I know that everyone has their craziness or little idiosyncrasies that make them somewhat weird or unusual. And I understand that seeing as everyone in the world has those, it's somewhat acceptable to be open and honest with yourself and others about their existence. And I thought I was.
Apparently not.
Seeing as I have a mere three weeks left until I enter the Missionary Training Center, it's about that time to pack up everything I own. While I was sorting through my amateur version of a hoarder room [filled with way too many pictures, movie ticket stubs, and other things I had deemed highly sentimental in my teen years], I came upon my high school journals.
Let me explain my history with journals. Except for my Sophomore and the first half of Junior years at BYUH, when my journaling was consistent, insightful, and [somewhat] classy, every journal I have ever had goes a little something like this:
First page: An explanation that I am once again very bad at writing in my journal and my goal to actually stay with it this time around. The next few entries are consistent and I seem to write at least every couple of days. Then the entries start to deplete. Not only are they further apart, they are much shorter. If nothing else, the carelessness increase can be shown and probably scientifically charted by the decrease in my handwriting quality as I turn the pages. Then come the entries that end mid-sentence. Then the ones with less than a paragraph. Throughout the journal are lists. Endless lists. Packing lists, lists of people I'm mad at, lists of people to invite to my party, career possibility lists. Lists, lots of 'em. Also really bad doodles. And pages upon pages of practicing my handwriting and John Hancock. Lots of empty pages sprinkled in here and there and the occasional awful attempt at song-writing...? Needless to say, my journals aren't very substantial as far as actual journaling. Note: one journal had a start date over a year prior to the last entry. There were 16 entries.
So now that you know the usual pattern, let me just fill you in on how the discovery of said journals is making me realize it's a darn good thing I'm going on a mission and maybe I'll receive a miracle resulting in my transformation to a more internally balanced human being.
My favorite part of finding the journals wasn't even the fact that in every single one the only consistency took place starting with EFY over the summer. So cliche. Let me just say, I thought I was sooooooooooo deep you guys. But beyond that ridiculousness, were the real treasures. "Letters I will never write." First of all, I don't understand why I called it that, seeing as I was writing them. Thank goodness college has taught me the difference in meaning between "write" and "send."
These letters though. Oh my goodness, they were so intense. Apparently I really was as awful as people though I was in high school because I was absolutely hateful to these people. My favorite one is the letter I wrote to Billy. I had not only a few, but a plethora of choice words for this kid. I let him have it. And in my defense, although completely idiotic overall, the letters were very articulate. Billy wouldn't have had any self-esteem left if I had really "written" that letter. What started to happen though is about half way through the letter I realized I had no memory of this person whatsoever. NONE. I even went to facebook to see who I know from high school named Billy. Yeah...no one. Whaaaaaaaaaaat? So now I'm extremely confused and somewhat intrigued by this Billy character, but more importantly I'm very concerned about my mental stability. Apparently I need anger management as evidenced by a letter to someone I can't even remember!
This journal exploration was kind of horrifying for my view of myself as a teenager. I was seriously a weirdo. I guess I was pretty good at hiding the extent of it though because at least I was only saying these things in a journal and still sat with a full lunch table. I'm not sure how that was the case, but thank goodness for it. I think later today I'll check the attic for my journals from the 90's. I'm pretty sure those will have some real gems.
Before you go, if anyone knows of a Billy that I did NOT like in high school [roughly junior year], please tell me any details you can remember.
Thursday, February 9, 2012
Saturday, February 4, 2012
A Smile From Caleb.
So as most people who know me know, this past fall I assistant directed the play at my high school. It was such an amazing experience and looking back I'm really sad I didn't write about it more. However, something occurred after one of the performances that resonated in me so much that I literally came home and felt like I would burst if I didn't write about it. It was one of those things you can't bury or forget, you have to express it because it was so personal and beautiful.
That said, this is probably really cheesy and that's okay, but this is just the first version of what I had to get out about my experience. I've just let it sit since then really because I didn't know if I wanted people to see it, but I went to see the winter play tonight and it echoed this same feeling so I thought I'd share it.
