God gave me my skin disorder because I am special or if something special came out in my personality because of my ichthyosis. Confused yet? I know I am.
At the heart of this entire matter is the issue of how other people perceive me. I am grateful that so many people look up to me and admire all that I have accomplished; their belief in me gives me strength. I sometimes worry, though, that if I did not have ichthyosis that my accomplishments would not seem as great. I worry that I would be just like the hundreds of boys who are "normal" and are never recognized for the amazing things they do. This world would be a much better place if everyone felt like their accomplishments mattered and that no one was more "special" than anyone else. But it won't happen. What I ask instead is that people see me as a talented young woman with the determination to overcome any sort of obstacle that is put in my path rather than that "amazing girl with ichthyosis." I think most of the people in this world who are disabled feel the same way. We want to be our actions and our accomplishments rather than a single element of ourselves. Most importantly, though, I want to recognize the fantastic, amazing, and special people in my life. They have overcome so many trials and obstacles that would have brought less people down and they still find such great joy in life. They are my heroes; they are who I want to be like when I grow up. They are the truly victorious.
Thursday, October 13, 2011
Nevertheless, I Know in Whom I Trust
Several years ago, during one of the most difficult times in my life, I was trapped on a tour bus bound for Branson, Missouri. It was at a time when I felt very much alone: many of my friends had turned on me, I had broken up with the guy I had convinced myself I wanted to marry, and my faith was in the negatives. At that point, being stuck on a bus for thirty-four hours seemed like pure Purgatory. I was very blessed, though, to have one of my (few) remaining friends on the bus with me, a brilliant girl named Tami. She was the sort of steady, sweet person who saw goodness in me even when I was waspish and cold; and, she was able to act as a balm to my blistered soul. While we were trapped on the bus I told her about an idea I had been nagged with: to turn a passage of scripture into a song. She thought it was a brilliant idea. The only problem? My sense of rhythm was rather lacking. I could not do sonnets, I could not dance very well, and I most certainly did not feel I could write a song. Tami, though, told me that I might as well try. During that bus ride she acted as my support, my confidant, my assistant, and my editor; by the end I had finished the first draft of my song.
While we were stuck in those tiny, cramped seats I had one of the most amazing experiences. For the first time in three years I felt truly whole again, and I felt as though my heart were at peace. I had thought myself past feeling, and suddenly I was awash in emotions. At three in the morning, long after Tami had fallen asleep on my lap, I tipped my head back and stared up at the ceiling. Silence reigned over the bus: sleep had taken everyone but the bus driver and me. In that safe cocoon, I let myself think about the two people I had been writing my song for: my dad and my grandfather. They were the foundation on which I had built so much of myself on, and they were the rock I could fall back on when I gave up on myself. But I had been betraying that relationship of faith and trust. I had spurned their help, discarded their love, and turned my back on everything I believed.
Something I almost never talk about is that, at that time, I believed in nothing. I had convinced myself that God would not let me suffer if He really loved me, and so His existence had to be a lie. I had also convinced myself that my church was false, since it believed in the God I had turned from. I hated myself, hated going home, hated people who had once been my friends, hated my school, hated where I lived, and just hated with every ounce of passion I had in me. I was emotionally and spiritually dying.
My grandfather, who I look up to so much, faced a similar fall when he was younger. He had left the church, joined the army, began to drink and smoke, and turned his back on God. Eventually, he gave up smoking and drinking, and he eventually returned to the church. I was never brave enough to talk to him about that dark time in his life, but oh how I wanted to. I wanted to ask him what had made him come back, and I wanted to know if he truly believed in the church. But I never got the chance.
On the bus that night, I uttered my first prayer in over a year. I asked God to protect us while we traveled--our bus had been the victim of winds so strong we were constantly being blown in a zig-zag across the road--and I asked Him to help me understand why my life sucked. The wind did not stop and I did not receive a heavenly vision outlining how each moment of agony fit into the larger picture. But, I did feel peace and contentment. I even fell asleep, something I had been certain would not happen in such uncomfortable conditions. It is probably, on some level, ironic that I wrote something so spiritual during a time of disbelief. I, however, do not think it was. My soul, which had been starved for so long, found a way to express all of its anguish and hope for things my mind had dismissed.
The song I wrote was an adaptation of what is known as Nephi's Psalm, which is found in 2 Nephi 4. And yes, that is in the Book of Mormon. The original scripture expressed the feelings of a man who felt inadequate and weak, but still knew to trust in the Lord. Those feelings resonated with me on a deep level, even when I professed to not believe in God. My adaptation was meant to reflect the faith of my father and grandfather, and I wanted it to honor them. This was the result:
Behold, my soul delighteth in the Lord,
And ponders things which I have seen and heard;
And yet my heart cries, "Wretched man I am,
Encompassed 'round by temptation and sin."
Nevertheless, I know in whom I trust:
My Lord, My God, My Savior, and My Friend.
Behold, my God hath been my great support,
Hath guided me through affliction and pain.
He hath preserved me, filled me with his love
For He hath heard even my smallest cry.
By day, by night, in Him I have waxed strong
Through His great love my troubles cast aside.
Awake my soul! No longer droop in sin!
Rejoice my heart, and give it place no more!
Let me, O Lord, praise Thee forevermore
Delight in Thee, Redeemer of my soul
Encircle me within Thy loving arms,
For I have trusted Thee until the end.
It is not the most inventive adaptation of Nephi's Psalm in the world, but it was mine. In many ways, the second stanza was my father and the third was my grandfather. Little did I know that the first stanza would eventually come to represent me.
My problems were not solved in one night, or even a month. I fell into something of an uneasy truce with God: I admitted He was there, but I refused to love Him. I still blamed him for all of the difficulties in my life, and I did not believe He would want me even if I did turn to him. Bitterness kept its hold on me for so long...so much wasted time. That year I graduated from high school, and I went to study for my undergraduate degree. That first year was dreadful. I fell into bad habits, I toed the line with misbehaving, and I was a very negative influence on the people around me. And then March happened.
One night I felt particularly restless while eating dinner in the cafeteria. I was withdrawn, edgy, and felt somewhat worried for no reason. Excusing myself early, I went and walked towards the dormitories. Something about the sunset made me stop: I spent a good ten or twenty minutes just staring at it and thinking about my life. And then my phone rang. My father was on the other end of the line, and he had painful news to pass on. Grandpa was dead. His health had been on a decline for months, we all knew it was coming, but to have lost him... I was devastated. I stood there and cried. During high school I had prided myself on the fact that nothing could make me cry, and there I was sobbing like a child. But it wasn't because I had lost my grandfather. Instead, it was because I would miss him. I would not get to tell him about what I was studying, I wouldn't get to hear him say "and that" randomly in his sentences, and I wouldn't ever get to introduce him to whatever poor soul I ended up marrying. Some portion of my testimony had survived even the cruelest of attacks and my most fervent attempts to peel away my beliefs. I knew, without a doubt, that I would see my grandfather again. I knew that we would be a family again. The only thing that truly lacked to make that happen was that I was inadequate.
I prayed like I had never prayed before that night. My knees became locked up and stiff, my body was cold, and my eyes were swollen when I finally rose to my feet. That night I did not receive a heavenly vision assuring me of God's forgiveness, nor did my heart immediately change. I was still vice-ridden and suffering, but I had at last admitted that I could not make it through life alone. I knew that I needed God, and that I needed help. For two-and-a-half years I struggled to find my way back to God. Guilt, self-hated, and low self-esteem dominated that time in my life because I still did not believe that God would want to forgive me. Finally, when I felt as if my soul was going to be ripped to shreds, I went to my bishop. I told him everything: my mistakes, how I felt, and what I wanted to be. He paused for a long moment before saying to me, "The only person who has not forgiven you, Kirstin, is you." I was flabbergasted. I was an awful person. How could anyone have forgiven me? He then reminded me that I had done the work of praying and agonizing over what I had done, even though no one had called me out on it, and that God loved me. God wants to forgive, and God wants to love. I just had to let it happen.
Miraculous changes started to happen in my life. I made progress in my vices, I was able to forgive someone who had dealt me a great hurt, and I started to trust other people. The progress was slow in coming, but it was distinct. By the time I graduated with my undergraduate degree I was an entirely different person. Now, in my first year as a graduate student, I feel it is important to express the journey I have made. This week my faith has (yet again) come under attack. Myriads of people are trying to tell me what I believe, who I am, and what I am not. They say I am a cultist, that I'm not Christian, that I believe in polygamy, that I should accept things that go against my beliefs. Who are they to condemn me? Who are they to tell me what I can and cannot know? They are no one.
Only God may condemn me and those of my faith. Only I determine what I believe, what I know, and what I do not believe in. No amount of hated, derision, or persuasion will turn me from the path I have chosen. My suffering, difficult though it may have been, has made me stronger, and the bigger picture I had asked for all those years ago is starting to reveal itself. Prayers are answered. God lives. God loves. Latterday Saints are Christians. I know these things to be true.
My name is Kirstin, and I am a Latterday Saint. I know in whom I trust.
While we were stuck in those tiny, cramped seats I had one of the most amazing experiences. For the first time in three years I felt truly whole again, and I felt as though my heart were at peace. I had thought myself past feeling, and suddenly I was awash in emotions. At three in the morning, long after Tami had fallen asleep on my lap, I tipped my head back and stared up at the ceiling. Silence reigned over the bus: sleep had taken everyone but the bus driver and me. In that safe cocoon, I let myself think about the two people I had been writing my song for: my dad and my grandfather. They were the foundation on which I had built so much of myself on, and they were the rock I could fall back on when I gave up on myself. But I had been betraying that relationship of faith and trust. I had spurned their help, discarded their love, and turned my back on everything I believed.
