Home Is Where the Mountains Look Normal

This week I drove up to Logan for a good friend's wedding. It was the first time I'd been up there since Christmas, and as I drove down into the valley from the canyon I was struck, as I usually am, by the excitement of getting to see my friends and being somewhere familiar.

Only...it wasn't as familiar as last time, in some subtle way. As I was driving around in Logan, I finally realized that my baseline for "familiar" now is Salt Lake. The mountains in Logan are not unfamiliar, but I kept expecting to see the shapes of the mountains near my house in SLC when I looked up. That expectation is in such strong contrast to even just last year, when going to Logan felt like going home. Without me noticing, something has subtly shifted.

Why I'm Depressed and Not Lazy

Avoidance has long been my method for coping with overwhelming and/or difficult things. Things I didn't want to do. This list is long, but (part of) it looks something like this:

waking up in the morning

doing my homework

doing my chores

cleaning my room

paying my taxes

practicing (anything)

finding a job

making a decision about health insurance

deciding on a topic for my thesis

applying (for anything)

etc, etc, etc

Here's the thing about avoidance: It's not a great coping mechanism. It doesn't get things done, and it's not productive. (Though, to be both honest and fair, some times when I'm avoiding one thing (i.e. a final paper), I get a lot of those other things done, like cleaning my room.) It makes the last minute incredibly stressful. (Take, for example, the time ~cough~lastsemester~cough~ that I was finishing up my last week of classes, taking all my finals, writing all my final papers, and packing and preparing for a marathon cross-country drive home. All in the same week. Yeah, I didn't get much sleep and I was pretty much a wreck. It wasn't a good time.)

I had an epiphany just now, while boiling water to cook up some ramyun for my dinner. Two of my non-shared New Year's resolutions were to be more self-compassionate and to try to deal with hard things promptly instead of avoiding them. My epiphany involved the intersection of those two goals. Right now, I'm really struggling with that second goal. 

My life is exceptionally hectic-feeling right now. I'm trying to juggle making some professional contacts, nailing down a research question for my thesis (thankfully I think I've finally found a topic), dealing with getting the ball rolling so I can do research for my thesis, four classes (each with a not-insignificant number of expectations), homework, a new church calling, beginning research for important papers for each of my classes, new responsibilities in regard to a possible (unexpected) future career, finding something to do and some way to support myself this summer, and all the other mundane stuff like taxes and healthcare insurance and feeding myself. Honestly, I think at this point it might be a tender mercy from the Lord that I'm not in a relationship, because it would just be one more thing to juggle.

But...do you know what I did yesterday with my day off from school? Instead of catching up on all the things I'm responsible for, I went to Home Depot and dropped some cash on some materials to make myself a headboard. Yup. That happened.

Here's where my epiphany (finally -- were you getting bored? sorry) comes in:

I'm depressed.

Okay, that's not the huge epiphany. I've been struggling, off and on, in one way or another, with depression for a long time. The epiphany came when I realized, Maybe I'm not lazy. Maybe I can stop berating myself with that label and realize that my procrastination and avoidance are symptoms, not part of who I am.

That being said, there are definitely times when I deliberately make poor choices with my time. ~cough~all-nightkdramawatching~cough~ But right now? Struggling to finish or even start my Korean homework (normally a class I love)? Not answering emails for days and dreading checking my inbox? Starting decorating projects instead of catching up on work? Making ramyun and grilled cheese and eating cereal at almost every meal because I can't work up the motivation to cook? Falling off the wagon on my calorie-tracking and not even wanting to try to get back on? That's depression. Situational depression, yes, thank goodness, which means that at some point it's going to have to end. But what an amazing moment of self-compassion to realize that all that stuff I'm not doing? It's not me, it's my situation. And I can fix that. I can get help to fix it. And it can end.

How grateful I am to know that my Heavenly Father loves me, because lately, that's just about all that's getting me through the day.

(For more on this topic, I suggest reading Elder Jeffrey R. Holland's talk, "Like a Broken Vessel". It's marvelous, and gives me a lot of hope and strength.)

In Honor of the Day

A few songs that describe my current relationship status in honor of Valentine's Day:

I Can Feel It Coming in the Air

In the Air Tonight by Phil Collins has been a favorite for a long time. There are a lot of reasons -- it's so singable, and the tune is so memorable, and maybe I heard it a lot growing up. 