[but really.... it's not written all that well, don't judge too harshly if even in your minds lol]
On Thursday night I had a moment. You know, one of those moments when time pauses for the briefest of seconds, and you silently inventory the things around you, and you think to yourself, "this is it. this is happiness. this is fulfillment. this is peace." Ya know, one of those moments.
The moment caught me by surprise, as most of those moments do, when one Caleb Metcalf ran into the auditorium from offstage-right, down the platforms, jumped over the orchestra pit, and tackled Purdy in a hug. He then pulled away, seemed to let a sigh of contentment, and his mouth spread into the biggest, purest, most genuine and enormous smile I have ever seen on his face. I'm not sure that he was aware of his expression, but I caught it. In that smile, and in his eyes, was the most pure gift a teacher can receive.
Let me pause to elaborate. Rewind to the day of the initial audition. The Westminster auditorium is filled with students, excited and nervous to try out for their first attempt at Shakespeare. Calling students up in pairs, Ms. Purdy and I sat in the middle row, making notes and preliminary decisions. Auditions were going surprisingly well, the students rising to the challenge of the Bard's dialogue. The next pair took the stage, and began the scene. My mind went blank in awe. I turned to Purdy, "what is that boy's name?" Caleb Metcalf. Sophomore. WHS theater newcomer. In that moment, before I knew him and before he even finished the read-through, he was already cast in my mind. I knew he was a young lover. Whether Demetrius or Lysander I wasn't sure it mattered, but I was bound and determined that all of my pull as Assistant Director would go to getting him one of those parts. The next day's callbacks proved my first impression and Purdy and I knew he was our Lysander.
Throughout the show, Caleb remained quiet. He was dedicated, focused, and, I believe, a bit intimidated by his senior cast-mates. Purdy and I were more impressed than surprised that he was the first to be completely off-book, and not just days, but weeks before the rest of the cast, some with smaller parts and more experience. While certainly talented and a pleasure to have in rehearsal, Caleb was still quiet, a hard shell to crack. We could never quite figure him out. Out of character, his face does not display much emotion, his tone very level, and his humor undiscovered. The most I'd spied of Caleb while the rest of the cast goofed off and joked was a small, slightly raised smile. Nothing more. As I tried to develop relationships with most of the cast, Caleb became somewhat of a stumbling block. I could not figure this boy out. The cast held every type of personality with every type of humor, yet most of what came from Caleb was stoic, serious, sarcastic on a good day, humor. His dry wit and his reservation to join in when breaking character made him seem so serious, and I had no idea how to approach joking around with him.
One day in rehearsal, during the scene in which all four young lovers are quarreling, hilarity broke out, as per usual. While jokes were cracked that caused even myself and Purdy to pause and laugh, out of the corner of my eye, I noticed a smile and my ears caught a hint of something unfamiliar. I almost couldn't believe it. Caleb was laughing. Not just smiling, but laughing. The SOUND of laughter coming from his mouth, the glint of laughter shining in his eyes. I pointed this out and an even greater collective laugh was given by the rest of us. We had finally gotten him to feel comfortable and at ease enough to do something as simple as laugh during his time with us. From then on, Caleb was usually a part of the joke, really joining in, allowing his personality to emerge. For a while he had been taken under Ben's wing. Ben is a senior, his character rival, and one of the funniest bastard's you'll ever meet. While I joked with Purdy that this could lead to trouble, aka another Ben, we were both so pleased. Through Caleb, I was getting a glimpse of what teachers are always saying about how the money sucks, but the rewards are incredible.
Seeing Caleb's smile thursday night was like pressing rewind. I could see on his face every emotion I'd felt my first fall show. The end of opening night is such a rush, such an accomplishment. The adrenaline and the stage lights make you feel like your soul is infinite and your possibilities are endless. The confidence you gain in those moments are priceless. You believe in yourself, in your talent, in your options, in your goals. I've often missed that rush of excitement and drive after a show. And being on the other side of a production for the first time, I was blindsided by how much sweeter it tastes seeing something that made you so happy manifest itself in a student you have seen grow and blossom throughout your time with him. The rewards of the past three nights far outweigh every minute of rehearsals I didn't want to attend, every poke of a needle while sewing costumes, every stress dream in Shakespearean dialect, and every second of worry and anxiety put into the show. The entire cast of 26, smiling and laughing, feeling so accomplished and elated, it made my heart want to melt. Every bit of what helping those kids has made me feel was simplified, condensed, and put into it's purest form and intensified, the moment I saw Caleb dash out from behind the curtain and finish with the kind of smile I know he felt from within his heart to the entirety of the auditorium.