Something I almost never talk about is that, at that time, I believed in nothing. I had convinced myself that God would not let me suffer if He really loved me, and so His existence had to be a lie. I had also convinced myself that my church was false, since it believed in the God I had turned from. I hated myself, hated going home, hated people who had once been my friends, hated my school, hated where I lived, and just hated with every ounce of passion I had in me. I was emotionally and spiritually dying.
My grandfather, who I look up to so much, faced a similar fall when he was younger. He had left the church, joined the army, began to drink and smoke, and turned his back on God. Eventually, he gave up smoking and drinking, and he eventually returned to the church. I was never brave enough to talk to him about that dark time in his life, but oh how I wanted to. I wanted to ask him what had made him come back, and I wanted to know if he truly believed in the church. But I never got the chance.
On the bus that night, I uttered my first prayer in over a year. I asked God to protect us while we traveled--our bus had been the victim of winds so strong we were constantly being blown in a zig-zag across the road--and I asked Him to help me understand why my life sucked. The wind did not stop and I did not receive a heavenly vision outlining how each moment of agony fit into the larger picture. But, I did feel peace and contentment. I even fell asleep, something I had been certain would not happen in such uncomfortable conditions. It is probably, on some level, ironic that I wrote something so spiritual during a time of disbelief. I, however, do not think it was. My soul, which had been starved for so long, found a way to express all of its anguish and hope for things my mind had dismissed.
The song I wrote was an adaptation of what is known as Nephi's Psalm, which is found in 2 Nephi 4. And yes, that is in the Book of Mormon. The original scripture expressed the feelings of a man who felt inadequate and weak, but still knew to trust in the Lord. Those feelings resonated with me on a deep level, even when I professed to not believe in God. My adaptation was meant to reflect the faith of my father and grandfather, and I wanted it to honor them. This was the result:
Behold, my soul delighteth in the Lord,
And ponders things which I have seen and heard;
And yet my heart cries, "Wretched man I am,
Encompassed 'round by temptation and sin."
Nevertheless, I know in whom I trust:
My Lord, My God, My Savior, and My Friend.
Behold, my God hath been my great support,
Hath guided me through affliction and pain.
He hath preserved me, filled me with his love
For He hath heard even my smallest cry.
By day, by night, in Him I have waxed strong
Through His great love my troubles cast aside.
Awake my soul! No longer droop in sin!
Rejoice my heart, and give it place no more!
Let me, O Lord, praise Thee forevermore
Delight in Thee, Redeemer of my soul
Encircle me within Thy loving arms,
For I have trusted Thee until the end.
It is not the most inventive adaptation of Nephi's Psalm in the world, but it was mine. In many ways, the second stanza was my father and the third was my grandfather. Little did I know that the first stanza would eventually come to represent me.
My problems were not solved in one night, or even a month. I fell into something of an uneasy truce with God: I admitted He was there, but I refused to love Him. I still blamed him for all of the difficulties in my life, and I did not believe He would want me even if I did turn to him. Bitterness kept its hold on me for so long...so much wasted time. That year I graduated from high school, and I went to study for my undergraduate degree. That first year was dreadful. I fell into bad habits, I toed the line with misbehaving, and I was a very negative influence on the people around me. And then March happened.
One night I felt particularly restless while eating dinner in the cafeteria. I was withdrawn, edgy, and felt somewhat worried for no reason. Excusing myself early, I went and walked towards the dormitories. Something about the sunset made me stop: I spent a good ten or twenty minutes just staring at it and thinking about my life. And then my phone rang. My father was on the other end of the line, and he had painful news to pass on. Grandpa was dead. His health had been on a decline for months, we all knew it was coming, but to have lost him... I was devastated. I stood there and cried. During high school I had prided myself on the fact that nothing could make me cry, and there I was sobbing like a child. But it wasn't because I had lost my grandfather. Instead, it was because I would miss him. I would not get to tell him about what I was studying, I wouldn't get to hear him say "and that" randomly in his sentences, and I wouldn't ever get to introduce him to whatever poor soul I ended up marrying. Some portion of my testimony had survived even the cruelest of attacks and my most fervent attempts to peel away my beliefs. I knew, without a doubt, that I would see my grandfather again. I knew that we would be a family again. The only thing that truly lacked to make that happen was that I was inadequate.
I prayed like I had never prayed before that night. My knees became locked up and stiff, my body was cold, and my eyes were swollen when I finally rose to my feet. That night I did not receive a heavenly vision assuring me of God's forgiveness, nor did my heart immediately change. I was still vice-ridden and suffering, but I had at last admitted that I could not make it through life alone. I knew that I needed God, and that I needed help. For two-and-a-half years I struggled to find my way back to God. Guilt, self-hated, and low self-esteem dominated that time in my life because I still did not believe that God would want to forgive me. Finally, when I felt as if my soul was going to be ripped to shreds, I went to my bishop. I told him everything: my mistakes, how I felt, and what I wanted to be. He paused for a long moment before saying to me, "The only person who has not forgiven you, Kirstin, is you." I was flabbergasted. I was an awful person. How could anyone have forgiven me? He then reminded me that I had done the work of praying and agonizing over what I had done, even though no one had called me out on it, and that God loved me. God wants to forgive, and God wants to love. I just had to let it happen.
Miraculous changes started to happen in my life. I made progress in my vices, I was able to forgive someone who had dealt me a great hurt, and I started to trust other people. The progress was slow in coming, but it was distinct. By the time I graduated with my undergraduate degree I was an entirely different person. Now, in my first year as a graduate student, I feel it is important to express the journey I have made. This week my faith has (yet again) come under attack. Myriads of people are trying to tell me what I believe, who I am, and what I am not. They say I am a cultist, that I'm not Christian, that I believe in polygamy, that I should accept things that go against my beliefs. Who are they to condemn me? Who are they to tell me what I can and cannot know? They are no one.
Only God may condemn me and those of my faith. Only I determine what I believe, what I know, and what I do not believe in. No amount of hated, derision, or persuasion will turn me from the path I have chosen. My suffering, difficult though it may have been, has made me stronger, and the bigger picture I had asked for all those years ago is starting to reveal itself. Prayers are answered. God lives. God loves. Latterday Saints are Christians. I know these things to be true.
My name is Kirstin, and I am a Latterday Saint. I know in whom I trust.
Thursday, October 6, 2011
Love: Me
Ever since I moved to Alabama, I have been struggling. Negativity, self-loathing, and feelings of being unwanted have abounded in my life, and I couldn't put my finger on why. There are a few things I must admit to before talking about my ultimate revelation, if only because they inform one another.
My first issue arose from the awfulness that was my car. It broke on the way out to Alabama, and it kept breaking after arriving. I was constantly stressing about whether my car was going to completely die that day, whether I would have the money to get it fixed, whether AAA would just start to hate me or not... Point in fact, I became a big worry wart. There is no feeling like that of being trapped and alone, without feeling you can impose on the lives of others for something so simple as a ride to the grocery store. Quite literally, I made a gallon of milk stretch twice as far as I should've just so I wouldn't have to impose on someone else. Which brings me to my next point. I...feel like a sore thumb among a flock of toes.
Weird imagery aside, I feel isolated. Back home I could walk across campus and run into dozens of people who not only knew me but had some sort of fondness for me. At church I couldn't make it to my seat without being stopped by three or four people who just wanted to see how I was doing, and at work I had friends who made the load easier to bear. I haven't really found that here. There are people I get along with, people who I think are really cool, and people I admire, but I don't have anyone I would comfortably call a good friend. As ridiculous as it may sound, I nearly had a hernia trying to find someone to go to a movie with, if only because I thought no one would want to spend time with me. In some little way, I was right. The people I work with now always manage to hang out with one another, but somehow...somehow I always get forgotten. That may have something to do with the different moral code I live by, but it still hurts. It'd be nice if my colleagues would do something sans-alcohol so I could feel safe in spending time with them. They know that being around alcohol makes me uncomfortable, but everything they do seems to revolve around the next glass of wine or bottle of beer; it'd be like me inviting a vegan to a pig roasting. Maybe I am putting more weight into my loneliness than I should, but it's not just isolated to school and work. Even at church I can't seem to find my footing among the people my age. At family home evening, the minute the lesson is over the other kids all bunch together and start to gossip loudly and act like the best of friends. I can stand right next to the circle without them even noticing that I'm there, even when I try to say something. By my nature I enjoy talking to people, but they won't even give me a chance. One of the girls told me that it was "just how everyone was--that they're not accepting" and I wonder how that can be okay. The only relief I find is in the married sisters in the ward, who are the only friends I really feel like I have. They invite me over for movie parties, ask me my opinions on current topics, and I genuinely feel they care about my well being. Only problem? They're married with kids. My relationship with them can't be the same as it would be with a peer, and it's something I am struggling with.
For the other point... Let's just say I managed to offend the wrong person and they refuse to forgive me. It's a very complicated mess, but it makes me feel as if succeeding here is going to take everything I've got.
But! I did not even notice how dark of a spiral I had gone off into. That is a serious, serious problem. It finally struck me this week what was going on. I turned in my first graduate paper, and started to walk across campus to work. I ran into several people along the way, and while they were genial none of them had a vested interest in me beyond light conversation. After turning in my paper I had been looking for someone to celebrate with, someone to commiserate with, and each time one of these people appeared my hopes rose. I thought, "Oh, surely so-and-so will want to talk!" Each time, I was proven wrong. It struck me that I was looking for a familiar face and, more importantly, a friendly face. It was as if I expected one of my best friends to appear so I could tell them about all of my hard work before we frolicked off on an epic adventure.