Have you ever had that experience, when you knew something was going to happen? You're not sure when or what or why or how, but you know something's coming and it's going to change things -- if not everything? Maybe I'm biased because of Phil Collins, but it does feel almost like a change in the air. A strange feeling all along the skin, especially on my back and the back of my upper arms. I've been feeling that feeling, off and on and growing stronger, since November. 

The feeling has been so strong that it's forced me to think about some things. It's made me want to examine why things are the way they are in my life. I feel like things are changing, and I wanted something tangible to reflect that. I do a lot of things because I've always done them; I'm a creature of habit. That being said, looking back over the last year, I can see how I started subtlely changing even before this. I started wearing makeup regularly. I started trying to dress more like a graduate student. I bought new bedding. Last Saturday I went to Joann's, bought some gold craft paint, and painted a whole bunch of things gold. (Ever since I can remember I've been a staunch silver person, but in the last few months my taste began to change. I've finally realized that gold looks better with my skintone than silver does.) This last week I took off a bracelet (really a necklace wrapped around my wrist three times) I've been wearing since my sophomore year of high school. I bought a new CTR ring and tucked away my Korean one from my mission. Most seriously of all, I've actually, seriously considered putting away my comfort blanket for good. (That's still too big of a step, it seems. Maybe in a few more months.)

I'm not sure what is going to happen. Why I feel this way. Why I feel like I need to start making small changes right now (I'm still getting used to them). There are some other changes happening in my life, but I don't think now is the time to share them. I'll share when a few things have settled and I have more to report than vague, strange, and somewhat unsettling feelings. But I think the general consensus among all the various parts of my brain is that, while unsettling, yes, these changes feel good. Right. Like I'm more grounded and less anxious about where I'm going and how I'm going to get there. Let's hope this trend continues.

Grown-up Clothes

"Dress to make yourself feel like who you are."

                                                       - Duncan Quinn (here at The Sartorialist)

I read that quote this morning. It could be taken two ways: 1) You know who you are and you dress like it because you're awesome that way and don't feel the need to hide or change that, or 2) You don't feel like who you are (...or are supposed to be) so you dress yourself so you do feel like who you are. I think I fall into the second category. 

...this picture notwithstanding. This was really posed and a tiny snapshot in time. Also, you can't see that underneath I'm wearing my pajamas t-shirt. 

As a newly-minted graduate student and a 27-year-old, I've been paying a lot more attention to "grown-up" clothes and fashion and style in general than I ever have before. I think I've avoided paying much attention to fashion and style because, let's face it, it makes me feel really insecure. If you're not trying, then when you look like a slob you can reassure yourself by saying, "Well, I'm not really trying. If I tried I'd look great. And besides, I'm so comfortable." When you try and you still look bad...well, that just hurts.

Still, being taken seriously as an adult with intelligent ideas is easier when you look the part - whether or not you feel the part. And so I've been making an effort to dress more like a graduate student...whatever that means. To me, ideally, that looks something like this:

All images from What Would a Nerd Wear, which I just discovered and is sadly no longer active.

Yeah, I never go to school dressed like that. I'd like to, though. But let's face it: I'm never going to wear heels to walk around campus. They're too uncomfortable. And I'm only just now warming up to wearing a skirt to church, let alone to school all day. Again, it's about comfort. And I hate shopping. Sadly, my head and my heart are on different fashion pages -- my head's all, "Get up and get ready! Don't you want to look cute and have people take you seriously?" and my heart's all, "Heck, I'm just gonna wear those baggy jeans and my hoodie. Who doesn't love hoodies?" It's a daily battle, one that I'm sad to admit usually ends in a negotiated cease-fire, rather than a victory for my head.

Most days I manage to not wear the baggy jeans and hoodie, which I am pretty proud of. About half the time I even make it out the door with eyeliner and mascara on, which whoa. That's a big deal. For my next stride forward in the fashion world, I think I'm going to need to learn to do something with my hair other than put it in a ponytail or a bun. Or at least learn how to make them cuter.