That said, this is probably really cheesy and that's okay, but this is just the first version of what I had to get out about my experience. I've just let it sit since then really because I didn't know if I wanted people to see it, but I went to see the winter play tonight and it echoed this same feeling so I thought I'd share it.
[but really.... it's not written all that well, don't judge too harshly if even in your minds lol]
On Thursday night I had a moment. You know, one of those moments when time pauses for the briefest of seconds, and you silently inventory the things around you, and you think to yourself, "this is it. this is happiness. this is fulfillment. this is peace." Ya know, one of those moments.
The moment caught me by surprise, as most of those moments do, when one Caleb Metcalf ran into the auditorium from offstage-right, down the platforms, jumped over the orchestra pit, and tackled Purdy in a hug. He then pulled away, seemed to let a sigh of contentment, and his mouth spread into the biggest, purest, most genuine and enormous smile I have ever seen on his face. I'm not sure that he was aware of his expression, but I caught it. In that smile, and in his eyes, was the most pure gift a teacher can receive.
Let me pause to elaborate. Rewind to the day of the initial audition. The Westminster auditorium is filled with students, excited and nervous to try out for their first attempt at Shakespeare. Calling students up in pairs, Ms. Purdy and I sat in the middle row, making notes and preliminary decisions. Auditions were going surprisingly well, the students rising to the challenge of the Bard's dialogue. The next pair took the stage, and began the scene. My mind went blank in awe. I turned to Purdy, "what is that boy's name?" Caleb Metcalf. Sophomore. WHS theater newcomer. In that moment, before I knew him and before he even finished the read-through, he was already cast in my mind. I knew he was a young lover. Whether Demetrius or Lysander I wasn't sure it mattered, but I was bound and determined that all of my pull as Assistant Director would go to getting him one of those parts. The next day's callbacks proved my first impression and Purdy and I knew he was our Lysander.
Throughout the show, Caleb remained quiet. He was dedicated, focused, and, I believe, a bit intimidated by his senior cast-mates. Purdy and I were more impressed than surprised that he was the first to be completely off-book, and not just days, but weeks before the rest of the cast, some with smaller parts and more experience. While certainly talented and a pleasure to have in rehearsal, Caleb was still quiet, a hard shell to crack. We could never quite figure him out. Out of character, his face does not display much emotion, his tone very level, and his humor undiscovered. The most I'd spied of Caleb while the rest of the cast goofed off and joked was a small, slightly raised smile. Nothing more. As I tried to develop relationships with most of the cast, Caleb became somewhat of a stumbling block. I could not figure this boy out. The cast held every type of personality with every type of humor, yet most of what came from Caleb was stoic, serious, sarcastic on a good day, humor. His dry wit and his reservation to join in when breaking character made him seem so serious, and I had no idea how to approach joking around with him.
One day in rehearsal, during the scene in which all four young lovers are quarreling, hilarity broke out, as per usual. While jokes were cracked that caused even myself and Purdy to pause and laugh, out of the corner of my eye, I noticed a smile and my ears caught a hint of something unfamiliar. I almost couldn't believe it. Caleb was laughing. Not just smiling, but laughing. The SOUND of laughter coming from his mouth, the glint of laughter shining in his eyes. I pointed this out and an even greater collective laugh was given by the rest of us. We had finally gotten him to feel comfortable and at ease enough to do something as simple as laugh during his time with us. From then on, Caleb was usually a part of the joke, really joining in, allowing his personality to emerge. For a while he had been taken under Ben's wing. Ben is a senior, his character rival, and one of the funniest bastard's you'll ever meet. While I joked with Purdy that this could lead to trouble, aka another Ben, we were both so pleased. Through Caleb, I was getting a glimpse of what teachers are always saying about how the money sucks, but the rewards are incredible.