The problem with this scenario? I haven't given Alabama a chance. I have been so stuck in stress and agony (started by something I had no control over) that Alabama has not become home to me. Currently, it is just a nice place to exist. If I want friends, I need to be a friend to others. There have been times where I have been downright hostile to the kids in my family home evening group (usually from not getting a nap before going), and that's just not cool of me. As for work... Well, if I want a non-alcoholic get together, then maybe I should host one. I hate throwing parties, but I really want to make lasting friendships with the brilliant, amazing people at my school. I'm so lucky to have the opportunity to know such brilliant and diverse people, and at current I am wasting it. That is cruel to them and me. Lastly, I think I've been trying too hard to be some sort of idealized Kirstin. I'm nerdy, a little awkward, sharp, sarcastic, nerdy (yes, twice), and a little crazy; but, I've been hiding those things because I think people won't like me. Look how well that's turned out. I've learned this lesson once before, but this time it's different. This time it's just me, no back-up in the form of friends or family, and I need to make a stand for myself. I need to embrace and show off those quirks in my personality that truly illuminate my personality, and I think (if I do that) the right people will gravitate towards me. After all, how can I find the best possible friends for myself if I don't show people who I really am?
Point in fact, I have a lot of work still left ahead of me, and very little of it is something I can get from a book or cite in an article. But, I think now I have a chance. Recognizing a problem is the first step to fixing it, right? I just need to have a little more patience, a little more understanding, and a whole lot more me-flair... and I think everything will work out fine.
(And by way of side-note, a lot of the stress in my life disappeared after the transmission started to die on my car. Dad drove out Mom's car for me to use, and we sold the Volvo. I feel much better for having that burden removed, and am even managing to drive stick shift. Every day I show improvement--today I even stopped and started on a very steep incline! I just feel very blessed to have a mom that was willing to give up her car so I could feel safe and a dad willing to drive across the country a second time to get it to me. My parents love me so much, and I am so so lucky.)
My first issue arose from the awfulness that was my car. It broke on the way out to Alabama, and it kept breaking after arriving. I was constantly stressing about whether my car was going to completely die that day, whether I would have the money to get it fixed, whether AAA would just start to hate me or not... Point in fact, I became a big worry wart. There is no feeling like that of being trapped and alone, without feeling you can impose on the lives of others for something so simple as a ride to the grocery store. Quite literally, I made a gallon of milk stretch twice as far as I should've just so I wouldn't have to impose on someone else. Which brings me to my next point. I...feel like a sore thumb among a flock of toes.
Weird imagery aside, I feel isolated. Back home I could walk across campus and run into dozens of people who not only knew me but had some sort of fondness for me. At church I couldn't make it to my seat without being stopped by three or four people who just wanted to see how I was doing, and at work I had friends who made the load easier to bear. I haven't really found that here. There are people I get along with, people who I think are really cool, and people I admire, but I don't have anyone I would comfortably call a good friend. As ridiculous as it may sound, I nearly had a hernia trying to find someone to go to a movie with, if only because I thought no one would want to spend time with me. In some little way, I was right. The people I work with now always manage to hang out with one another, but somehow...somehow I always get forgotten. That may have something to do with the different moral code I live by, but it still hurts. It'd be nice if my colleagues would do something sans-alcohol so I could feel safe in spending time with them. They know that being around alcohol makes me uncomfortable, but everything they do seems to revolve around the next glass of wine or bottle of beer; it'd be like me inviting a vegan to a pig roasting. Maybe I am putting more weight into my loneliness than I should, but it's not just isolated to school and work. Even at church I can't seem to find my footing among the people my age. At family home evening, the minute the lesson is over the other kids all bunch together and start to gossip loudly and act like the best of friends. I can stand right next to the circle without them even noticing that I'm there, even when I try to say something. By my nature I enjoy talking to people, but they won't even give me a chance. One of the girls told me that it was "just how everyone was--that they're not accepting" and I wonder how that can be okay. The only relief I find is in the married sisters in the ward, who are the only friends I really feel like I have. They invite me over for movie parties, ask me my opinions on current topics, and I genuinely feel they care about my well being. Only problem? They're married with kids. My relationship with them can't be the same as it would be with a peer, and it's something I am struggling with.
For the other point... Let's just say I managed to offend the wrong person and they refuse to forgive me. It's a very complicated mess, but it makes me feel as if succeeding here is going to take everything I've got.
But! I did not even notice how dark of a spiral I had gone off into. That is a serious, serious problem. It finally struck me this week what was going on. I turned in my first graduate paper, and started to walk across campus to work. I ran into several people along the way, and while they were genial none of them had a vested interest in me beyond light conversation. After turning in my paper I had been looking for someone to celebrate with, someone to commiserate with, and each time one of these people appeared my hopes rose. I thought, "Oh, surely so-and-so will want to talk!" Each time, I was proven wrong. It struck me that I was looking for a familiar face and, more importantly, a friendly face. It was as if I expected one of my best friends to appear so I could tell them about all of my hard work before we frolicked off on an epic adventure.
The problem with this scenario? I haven't given Alabama a chance. I have been so stuck in stress and agony (started by something I had no control over) that Alabama has not become home to me. Currently, it is just a nice place to exist. If I want friends, I need to be a friend to others. There have been times where I have been downright hostile to the kids in my family home evening group (usually from not getting a nap before going), and that's just not cool of me. As for work... Well, if I want a non-alcoholic get together, then maybe I should host one. I hate throwing parties, but I really want to make lasting friendships with the brilliant, amazing people at my school. I'm so lucky to have the opportunity to know such brilliant and diverse people, and at current I am wasting it. That is cruel to them and me. Lastly, I think I've been trying too hard to be some sort of idealized Kirstin. I'm nerdy, a little awkward, sharp, sarcastic, nerdy (yes, twice), and a little crazy; but, I've been hiding those things because I think people won't like me. Look how well that's turned out. I've learned this lesson once before, but this time it's different. This time it's just me, no back-up in the form of friends or family, and I need to make a stand for myself. I need to embrace and show off those quirks in my personality that truly illuminate my personality, and I think (if I do that) the right people will gravitate towards me. After all, how can I find the best possible friends for myself if I don't show people who I really am?
Point in fact, I have a lot of work still left ahead of me, and very little of it is something I can get from a book or cite in an article. But, I think now I have a chance. Recognizing a problem is the first step to fixing it, right? I just need to have a little more patience, a little more understanding, and a whole lot more me-flair... and I think everything will work out fine.
(And by way of side-note, a lot of the stress in my life disappeared after the transmission started to die on my car. Dad drove out Mom's car for me to use, and we sold the Volvo. I feel much better for having that burden removed, and am even managing to drive stick shift. Every day I show improvement--today I even stopped and started on a very steep incline! I just feel very blessed to have a mom that was willing to give up her car so I could feel safe and a dad willing to drive across the country a second time to get it to me. My parents love me so much, and I am so so lucky.)
Friday, September 9, 2011
Adjustments and Adventures
The trip out to Alabama was nothing if not exciting. What was supposed to be a light trip in which we'd arrive early Saturday (if not sooner) stretched out all the way until Sunday morning. How? Weeell, let's just say things got sticky about 500 miles in. Dad and I were driving through Wyoming when my car suddenly lost all power. We'd vapor locked. It eventually got to the point where we were towed fifty miles back to the nearest mechanic. Highway robbery is still alive, in case you were wondering, but we eventually got back on our way. Ironically, we found out that there was a tornado further along our route that day. Who knows, maybe having that awful breakdown meant we didn't have to deal with a Nebraska tornado?
Evie was a complete trooper through out all of this and only whined when the need to go on a walk arose. We made it all the way to Missouri before trouble started to arise once more. My car locked up again in a little place called High Hill. The people there were so nice! A bride was getting ready for her bridal shower at the local town hall (tiny little building that looked like it could've been a church once upon a time). She had me come inside and gave me a bunch of ice water while I sat in front of the air conditioning. I don't think she realized it, but she literally saved my life. The high temperatures were taking an extreme toll on me, and when I collapsed in that blessedly cold air... Well, let's just say I knew how close to danger I had been. I think it was about an hour further down the road (once we got going again) that we came upon an absolutely awful accident that had happened recently. Because of our delay, Dad and I weren't caught in the cluster of traffic that was paralyzed on the freeway until the accident was cleaned up nor were we involved in the accident. I hate (absolutely hate) breaking down, but it certainly is a better alternative than dying! Sadly, the accident we passed was a fatal one.
Somehow we kept dragging along - at that point we were all very much ready to be done - and when we came to Memphis is was late Saturday night. Dad and I both were very uneasy about stopping, though, and so continued on quite a bit further. I can't quite remember, but I'm fairly certain we made it to Mississippi before we stopped for the night... That or we were very close to the border. When we finally made it to my apartment we were all very happy to have safely arrived. But, it wasn't over! Dad and I quickly made the trip over to meet the members of my church, and after that hour I was completely burnt out. I wanted nothing more than to sleep for the rest of eternity - an option that came to no fruition.
The next morning I started orientation at the university. I was quickly inducted into the world of the writing center, and got to know the other students that were also coming into my department. Christopher, the first person I met, could have walked off the cover of GQ or Vogue. He dresses at the very pinnacle of fashion and is a poet, not to mention as sassy as you can expect. Then there's Erica, a really laid back nonfiction writer, and Collyn, a girl with a tongue so sharp I'm amazed she doesn't cut herself. I also met a guy, Nathanael, who I swear is a modern reincarnation of Mark Twain; ironically, he is a literature major specializing in early 20th century American works... Coincidence? I think not. And then there's Jason. He's another Strodie (which means he is also in the Renaissance program) and just about the coolest kid I've ever met. He is horribly shy, and so to avoid that he has the most amazing ability to ask just the right questions to get people talking. Quite literally, he fires off three questions, you reply, and before you quite realize it you've spent two hours talking to him about yourself...without feeling at all guilty about it. Jason also happens to be very smart, and working with him (so far) has been an absolutely great experience.
At current I'm running around rather like a chicken without a head. I spend several hours a week tutoring at the writing center, several hours more in classes, and even more hours helping two of the professors on campus with their research. As you can imagine, when I'm not doing those sorts of things I am either walking Evie or doing reading for my classes. It seems like a never ending cycle, and time is slipping away so fast! An extra job I have at the writing center is to run the facebook and twitter pages, which gets a bit exciting. We're presently trying to rename our twitter account since it's too close to the name of the University of Arkansas' twitter, but we'll get it eventually. I'm apparently doing good work (so far) and slowly people are taking notice. I have big, big plans for our social media network, and hopefully some of it pans out! If not, I'm at least learning and experiencing new things.
So far the beautiful state of Alabama is being very good to me. There are challenges, as can be expected, but I think I'm flourishing. My biggest concern at the moment is getting my car fixed, which is going to (hopefully) take place on Tuesday. It's definitely getting worse, and I just hope I can make the trip to Birmingham without incident. I'll try to update y'all sooner rather than later, but we'll see what my schedule allows. I have a paper due the first week of October that I want to get started working on, if only so by the time I get it turned in I might've had the chance to edit it at least once...
Here's hoping, right? Right!
---
By way of random addition, Dad and I played a fun game on our trip. We were collecting license plates, you might say. We found almost all of the states (excluding Delaware and Rhode Island if I remember right), France, five of the Canadian provinces, a government plate, and a military plate! It was a great way to pass the time, that's for sure! Funnier still is that we saw Hawaii and Alaska within the first two hours of our drive...within ten miles of each other.
Evie was a complete trooper through out all of this and only whined when the need to go on a walk arose. We made it all the way to Missouri before trouble started to arise once more. My car locked up again in a little place called High Hill. The people there were so nice! A bride was getting ready for her bridal shower at the local town hall (tiny little building that looked like it could've been a church once upon a time). She had me come inside and gave me a bunch of ice water while I sat in front of the air conditioning. I don't think she realized it, but she literally saved my life. The high temperatures were taking an extreme toll on me, and when I collapsed in that blessedly cold air... Well, let's just say I knew how close to danger I had been. I think it was about an hour further down the road (once we got going again) that we came upon an absolutely awful accident that had happened recently. Because of our delay, Dad and I weren't caught in the cluster of traffic that was paralyzed on the freeway until the accident was cleaned up nor were we involved in the accident. I hate (absolutely hate) breaking down, but it certainly is a better alternative than dying! Sadly, the accident we passed was a fatal one.
Somehow we kept dragging along - at that point we were all very much ready to be done - and when we came to Memphis is was late Saturday night. Dad and I both were very uneasy about stopping, though, and so continued on quite a bit further. I can't quite remember, but I'm fairly certain we made it to Mississippi before we stopped for the night... That or we were very close to the border. When we finally made it to my apartment we were all very happy to have safely arrived. But, it wasn't over! Dad and I quickly made the trip over to meet the members of my church, and after that hour I was completely burnt out. I wanted nothing more than to sleep for the rest of eternity - an option that came to no fruition.
The next morning I started orientation at the university. I was quickly inducted into the world of the writing center, and got to know the other students that were also coming into my department. Christopher, the first person I met, could have walked off the cover of GQ or Vogue. He dresses at the very pinnacle of fashion and is a poet, not to mention as sassy as you can expect. Then there's Erica, a really laid back nonfiction writer, and Collyn, a girl with a tongue so sharp I'm amazed she doesn't cut herself. I also met a guy, Nathanael, who I swear is a modern reincarnation of Mark Twain; ironically, he is a literature major specializing in early 20th century American works... Coincidence? I think not. And then there's Jason. He's another Strodie (which means he is also in the Renaissance program) and just about the coolest kid I've ever met. He is horribly shy, and so to avoid that he has the most amazing ability to ask just the right questions to get people talking. Quite literally, he fires off three questions, you reply, and before you quite realize it you've spent two hours talking to him about yourself...without feeling at all guilty about it. Jason also happens to be very smart, and working with him (so far) has been an absolutely great experience.
At current I'm running around rather like a chicken without a head. I spend several hours a week tutoring at the writing center, several hours more in classes, and even more hours helping two of the professors on campus with their research. As you can imagine, when I'm not doing those sorts of things I am either walking Evie or doing reading for my classes. It seems like a never ending cycle, and time is slipping away so fast! An extra job I have at the writing center is to run the facebook and twitter pages, which gets a bit exciting. We're presently trying to rename our twitter account since it's too close to the name of the University of Arkansas' twitter, but we'll get it eventually. I'm apparently doing good work (so far) and slowly people are taking notice. I have big, big plans for our social media network, and hopefully some of it pans out! If not, I'm at least learning and experiencing new things.
So far the beautiful state of Alabama is being very good to me. There are challenges, as can be expected, but I think I'm flourishing. My biggest concern at the moment is getting my car fixed, which is going to (hopefully) take place on Tuesday. It's definitely getting worse, and I just hope I can make the trip to Birmingham without incident. I'll try to update y'all sooner rather than later, but we'll see what my schedule allows. I have a paper due the first week of October that I want to get started working on, if only so by the time I get it turned in I might've had the chance to edit it at least once...
Here's hoping, right? Right!
---
By way of random addition, Dad and I played a fun game on our trip. We were collecting license plates, you might say. We found almost all of the states (excluding Delaware and Rhode Island if I remember right), France, five of the Canadian provinces, a government plate, and a military plate! It was a great way to pass the time, that's for sure! Funnier still is that we saw Hawaii and Alaska within the first two hours of our drive...within ten miles of each other.
Monday, August 1, 2011
Simple Kindness
There are days when it feels like everything is going wrong. My back hurts, I have too many textbooks to buy, I can't get my door to lock... Blah blah blah. It's at times like that I usually end up being reminded that my life is not nearly so bad as I like to think it is.
For instance, I was unhappy about the fact I had to work. I was tired and didn't want to do it. When I went to the post office right before my shift to drop off some paperwork I got talking to the post lady. She told me that she'd been at work since four that morning and she would be glad to be off at five. Suddenly my five hour shift didn't seem nearly so bad.
I had the transmission go out on my car while I was adventuring about with my Mom. I was so frustrated that I wanted to cry (transmissions and I happen to be very cursed). That night I found out that one of my friend's had their car's engine blow out entirely. My car was fixed in a few days, and my friend hasn't even begun to get the money together to get a new car.
This morning I didn't want to wake up - I felt like I was on the wrong side of the universe. But when I opened my eyes it was to the wonderful sight of rain falling out my window. This convinced me to get out of bed and check my email. I learned that I had gotten my apartment in Alabama and that everything was all set for me to move in on the 13th of August. I never would've enjoyed either of those things if I had stayed in bed.
I suppose the point is that I am grateful for the small goodnesses in my life. My circumstances are not perfect, but they could always be worse, especially if I whine about them. I am just grateful for how well things are going and for the great goodness of the Lord. He truly is watching out for me and making certain that I have every needful thing. I think with a little bit more trust my problems would be a lot less. For now, though, I'll just celebrate everything I have.
For instance, I was unhappy about the fact I had to work. I was tired and didn't want to do it. When I went to the post office right before my shift to drop off some paperwork I got talking to the post lady. She told me that she'd been at work since four that morning and she would be glad to be off at five. Suddenly my five hour shift didn't seem nearly so bad.
I had the transmission go out on my car while I was adventuring about with my Mom. I was so frustrated that I wanted to cry (transmissions and I happen to be very cursed). That night I found out that one of my friend's had their car's engine blow out entirely. My car was fixed in a few days, and my friend hasn't even begun to get the money together to get a new car.
This morning I didn't want to wake up - I felt like I was on the wrong side of the universe. But when I opened my eyes it was to the wonderful sight of rain falling out my window. This convinced me to get out of bed and check my email. I learned that I had gotten my apartment in Alabama and that everything was all set for me to move in on the 13th of August. I never would've enjoyed either of those things if I had stayed in bed.
I suppose the point is that I am grateful for the small goodnesses in my life. My circumstances are not perfect, but they could always be worse, especially if I whine about them. I am just grateful for how well things are going and for the great goodness of the Lord. He truly is watching out for me and making certain that I have every needful thing. I think with a little bit more trust my problems would be a lot less. For now, though, I'll just celebrate everything I have.
Wednesday, June 1, 2011
My Father
I have a fantastic father. He has always been an example of kindness, strength, and wisdom in my life. More than that, though, I am amazed at the humor he has. Even on the worst of days Dad always has a smile for me when he sees me, and he always manages to make some sort of pun, even if it is about what is wrong at the time.
I often don't know how my dad finds the strength to keep going. He has faced so much adversity and overcome so much, and he still has hope. Dad is always talking about the latest brilliant idea he's come up with or how he would improve this or that--he is constantly working to make the world a better place. I respect that element of his personality so much. He really believes that he can change the world, and I know that he can. His intelligence is a tool to help him do that, and he's always humble enough to see how he can improve himself.
How could I honestly have a better father?