Seeing Caleb's smile thursday night was like pressing rewind. I could see on his face every emotion I'd felt my first fall show. The end of opening night is such a rush, such an accomplishment. The adrenaline and the stage lights make you feel like your soul is infinite and your possibilities are endless. The confidence you gain in those moments are priceless. You believe in yourself, in your talent, in your options, in your goals. I've often missed that rush of excitement and drive after a show. And being on the other side of a production for the first time, I was blindsided by how much sweeter it tastes seeing something that made you so happy manifest itself in a student you have seen grow and blossom throughout your time with him. The rewards of the past three nights far outweigh every minute of rehearsals I didn't want to attend, every poke of a needle while sewing costumes, every stress dream in Shakespearean dialect, and every second of worry and anxiety put into the show. The entire cast of 26, smiling and laughing, feeling so accomplished and elated, it made my heart want to melt. Every bit of what helping those kids has made me feel was simplified, condensed, and put into it's purest form and intensified, the moment I saw Caleb dash out from behind the curtain and finish with the kind of smile I know he felt from within his heart to the entirety of the auditorium.
Monday, January 23, 2012
So not ready...
to be a mother.
goodness gracious.
I can't even take care of teenagers without things going horribly wrong. No one trust me to have infants.
I take one Sunday nap and wake up to find the 14 year old I'm staying with has taken three pain killers. Wonderful.
Obviously caregiving is my specialty....
Monday, January 9, 2012
pathetic sobs.
I'm not usually one for being a female cliche, and it's only recently that emotional things have a huge impact on me.
But if for any reason you want your heart to be ripped out of your chest and replaced with a permanent, gaping, throbbing hole of painful emptiness...
watch this movie
But if for any reason you want your heart to be ripped out of your chest and replaced with a permanent, gaping, throbbing hole of painful emptiness...
watch this movie
Saturday, December 31, 2011
blurg.
Ah, jeez.
You know what I hate to love? Discovering new blogs. As an English major/writing nerd, deep down I get so excited when I find a new blog full of all those wonderful posts I can't wait to read. I sit there for hours and essentially stalk the online life of some new stranger and whatever they felt like sharing about their life because they're so dang funny and they have such good written communication skills [one of the 7 necessary to be a successful human being according to my 10th grade English teacher. it's number 3.] that I can't stop!
Blogs are kind of like my heroin in that way.
Actually, that simile isn't completely accurate. I think what's more true is blogs are kind of like my version of bulimia. It's not just that I'm continuously addicted to reading blogs and meandering through the internet. What happens to me is I find something new and exciting in the blog world and then I binge and binge and binge on it because it's so intellectually delicious that I can't stop and then days or weeks later I hit a plateau and I purge myself of that particular thing for a while until I need to return or find a new scintillating site to scarf.
Yeah, that's more accurate. It's a binge and purge thing.
Guess what folks, while I love to stimulate my mind and laugh hysterically, after the initial enjoyment hits, there's this wave of horror. I think it's Jiminy Cricket talking to me, because he says it in that stupid voice that makes you so angry because of how right and genuine it is. But inside my head I hear, "You haven't posted anything in a long time. You haven't posted anything worthwhile in waaaaay longer than that. You should probably decide if you want to take blogging seriously for once like you always tell yourself you're going to."
And then I start to resent that beautiful new blog that I loved so much, and hence my plateau.
Today I found a new blog thanks to my friend Christy, and I heard Jiminy within reading three posts. this is what he said, "His writing is so witty, and sharp. I really love his tone and style. Too bad none of the stuff you write is like this. What has it been? weeks since your last few posts? and wasn't it months before those?"
Did you notice his judgmental tone? I didn't like hearing Jiminy today. Especially not on New Year's Eve, when I'm supposed to reevaluate my life and what not.
But I guess making a resolution to become a better blogger is certainly more attainable than the other resolutions most of us like to joke that we'll keep. Or start.