When I was born with my skin disorder he could've given up hope or treated me as if I were made out of glass. Instead, he taught me to be strong and to follow my dreams. I was never treated like a hindrance, even when we had to drive through Death Valley without air conditioning when it was 110 degrees outside and he had to figure out how to keep me cool during the journey. If anything, he has always made me feel intelligent and beautiful. I am so blessed to have him in my life. Without his positive influence I could have grown up to be bitter or shy; I am confident and progressive because of him.
I just wish that others could realize how great a man my father is. He is integrity and kindness, joy and intelligence...and yet so many people treat him like he's worthless. When his work tries to break him or people condescend to him I just want to shake them. I want to tell them how fantastic he is and how much they could learn from him; but, I know they would not listen to me.
I just want my father to know that I love him with all of my heart and that I am so grateful for everything he is in my life. I am a success because he has believed in me and because he has taught me how to look for ways to solve the problems around me. I pray that his dreams do come true and that he finds further happiness in his life.
Love you, Daddy.
I often don't know how my dad finds the strength to keep going. He has faced so much adversity and overcome so much, and he still has hope. Dad is always talking about the latest brilliant idea he's come up with or how he would improve this or that--he is constantly working to make the world a better place. I respect that element of his personality so much. He really believes that he can change the world, and I know that he can. His intelligence is a tool to help him do that, and he's always humble enough to see how he can improve himself.
How could I honestly have a better father?
When I was born with my skin disorder he could've given up hope or treated me as if I were made out of glass. Instead, he taught me to be strong and to follow my dreams. I was never treated like a hindrance, even when we had to drive through Death Valley without air conditioning when it was 110 degrees outside and he had to figure out how to keep me cool during the journey. If anything, he has always made me feel intelligent and beautiful. I am so blessed to have him in my life. Without his positive influence I could have grown up to be bitter or shy; I am confident and progressive because of him.
I just wish that others could realize how great a man my father is. He is integrity and kindness, joy and intelligence...and yet so many people treat him like he's worthless. When his work tries to break him or people condescend to him I just want to shake them. I want to tell them how fantastic he is and how much they could learn from him; but, I know they would not listen to me.
I just want my father to know that I love him with all of my heart and that I am so grateful for everything he is in my life. I am a success because he has believed in me and because he has taught me how to look for ways to solve the problems around me. I pray that his dreams do come true and that he finds further happiness in his life.
Love you, Daddy.
Wednesday, May 25, 2011
My Thoughts on Kindness
Kindness is something I think about a lot. It originally started as something I thought about because it was not a strong point of mine. I was so defensive growing up that I struggled to be kind and selfless. In all honesty, it wasn't until college that I realized how...selfish I could be. And since then I have realized a lot about kindness that has helped me become a much better person.
Kindness is something that cannot be faked or forced. It is something that is born out of genuine concern for others, and if you're not emotionally ready to be selfless then you cannot give true kindness. Now, that is not to say you have to be selfless all the time to be truly kind. Sometimes there are bursts of selflessness that give birth to kindness, and some days it is easier than others.
Another thing I've learned is that if you're looking for the bad in someone you will never want to be kind to them. You need to be willing to admit the good in others in order to want to serve them. I don't always like the people I'm kind to--sometimes I don't even know them--but I've found when I can find some reason to like them it is so much easier to show them kindness. Sometimes I even have to reevaluate the people in my life because I condemned them before I was ready to look for the good in them, and I'm always surprised by the things I let myself overlook. So, in point, let yourself find the good in others and you will stop looking for reasons to not show them kindness.
I've also learned that one act of kindness will lead to another. If you can only do one small thing it will lead to another small thing, and the kindnesses will build up into larger acts.
And, at the end of the day, the most surprising thing I learned about kindness is that you have to love yourself before you can be really kind. Kindness is an expression of love for those around you, but you can not really love others until you love yourself. So, to solve my own problems with kindness I looked inside myself. I had to heal my heart before I could really help those around me, and once I started to work on that being good to others came quickly.
Now, I'm not at all perfect at being kind. I have bad days and selfish moments and I lose my temper, but I really feel like I've come a very long way. And, in many ways, this blog post was for myself. I remind myself by telling others what I think and feel.
Kindness is something that cannot be faked or forced. It is something that is born out of genuine concern for others, and if you're not emotionally ready to be selfless then you cannot give true kindness. Now, that is not to say you have to be selfless all the time to be truly kind. Sometimes there are bursts of selflessness that give birth to kindness, and some days it is easier than others.
Another thing I've learned is that if you're looking for the bad in someone you will never want to be kind to them. You need to be willing to admit the good in others in order to want to serve them. I don't always like the people I'm kind to--sometimes I don't even know them--but I've found when I can find some reason to like them it is so much easier to show them kindness. Sometimes I even have to reevaluate the people in my life because I condemned them before I was ready to look for the good in them, and I'm always surprised by the things I let myself overlook. So, in point, let yourself find the good in others and you will stop looking for reasons to not show them kindness.
I've also learned that one act of kindness will lead to another. If you can only do one small thing it will lead to another small thing, and the kindnesses will build up into larger acts.
And, at the end of the day, the most surprising thing I learned about kindness is that you have to love yourself before you can be really kind. Kindness is an expression of love for those around you, but you can not really love others until you love yourself. So, to solve my own problems with kindness I looked inside myself. I had to heal my heart before I could really help those around me, and once I started to work on that being good to others came quickly.
Now, I'm not at all perfect at being kind. I have bad days and selfish moments and I lose my temper, but I really feel like I've come a very long way. And, in many ways, this blog post was for myself. I remind myself by telling others what I think and feel.
Sunday, May 8, 2011
Alumna Status!
This weekend has been such a rush! I am still not entirely certain how I feel, but it's definitely been a great experience.
Thursday afternoon my parents arrived--just a few hours after I had survived my very last final. We puttered around and enjoyed the evening, which was a bit strange. I told Kinsey that I didn't know if I could be entertaining enough to keep them busy in Cedar City, but it seemed to pan out all right. Before I really knew what was happening, it was Friday morning.
Kinsey, Mom, and I spent the morning making "thank you" cards for the professors who had really helped me during my education. There were two who had initially been seen as "hostiles" by a rather naive Kirstin, but this year I've really tried to look past my initial conceptions. Amazingly, my first impressions were proved to be wrong. Because they had different opinions than me I had dismissed them, and that was completely unfair. Both professors are brilliant people in their own way, and I was glad to take the time to acknowledge all they have taught me. Mom (of course) made the most beautiful cards. She's such a talented artist, and I am so blessed to know her!
Once afternoon hit I got into my robes and cap, and we walked over to the school. I got into line with the other theatre majors who were graduating that day (all eight of us) and we wiggled our way into an order. When the procession began the theatre majors all ended up holding hands because we couldn't hold a straight line otherwise (ironically, the dancers marching beside us couldn't keep a straight line and fell behind at least three times). We danced our way beneath the bell tower, jived down the stairs, and passed through the gauntlet of professors cheering us on...and promptly managed to miss our turn. Eventually the college of Performing and Visual Arts was turned in the right direction, and we entered the arena to the sound of Dan Frezza announcing "The Graduates from the school of Performing and Visual Arts." Since Dan is both the husband of one of my favorite professors and the announcer for all of the PVA pre-show messages, it felt rather like coming home to have him do the announcement.
Commencement itself was loooooong. Landon, who beat me out for Student Commencement Speaker, did all right, I suppose. It was very animated and earned a few chuckles, but I like to think I would have done it better (which is likely my own vanity talking). Clayton Christensen gave a really nice address, and I thought his message of asking the right questions was a pertinent one. It really made me think about my studies and if I am asking the right questions of myself. I feel that I am, which makes me feel even better about my choices. I think my favorite part of the ceremony itself (besides moving the tassel over at the end) was the awarding of the honorary degrees. They were such good stories with such good people behind them, and I really want to be worthy of getting an honorary degree some day. And yes, that is officially now on my bucket list.
Saturday we got up early (by my standards) in order to make it to PVA's convocation. The graduates all marched in to the tune of "Swing and Circumstance", and then we all sat on the stage. It was great to watch all of the presentations by the outstanding students for Theatre, Dance, Art, Arts Administration, and Music all presented. We have some really talented people in my graduating class! And then came the important part designed to make proud parents cry: the conferring of the degrees. I was the first student from theatre to be announced. "Kirstin Bone, BIS in Shakespearean Studies." Walking across the stage I shook Dean Mendini's hand and accepted my empty degree case. I felt...effervescent.
After graduation the theatre people all went across the street to the auditorium. We then proceeded to have a rather...epic photoshoot for our graduating class.
Yes, that is us. In a fountain. It was a wonderfully silly way to cap off a wonderful day. My parents, Kinsey, and I then had lunch before I said goodbye to my parents. I'm moving home later this week so I can get ready for the huge move to Alabama, and I am..excited for what waits. Admittedly, I am very sad about no longer having Kinsey as my roommate. I think that, out of everyone I have met here at SUU, she means the most to me. She's practically become a sister to me, and I will miss her so much when I move to Alabama. I have been told repeated times that I can't take her with me since her teacher's certification isn't national yet.
If nothing else, though, I am now an official alumna of SUU, class of 2011. Woo!
Thursday afternoon my parents arrived--just a few hours after I had survived my very last final. We puttered around and enjoyed the evening, which was a bit strange. I told Kinsey that I didn't know if I could be entertaining enough to keep them busy in Cedar City, but it seemed to pan out all right. Before I really knew what was happening, it was Friday morning.
Kinsey, Mom, and I spent the morning making "thank you" cards for the professors who had really helped me during my education. There were two who had initially been seen as "hostiles" by a rather naive Kirstin, but this year I've really tried to look past my initial conceptions. Amazingly, my first impressions were proved to be wrong. Because they had different opinions than me I had dismissed them, and that was completely unfair. Both professors are brilliant people in their own way, and I was glad to take the time to acknowledge all they have taught me. Mom (of course) made the most beautiful cards. She's such a talented artist, and I am so blessed to know her!
Once afternoon hit I got into my robes and cap, and we walked over to the school. I got into line with the other theatre majors who were graduating that day (all eight of us) and we wiggled our way into an order. When the procession began the theatre majors all ended up holding hands because we couldn't hold a straight line otherwise (ironically, the dancers marching beside us couldn't keep a straight line and fell behind at least three times). We danced our way beneath the bell tower, jived down the stairs, and passed through the gauntlet of professors cheering us on...and promptly managed to miss our turn. Eventually the college of Performing and Visual Arts was turned in the right direction, and we entered the arena to the sound of Dan Frezza announcing "The Graduates from the school of Performing and Visual Arts." Since Dan is both the husband of one of my favorite professors and the announcer for all of the PVA pre-show messages, it felt rather like coming home to have him do the announcement.
Commencement itself was loooooong. Landon, who beat me out for Student Commencement Speaker, did all right, I suppose. It was very animated and earned a few chuckles, but I like to think I would have done it better (which is likely my own vanity talking). Clayton Christensen gave a really nice address, and I thought his message of asking the right questions was a pertinent one. It really made me think about my studies and if I am asking the right questions of myself. I feel that I am, which makes me feel even better about my choices. I think my favorite part of the ceremony itself (besides moving the tassel over at the end) was the awarding of the honorary degrees. They were such good stories with such good people behind them, and I really want to be worthy of getting an honorary degree some day. And yes, that is officially now on my bucket list.
Saturday we got up early (by my standards) in order to make it to PVA's convocation. The graduates all marched in to the tune of "Swing and Circumstance", and then we all sat on the stage. It was great to watch all of the presentations by the outstanding students for Theatre, Dance, Art, Arts Administration, and Music all presented. We have some really talented people in my graduating class! And then came the important part designed to make proud parents cry: the conferring of the degrees. I was the first student from theatre to be announced. "Kirstin Bone, BIS in Shakespearean Studies." Walking across the stage I shook Dean Mendini's hand and accepted my empty degree case. I felt...effervescent.
After graduation the theatre people all went across the street to the auditorium. We then proceeded to have a rather...epic photoshoot for our graduating class.
Yes, that is us. In a fountain. It was a wonderfully silly way to cap off a wonderful day. My parents, Kinsey, and I then had lunch before I said goodbye to my parents. I'm moving home later this week so I can get ready for the huge move to Alabama, and I am..excited for what waits. Admittedly, I am very sad about no longer having Kinsey as my roommate. I think that, out of everyone I have met here at SUU, she means the most to me. She's practically become a sister to me, and I will miss her so much when I move to Alabama. I have been told repeated times that I can't take her with me since her teacher's certification isn't national yet.
If nothing else, though, I am now an official alumna of SUU, class of 2011. Woo!
Sunday, April 3, 2011
The Ways of Loss
I've been thinking about strange things lately... Things like loss. I suppose it's the strange combination of lost houses, lost babies, and lost freedoms permeating the lives of those I know. It seems like something that is hitting as many people as possible.
One of my cousins miscarried the week before last, and in my own personal writing I've taken on the scenario of "what if one of my characters lost their baby". In some ways it is...masochistic of me. My family is notorious for being either very fertile or having great troubles getting pregnant, and I'm honestly more likely to have inherited the latter. I have the vague concern that having a family will be difficult for me, but I'm oddly comforted by knowing that there are strong women in my life who've gone through it and survived. One of my clearest memories is my mother and grandmother talking about what it was like.... I can't even fathom what my cousin must be going through: she doesn't have a testimony of life after death. I am very grateful for the fact that I have a testimony of the Gospel, and that I know families are meant to be united for time and all eternity. There are many members of my family that I won't get to meet in this life, but I feel they're just another thing to look forward to in the life to come.
This year I've also watched different family members lose their houses. Admittedly, that's one a little to close to home. I've been told over and over again that it isn't the physical place that makes a home but the people inside of it, but... I still worry. I suppose I've paid too much attention to the pyramid of needs, which seems pretty insistent that you need shelter to be a happy-pappy member of society. Luckily, everyone I know who has gone through this particular form of loss has had somewhere to go.
And this week a former friend was recently sentenced in an attempted murder case. It still hasn't quite processed that he went so thoroughly... I don't even know how to describe it. Two years ago he tried to bash two guys' brains out with a hammer, and all I can think about is 'what if he had gone after me?' This friend visited my house a month before the attack, and everything seemed... All right? I had expected that I would have been able to see some change in him or sense the darkness that might drive an individual to those sorts of measures, but there was nothing. I don't understand how someone who had served a mission just the year before could do that. I really don't. I know it's not God's fault--we all make our own decisions and Zach made some truly awful ones. I just feel inept for having been blind to what was going on. Is this supposed to be some sort of warning? Some lesson that I'm missing?
Loss in all its forms is...making an impact on me. I can feel it brush past me, like someone walking too close to me in a tight hallway. Next time is it going to crash into me?
One of my cousins miscarried the week before last, and in my own personal writing I've taken on the scenario of "what if one of my characters lost their baby". In some ways it is...masochistic of me. My family is notorious for being either very fertile or having great troubles getting pregnant, and I'm honestly more likely to have inherited the latter. I have the vague concern that having a family will be difficult for me, but I'm oddly comforted by knowing that there are strong women in my life who've gone through it and survived. One of my clearest memories is my mother and grandmother talking about what it was like.... I can't even fathom what my cousin must be going through: she doesn't have a testimony of life after death. I am very grateful for the fact that I have a testimony of the Gospel, and that I know families are meant to be united for time and all eternity. There are many members of my family that I won't get to meet in this life, but I feel they're just another thing to look forward to in the life to come.
This year I've also watched different family members lose their houses. Admittedly, that's one a little to close to home. I've been told over and over again that it isn't the physical place that makes a home but the people inside of it, but... I still worry. I suppose I've paid too much attention to the pyramid of needs, which seems pretty insistent that you need shelter to be a happy-pappy member of society. Luckily, everyone I know who has gone through this particular form of loss has had somewhere to go.
And this week a former friend was recently sentenced in an attempted murder case. It still hasn't quite processed that he went so thoroughly... I don't even know how to describe it. Two years ago he tried to bash two guys' brains out with a hammer, and all I can think about is 'what if he had gone after me?' This friend visited my house a month before the attack, and everything seemed... All right? I had expected that I would have been able to see some change in him or sense the darkness that might drive an individual to those sorts of measures, but there was nothing. I don't understand how someone who had served a mission just the year before could do that. I really don't. I know it's not God's fault--we all make our own decisions and Zach made some truly awful ones. I just feel inept for having been blind to what was going on. Is this supposed to be some sort of warning? Some lesson that I'm missing?
Loss in all its forms is...making an impact on me. I can feel it brush past me, like someone walking too close to me in a tight hallway. Next time is it going to crash into me?
Monday, March 28, 2011
Awesome news!
So, this is about a week late, but it's still too good to not share! I got a letter from the University of Alabama accepting me to the Hudson Strode Renaissance Studies MA and offering me a nice stipend. I'll start as something of a TA, and then in my second year I'll actually teach two classes a semester. Exciting, right?
I have to decide whether or not I'll accept their offer by April 15th. Technically I'm still waiting to hear back from U of U, but... I dunno, it seems like too good of an offer to pass up. I am admittedly terrified of moving across the country--I'm not entirely sure I'm ready for that kind of move. What if I have a total breakdown or something goes absolutely wrong? I'd be hundreds of miles away and isolated. I won't even have a friend in the same state... Jamie suggested I call the bishop of the ward and have him help me find a place to live. I won't be able to get out there until August, after all, and all of the apartments might be gone if I wait til I get there.
Gah, there are so many intricacies to this! Any advice or helpful tips for moving across the country? Should I accept the offer from the UA?
I have to decide whether or not I'll accept their offer by April 15th. Technically I'm still waiting to hear back from U of U, but... I dunno, it seems like too good of an offer to pass up. I am admittedly terrified of moving across the country--I'm not entirely sure I'm ready for that kind of move. What if I have a total breakdown or something goes absolutely wrong? I'd be hundreds of miles away and isolated. I won't even have a friend in the same state... Jamie suggested I call the bishop of the ward and have him help me find a place to live. I won't be able to get out there until August, after all, and all of the apartments might be gone if I wait til I get there.
Gah, there are so many intricacies to this! Any advice or helpful tips for moving across the country? Should I accept the offer from the UA?
Wednesday, March 16, 2011
Graduate School
Since November my life has been caught up with the business of applying to graduate schools and dancing through the various hoops that they have thrown in my path. Money's been tight in my family, so I was only able to apply to three programs: the University of Utah, the University of Alabama, and Brigham Young University.