Yeah, I think I'll stick with dedicating myself to being a better blogger as my resolution. Because let's be real. Any of you reading this know I'll be back at Taco Bell next week, or I'll waste money on some new purse I don't need right before a mission, or I'll rationalize watching just one of my melodrama/reality shows instead of giving them all up. We all know it would start with Jersey Shore and I'd be right back to where I am.
So instead of changing any of that, I'm just gonna write about it more.
You know what I hate to love? Discovering new blogs. As an English major/writing nerd, deep down I get so excited when I find a new blog full of all those wonderful posts I can't wait to read. I sit there for hours and essentially stalk the online life of some new stranger and whatever they felt like sharing about their life because they're so dang funny and they have such good written communication skills [one of the 7 necessary to be a successful human being according to my 10th grade English teacher. it's number 3.] that I can't stop!
Blogs are kind of like my heroin in that way.
Actually, that simile isn't completely accurate. I think what's more true is blogs are kind of like my version of bulimia. It's not just that I'm continuously addicted to reading blogs and meandering through the internet. What happens to me is I find something new and exciting in the blog world and then I binge and binge and binge on it because it's so intellectually delicious that I can't stop and then days or weeks later I hit a plateau and I purge myself of that particular thing for a while until I need to return or find a new scintillating site to scarf.
Yeah, that's more accurate. It's a binge and purge thing.
Guess what folks, while I love to stimulate my mind and laugh hysterically, after the initial enjoyment hits, there's this wave of horror. I think it's Jiminy Cricket talking to me, because he says it in that stupid voice that makes you so angry because of how right and genuine it is. But inside my head I hear, "You haven't posted anything in a long time. You haven't posted anything worthwhile in waaaaay longer than that. You should probably decide if you want to take blogging seriously for once like you always tell yourself you're going to."
And then I start to resent that beautiful new blog that I loved so much, and hence my plateau.
Today I found a new blog thanks to my friend Christy, and I heard Jiminy within reading three posts. this is what he said, "His writing is so witty, and sharp. I really love his tone and style. Too bad none of the stuff you write is like this. What has it been? weeks since your last few posts? and wasn't it months before those?"
Did you notice his judgmental tone? I didn't like hearing Jiminy today. Especially not on New Year's Eve, when I'm supposed to reevaluate my life and what not.
But I guess making a resolution to become a better blogger is certainly more attainable than the other resolutions most of us like to joke that we'll keep. Or start.
Yeah, I think I'll stick with dedicating myself to being a better blogger as my resolution. Because let's be real. Any of you reading this know I'll be back at Taco Bell next week, or I'll waste money on some new purse I don't need right before a mission, or I'll rationalize watching just one of my melodrama/reality shows instead of giving them all up. We all know it would start with Jersey Shore and I'd be right back to where I am.
So instead of changing any of that, I'm just gonna write about it more.
Saturday, November 26, 2011
It really is a Wonderful Life.
Busy, Busy, Busy.
But in the moments I'm allowed to claim, I'm looking back. I'm stepping into the still-somewhat-unknown. For the first time, I'm looking ahead the right way-- by looking around.
For me it's always been about living in remembrance or vicariously. I tend to look behind and pick and choose the happy moments to validate the claim that "my life used to be good or happy or simple" or to put others on pedestals and aspire to dreams that seem ideal but are not truly my own.
I'm starting new though, I'm figuring myself out. I'm doing things that are simple, uninspired, mediocre at best, but that make me genuinely happy for my circumstances right now.
Whether it's volunteering for a high school theater production, working retail times two, driving 40 minutes to the smallest social circle I've had thus far, or driving around the beautiful county roads by myself, I'm finding that even my pessimism and automatic cranky disposition can't even mask the true happiness I feel.
I once wrote about this strange, foreign person residing in my brain, wanting to change my perspectives. I feel like she's still there, but we've come to a peaceful compromise. There are still so many life changes ahead of me, but they're still ahead rather than here.
This year has been about perspective, not about patience or punishment.