Brigham Young University was somewhere I had never wanted to go. Growing up I was surrounded by people who didn't particularly care for it (with good reason) and I had never truly been impressed with what I had seen of their programs (or the students who came out of it). Imagine my confusion when I got the very strong impression to apply to their creative writing program. I balked about it at first, but eventually decided that the Lord's will meant more than my opinion of one school. So, I got my creative writing sample together and even got the ecclesiastic endorsement. I could tell that my parents were confused by my decision to apply there, but they understood about following promptings. After all, the family motto seems to be "Going wherever the Lord calls us". Last month I got a letter from them that basically said, "Yeah, we don't want you." My confidence was severely shaken. I'd gotten the prompting to apply there, and then what? A rejection. But I wasn't upset. That was the strange thing. I felt perfectly calm about the situation, and knew that it was for the best. I have since come to think that it was a test of whether or not I would do what the Lord asked of me. I'd gone against all of my preconceptions and desires, and applied to a program I wasn't sure about. I didn't get in, but that's all right. Everything happens for a reason.
At the same time I applied to BYU I also sent in an application to the University of Alabama (Tuscaloosa). A friend at the Ohio Valley Shakespeare Conference had recommended them to me since they had the Hudson Strode Shakespearean Scholar, which seemed like a perfect fit for me. They would pay for me to study at a research library anywhere in the US or the UK (which would mean I could even go to King's College London or the library at Stratford-Upon-Avon). Unfortunately, U of A was particularly poor at communication. I had no idea what they wanted (their website was uninformative), and so submitted what seemed to be the standard fare. I've not heard from them since, even when I sent an email to see if they had received all of my application material. I don't know that I will ever hear back from them.
After I'd heard back from BYU I had another prompting: apply to the University of Utah. Before bothering with that, I sent an email to two of the professors there. I had noticed that their program was focused mainly on the 18th, 19th, and 20th centuries - I'm an early modern student. So, I asked them if there was any room for me in their program. Almost immediately I got emails from both telling me that they were looking for an early modern student, and that I should definitely apply. Feeling bolstered a little, I went through the application process. Since the fee was a one-time thing (a rare thing as far as grad schools go) I applied to both their creative writing and literature programs. I figured it couldn't hurt to try and get into one of them. I honestly don't expect much from the creative writing side - my specialty is play writing, which is not something the U really has the staff for. For my creative writing sample to them I used a revised version of my creative nonfiction piece "And They Call Me a Freak", which is all about my experiences living with ichthyosis. They have four or five faculty members interested in creative nonfiction, so it'll be interesting to see what sort of reaction they have to it. For my critical sample I used "The Forgotten Fool: Geoffrey Chaucer", the essay that took me to the Ohio Valley Shakespeare Conference. I'm hopeful that they will be vastly impressed with my skills wading through the old texts and Middle English translations of Ancient French.
I am really hoping that the U will accept me so I can stay in Utah and get through my master's as quickly as possible. After that I'd like to either get my PhD or an MFA in dramaturgy, which is part of my Master Plan. We'll see if God agrees with that plan.
I just... hope I get accepted into some program. My GPA isn't the greatest in the world (thanks to struggles with PTSD my first two years of school) but my other credentials are rather shiny. Mer... I'm severely conflicted. I'm hopeful that things will work out perfectly, but I can't help but be nervous.
What if nobody wants me?
Brigham Young University was somewhere I had never wanted to go. Growing up I was surrounded by people who didn't particularly care for it (with good reason) and I had never truly been impressed with what I had seen of their programs (or the students who came out of it). Imagine my confusion when I got the very strong impression to apply to their creative writing program. I balked about it at first, but eventually decided that the Lord's will meant more than my opinion of one school. So, I got my creative writing sample together and even got the ecclesiastic endorsement. I could tell that my parents were confused by my decision to apply there, but they understood about following promptings. After all, the family motto seems to be "Going wherever the Lord calls us". Last month I got a letter from them that basically said, "Yeah, we don't want you." My confidence was severely shaken. I'd gotten the prompting to apply there, and then what? A rejection. But I wasn't upset. That was the strange thing. I felt perfectly calm about the situation, and knew that it was for the best. I have since come to think that it was a test of whether or not I would do what the Lord asked of me. I'd gone against all of my preconceptions and desires, and applied to a program I wasn't sure about. I didn't get in, but that's all right. Everything happens for a reason.
At the same time I applied to BYU I also sent in an application to the University of Alabama (Tuscaloosa). A friend at the Ohio Valley Shakespeare Conference had recommended them to me since they had the Hudson Strode Shakespearean Scholar, which seemed like a perfect fit for me. They would pay for me to study at a research library anywhere in the US or the UK (which would mean I could even go to King's College London or the library at Stratford-Upon-Avon). Unfortunately, U of A was particularly poor at communication. I had no idea what they wanted (their website was uninformative), and so submitted what seemed to be the standard fare. I've not heard from them since, even when I sent an email to see if they had received all of my application material. I don't know that I will ever hear back from them.
After I'd heard back from BYU I had another prompting: apply to the University of Utah. Before bothering with that, I sent an email to two of the professors there. I had noticed that their program was focused mainly on the 18th, 19th, and 20th centuries - I'm an early modern student. So, I asked them if there was any room for me in their program. Almost immediately I got emails from both telling me that they were looking for an early modern student, and that I should definitely apply. Feeling bolstered a little, I went through the application process. Since the fee was a one-time thing (a rare thing as far as grad schools go) I applied to both their creative writing and literature programs. I figured it couldn't hurt to try and get into one of them. I honestly don't expect much from the creative writing side - my specialty is play writing, which is not something the U really has the staff for. For my creative writing sample to them I used a revised version of my creative nonfiction piece "And They Call Me a Freak", which is all about my experiences living with ichthyosis. They have four or five faculty members interested in creative nonfiction, so it'll be interesting to see what sort of reaction they have to it. For my critical sample I used "The Forgotten Fool: Geoffrey Chaucer", the essay that took me to the Ohio Valley Shakespeare Conference. I'm hopeful that they will be vastly impressed with my skills wading through the old texts and Middle English translations of Ancient French.
I am really hoping that the U will accept me so I can stay in Utah and get through my master's as quickly as possible. After that I'd like to either get my PhD or an MFA in dramaturgy, which is part of my Master Plan. We'll see if God agrees with that plan.
I just... hope I get accepted into some program. My GPA isn't the greatest in the world (thanks to struggles with PTSD my first two years of school) but my other credentials are rather shiny. Mer... I'm severely conflicted. I'm hopeful that things will work out perfectly, but I can't help but be nervous.
What if nobody wants me?
Wednesday, March 9, 2011
New Design and Lent
First off, I decided that my blog needed a facelift. I think the brighter, softer colors look nifty on it, and it pleases me greatly. :D
Secondly, I am struggling over what to give up for Lent. I know that Lent is a Catholic tradition, but my friends in college and I have been doing it every year for the sake of perspective. In the past I've given up teasing, negativity, and sarcasm--all good choices that have helped me grow and flourish. This year, though, I don't quite know what to do. Jamie is giving up novels and video games while Kinsey is giving up sugar. If anything I'd want to give up doubt, but it feels like much of the same for me. I know that confidence is one of my huge issues and in the coming month I'm going to be hearing back from all of the graduate schools I applied to--that means I will be doubting myself a lot. But having given up negativity and sarcasm before it just doesn't feel like... enough of a challenge, I guess? Kinsey teased me by saying I should give up not getting three meals a day, but that seems like Lent in reverse.
I'm sure I'll figure something out, otherwise I may just have to give up doubt. Heh, wouldn't that be exciting to watch?
Secondly, I am struggling over what to give up for Lent. I know that Lent is a Catholic tradition, but my friends in college and I have been doing it every year for the sake of perspective. In the past I've given up teasing, negativity, and sarcasm--all good choices that have helped me grow and flourish. This year, though, I don't quite know what to do. Jamie is giving up novels and video games while Kinsey is giving up sugar. If anything I'd want to give up doubt, but it feels like much of the same for me. I know that confidence is one of my huge issues and in the coming month I'm going to be hearing back from all of the graduate schools I applied to--that means I will be doubting myself a lot. But having given up negativity and sarcasm before it just doesn't feel like... enough of a challenge, I guess? Kinsey teased me by saying I should give up not getting three meals a day, but that seems like Lent in reverse.
I'm sure I'll figure something out, otherwise I may just have to give up doubt. Heh, wouldn't that be exciting to watch?
Sunday, February 20, 2011
My Fair Befuddlement
There is something interesting about life, and that would be the distinct use of God's daily lessons. Do I always listen? No. Does this lead to problems? Almost every time.
All this week He's been bringing up patience and being patient. I got antsy instead, and nearly did something hurtful to a friend. The fact that I got that big of a lesson in patience makes me think that this isn't just a one situation lesson, but that it's supposed to apply to a much bigger scope. Things usually work that way, after all, and Heavenly Father really does his best to help us succeed. I just.. wish I were certain.
I suppose this is just one of those situations where I have to have faith that everything will go according to Heavenly Father's plan.
All this week He's been bringing up patience and being patient. I got antsy instead, and nearly did something hurtful to a friend. The fact that I got that big of a lesson in patience makes me think that this isn't just a one situation lesson, but that it's supposed to apply to a much bigger scope. Things usually work that way, after all, and Heavenly Father really does his best to help us succeed. I just.. wish I were certain.
I suppose this is just one of those situations where I have to have faith that everything will go according to Heavenly Father's plan.
Wednesday, February 16, 2011
Cream Soda and Sunshine
Sometimes I am very, very stupid. This seems to have been a problem for part of the new year, and it only just dawned on me. Ironic, huh? I've been letting other people's negativity get me down, and for what? Absolutely nothing! I don't like being sad, I don't like being upset, and I certainly don't like drowning in drama.
I suppose one thing that helped hinder me was that I was looking for things to go wrong. Doing that of course I'd find things to be upset about and of course I'd be miserable. You'd think that after so many times of learning this lesson it'd click once and for all, and I'm hopeful that maybe this time it'll stick.
I've come to appreciate in the past week how blessed I am. No matter what happens to me I still have my loved ones (both friends and family) and my Heavenly Father; as long as I've got them I can make it through anything. This past week I received a rejection letter from one of the universities I applied to for a master's degree... and it didn't hurt. I had expected to be upset and angry, but all I felt was peace. That school was not where I was meant to go, and I am all right with that. Of course, that did not keep my roommate from getting cream soda and chocolate to make me feel better. I certainly didn't mind! It was a good excuse to celebrate the things going right in life, which was a welcome change.
And, you know what, things are going right in my life. I am on track to graduate with my bachelor's this May, I have a steady group of friends who love me no matter how silly I get, and my testimony is stronger than it has ever been. The choices I have made this year have brought me to a good place, and I am confident in myself. It's a little silly, but I feel great about myself. I take time in the morning to get ready (rather than just rolling out of bed and getting dressed), and I even wear makeup with great frequency because I believe I deserve to look good. All of the awful shadows of doubt and self-loathing are leaving, and I always seem to be smiling. God really does answer our prayers, though it is always on His own time schedule.
In other news I may actually have a date. Shock, I know! The way it came about was pretty funny, too, all things told. Kinsey, the roomie, has been bothering me since the second month of school to ask the guy I like out. I had been rather obstinantly refusing on the grounds that everyone had told me he was not at all interested in dating. Finally I got sick of her pestering, and finally said on Saturday night that if dating came up during Sacrament meeting I'd ask him out. We made it all the way through Sacrament meeting without a single peep or hint of dating (instead it was all about prayers and how Heavenly Father answers prayers). At the very last minute the guy I like got up to give the Institute announcements... and the very last thing he said was, "Ladies, need a date? The Institute is hosting a Sadie Hawkins dance..." You can imagine the smirk on Kinsey's face, I'm sure.
True to my word, I asked him to the dance yesterday with the help of a few of my friends. Throughout the day he got four envelopes with sonnets on the outside of them ("Whoso List To Hunt" by Thomas Wyatt, "Sonnet 29" by Shakespeare, "In This Strange Labyrinth" by Lady Mary Wroth, and "Sonnet LVI" by Edmund Spenser). Inside each envelope was a card containing a single word ("You" "Have" "Been" "Tagged") along with scrambled letters of my name and the dance. He apparently had some trouble because he lost one of the letters, but eventually it all worked out. Supposedly I get my answer within the next day, and here's hoping it's a yes!
I must say, though, that I feel rather conspired against. It seems as if my mother and Kinsey have a higher power on their side.
I suppose one thing that helped hinder me was that I was looking for things to go wrong. Doing that of course I'd find things to be upset about and of course I'd be miserable. You'd think that after so many times of learning this lesson it'd click once and for all, and I'm hopeful that maybe this time it'll stick.
I've come to appreciate in the past week how blessed I am. No matter what happens to me I still have my loved ones (both friends and family) and my Heavenly Father; as long as I've got them I can make it through anything. This past week I received a rejection letter from one of the universities I applied to for a master's degree... and it didn't hurt. I had expected to be upset and angry, but all I felt was peace. That school was not where I was meant to go, and I am all right with that. Of course, that did not keep my roommate from getting cream soda and chocolate to make me feel better. I certainly didn't mind! It was a good excuse to celebrate the things going right in life, which was a welcome change.
And, you know what, things are going right in my life. I am on track to graduate with my bachelor's this May, I have a steady group of friends who love me no matter how silly I get, and my testimony is stronger than it has ever been. The choices I have made this year have brought me to a good place, and I am confident in myself. It's a little silly, but I feel great about myself. I take time in the morning to get ready (rather than just rolling out of bed and getting dressed), and I even wear makeup with great frequency because I believe I deserve to look good. All of the awful shadows of doubt and self-loathing are leaving, and I always seem to be smiling. God really does answer our prayers, though it is always on His own time schedule.
In other news I may actually have a date. Shock, I know! The way it came about was pretty funny, too, all things told. Kinsey, the roomie, has been bothering me since the second month of school to ask the guy I like out. I had been rather obstinantly refusing on the grounds that everyone had told me he was not at all interested in dating. Finally I got sick of her pestering, and finally said on Saturday night that if dating came up during Sacrament meeting I'd ask him out. We made it all the way through Sacrament meeting without a single peep or hint of dating (instead it was all about prayers and how Heavenly Father answers prayers). At the very last minute the guy I like got up to give the Institute announcements... and the very last thing he said was, "Ladies, need a date? The Institute is hosting a Sadie Hawkins dance..." You can imagine the smirk on Kinsey's face, I'm sure.
True to my word, I asked him to the dance yesterday with the help of a few of my friends. Throughout the day he got four envelopes with sonnets on the outside of them ("Whoso List To Hunt" by Thomas Wyatt, "Sonnet 29" by Shakespeare, "In This Strange Labyrinth" by Lady Mary Wroth, and "Sonnet LVI" by Edmund Spenser). Inside each envelope was a card containing a single word ("You" "Have" "Been" "Tagged") along with scrambled letters of my name and the dance. He apparently had some trouble because he lost one of the letters, but eventually it all worked out. Supposedly I get my answer within the next day, and here's hoping it's a yes!
I must say, though, that I feel rather conspired against. It seems as if my mother and Kinsey have a higher power on their side.
Wednesday, January 26, 2011
What do I do?
I have a problem, and I do not know how to solve it. People have never been a particular strong point of mine, especially when they are very ...vengeful.
Over a year ago I was part of SUU's production of Our Town. One of the hair girls gave me an awful time when I came in for a make-up fitting - she said a number of unflattering things about my skin. I decided to handle the situation by explaining about my skin to her and then never letting her be the one to do my hair. You can imagine how glad I was when the show was over because I thought I would not have to deal with her.
Unfortunately, I was wrong.
She's in two of my classes this semester, and it's clear she hasn't forgotten either. In both of our classes she seems to take any chance to glare at me across the room, and sneers any time I try to offer a comment to the class. I could've taken that, but she decided to take it further. Walking out of math the other day she began telling her friends about how annoying the know-it-alls in her English class were and how the ones on the front row were the absolute worst. I happen to be in her English class...and I'm one of the only ones at the front that ever says anything.
How am I supposed to handle someone who seems so intent on being vindictive towards me? She knew I was walking behind them - we made eye contact right before she cut in front of me. I would try a direct confrontation, but I honestly don't think that would work. She seems to be set on being vindictive towards me, and I hate it.
What do I do?
Over a year ago I was part of SUU's production of Our Town. One of the hair girls gave me an awful time when I came in for a make-up fitting - she said a number of unflattering things about my skin. I decided to handle the situation by explaining about my skin to her and then never letting her be the one to do my hair. You can imagine how glad I was when the show was over because I thought I would not have to deal with her.
Unfortunately, I was wrong.
She's in two of my classes this semester, and it's clear she hasn't forgotten either. In both of our classes she seems to take any chance to glare at me across the room, and sneers any time I try to offer a comment to the class. I could've taken that, but she decided to take it further. Walking out of math the other day she began telling her friends about how annoying the know-it-alls in her English class were and how the ones on the front row were the absolute worst. I happen to be in her English class...and I'm one of the only ones at the front that ever says anything.
How am I supposed to handle someone who seems so intent on being vindictive towards me? She knew I was walking behind them - we made eye contact right before she cut in front of me. I would try a direct confrontation, but I honestly don't think that would work. She seems to be set on being vindictive towards me, and I hate it.
What do I do?
Tuesday, January 25, 2011
A Glass Future
This weekend may in fact be one of the longest ones I will have the entire semester, and that's a wonderful thing. Why? Because that means that this weekend is tech for The Glass Menagerie. After two long months of rehearsals, our show will finally be in its last moments before it is given to our audience.
When I first began to the process of Menagerie I thought it was going to be my baby. It was my first chance to assistant direct a main stage production, and for some odd reason I thought that meant I would have a great deal of control. What I neglected to think about at that time was that the show belonged to the director, the stage manager, the actors, the design team...and me. I was on a team of intelligent, creative people, and I had to learn to trust them in their decisions; it was amazingly hard. I've been so independent and self-reliant for so long that accepting the wisdom of others really was the hardest part of the process for me.
Now that we're nine days from opening I have learned to trust those around me, and I have learned how to accept the lessons others have to offer me. Going into our final week of rehearsals I won't be the same snotty kid I was that distant first week - I won't be the all-wise sage, either, but that's all right by me. I am just very grateful for the opportunity I have had to learn and grow. Hopefully the next time I go into working on a show I will be better at taking the input of others and working as a team. I feel as though I will be - let's just hope I'm right.
When I first began to the process of Menagerie I thought it was going to be my baby. It was my first chance to assistant direct a main stage production, and for some odd reason I thought that meant I would have a great deal of control. What I neglected to think about at that time was that the show belonged to the director, the stage manager, the actors, the design team...and me. I was on a team of intelligent, creative people, and I had to learn to trust them in their decisions; it was amazingly hard. I've been so independent and self-reliant for so long that accepting the wisdom of others really was the hardest part of the process for me.
Now that we're nine days from opening I have learned to trust those around me, and I have learned how to accept the lessons others have to offer me. Going into our final week of rehearsals I won't be the same snotty kid I was that distant first week - I won't be the all-wise sage, either, but that's all right by me. I am just very grateful for the opportunity I have had to learn and grow. Hopefully the next time I go into working on a show I will be better at taking the input of others and working as a team. I feel as though I will be - let's just hope I'm right.
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