On that note, I suggest you all go find your most cozy blanket, sip some cocoa, and sit down to enjoy one of the following movies
But in the moments I'm allowed to claim, I'm looking back. I'm stepping into the still-somewhat-unknown. For the first time, I'm looking ahead the right way-- by looking around.
For me it's always been about living in remembrance or vicariously. I tend to look behind and pick and choose the happy moments to validate the claim that "my life used to be good or happy or simple" or to put others on pedestals and aspire to dreams that seem ideal but are not truly my own.
I'm starting new though, I'm figuring myself out. I'm doing things that are simple, uninspired, mediocre at best, but that make me genuinely happy for my circumstances right now.
Whether it's volunteering for a high school theater production, working retail times two, driving 40 minutes to the smallest social circle I've had thus far, or driving around the beautiful county roads by myself, I'm finding that even my pessimism and automatic cranky disposition can't even mask the true happiness I feel.
I once wrote about this strange, foreign person residing in my brain, wanting to change my perspectives. I feel like she's still there, but we've come to a peaceful compromise. There are still so many life changes ahead of me, but they're still ahead rather than here.
This year has been about perspective, not about patience or punishment.
On that note, I suggest you all go find your most cozy blanket, sip some cocoa, and sit down to enjoy one of the following movies
Monday, October 31, 2011
I called it.
I probably can't do a lot of justice in writing to the changes that have taken place since coming home.
I spent the summer with family and friends, and when fall came I stayed right where I was. No packing, no airplanes, no classes.
And despite it being surreal that I'm home in Westminster with changing leaves, colder weather, and even snow, rather than back at the sandy, sunshiny, beach with groups of close friends, I'm the happiest I've been in a long time.
My patience is definitely being tried. Today marks three weeks and one day since my mission papers went in. I am itching to know what my future holds but most of all when it will start. That's the only part that frustrates me. Many people I know of who've recently gotten their calls don't leave until the spring. That's enough time for another semester!
Do I stay here where I'm happy but bored, or risk going back to unhappiness just to actually be accomplishing something? So many questions.
What's great though, is that I can already tell I'm becoming a new person. I find so little to complain about anymore and I'm content to roll with the punches as they come. That's pretty unusual for me. But don't get me wrong, I love it.
So although my day-to-day is much more low-key, and I'm often bored and lazy, the nights out with friends, the ysa activities, the afternoons at rehearsal, and even working, have added peace to my life.
I'm happy. So happy. I just feel... joyous.
Life is looking great, and I'm so thrilled I followed the guidance to serve a mission. Everything just feels right, and my faith and acceptance in following instructions has grown so much.
Maybe I'm crazy to say I didn't like Hawaii, or to blame any unhappiness on the fact that I was there, but there is no denying the fact that here I am in Maryland, the happiest I've been since high school.
I spent the summer with family and friends, and when fall came I stayed right where I was. No packing, no airplanes, no classes.
And despite it being surreal that I'm home in Westminster with changing leaves, colder weather, and even snow, rather than back at the sandy, sunshiny, beach with groups of close friends, I'm the happiest I've been in a long time.
My patience is definitely being tried. Today marks three weeks and one day since my mission papers went in. I am itching to know what my future holds but most of all when it will start. That's the only part that frustrates me. Many people I know of who've recently gotten their calls don't leave until the spring. That's enough time for another semester!
Do I stay here where I'm happy but bored, or risk going back to unhappiness just to actually be accomplishing something? So many questions.
What's great though, is that I can already tell I'm becoming a new person. I find so little to complain about anymore and I'm content to roll with the punches as they come. That's pretty unusual for me. But don't get me wrong, I love it.
So although my day-to-day is much more low-key, and I'm often bored and lazy, the nights out with friends, the ysa activities, the afternoons at rehearsal, and even working, have added peace to my life.
I'm happy. So happy. I just feel... joyous.
Life is looking great, and I'm so thrilled I followed the guidance to serve a mission. Everything just feels right, and my faith and acceptance in following instructions has grown so much.
Maybe I'm crazy to say I didn't like Hawaii, or to blame any unhappiness on the fact that I was there, but there is no denying the fact that here I am in Maryland, the happiest I've been since high school.
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