Three Generations

Ever since I moved here two and a half years ago, I've been meaning to sit down with my grandparents and interview them on camera about their parents, their own lives, and my parents. Then both of my grandfathers died, and I lost that opportunity forever, something I still regret. The impending deadline of moving away for graduate school finally prompted me to action, and these last two Mondays I've taken my camera over to my mom's mother's house to interview her.

Last week didn't go too well, simply because I neglected to make sure my camera battery was charged. I still managed to get about twenty minutes of interview time, though, mostly about how my grandmother's parents met and a little bit about my great-grandparents. I had just started asking her about her mission when she began to feel ill and our session was cut short.

This week I remembered to charge my battery, and got some great stories about my grandma's mission, but halfway through my camera cut us off again. Not because of the battery this time, but because my memory card had run out of room! Thankfully I had my other card with me, but soon that, too was filled up. Not surprising, since I hadn't erased any of the pictures on either card since I got them for Christmas last year. Today I got more than a half an hour of interview footage. Next time I'll make sure my battery is fully charged and my cards are empty!

The three generations the title of the post refers to is the three generations of sister missionaries in my family: my grandmother, my mother, and me. When I realized that a few weeks ago I was so excited: what a wonderful tradition and heritage! Of course, I always knew my grandmother and my mother served missions, but I had never really processed how unusual that is. Up until last October, when President Monson lowered the age that sisters can serve from 21 to 19, sister missionaries made up a tiny percentage of the overall missionary force of the Church. Most women of my grandmother's generation in the Church didn't serve missions, and both my mother and I were far outnumbered by elders on our missions. I hope, though, that one day I'll be able to help add a fourth generation to that tradition, and that in my daughter's (or daughters'!) day there will be just as many sisters as there are elders.

Healing Hurts

My name is AnnMarie, and I'm a TV addict.

This is probably not news to any of you reading this, assuming that the set of all those reading this is a subset of the set of people I know. If I don't know you and you're reading this (how did you get here?), you might actually not know this. But that's beside the point. The point is: I'm a TV addict. I watch way too much TV and it's bad for my physical, emotional, mental, social, and spiritual health.

Like most addicts, I've been in denial about this for quite some time, but something I read tonight hit me hard enough that I finally couldn't rationalize my way out of it. Or rather, I could have, but I was finally humble enough not to. I finally admitted to myself that TV-watching is not just a casual hobby, that it's not not having an effect on my life and well-being, that it's actually keeping me from things that I want in the long term.

It's ridiculous to say that watching violence and immorality or hearing vulgar language and jokes on television has no effect on you. If you saw those things in person they'd affect you; why not if you see them on television? After I watch something violent or vulgar I always feel dragged down. My mood becomes dark and brooding, and the effects can linger for hours or sometimes even days. I'm not sure what science would conclude, but for me that's pretty compelling evidence. I have enough problems with depression, anxiety, and self-loathing from my wacky hormones, I don't need anything exacerbating the problem.

To quote something from the article I read tonight: "When we are not doing what we know we ought to be doing, and when we are not living the way we know we ought to live, we have a tendency to be unhappy." Well, I'm unhappy, and it's because I'm not doing what I know I should be doing, and I'm not living the way I know I should be living. My time is spent on "that which is of no worth . . . [and on] that which cannot satisfy" in the eternal world (2 Nephi 9:51).

What am I going to do with my new-found hours and hours of unspent time? I'm going to do family history. I'm going to learn to cook healthier food and actually sit down at my table, hopefully with a friend or two, to eat it. I'm going to attend the temple more often. I'm going to pray more sincerely, read my scriptures more diligently, and ponder the words of living prophets and apostles more carefully. I'm going to be more active. I'm going to cultivate and strengthen relationships. I'm going to go to bed earlier. I'm going to serve others.

It's going to be really hard. I know, because I've tried it before. And it was hard. And I eventually (sooner rather than later) fell back into my TV-watching habits. I want this time to be different. I want to be healthier, physically, emotionally, mentally, socially, and spiritually, and I can't do that without removing this negative influence in my life. Obsession and addiction, in whatever form they may come in our lives -- harmful substances, people, activities, seemingly-innocuous foods -- are not healthy. They become crutches that hold us back instead of helping us move forward; they prop us up in our brokenness instead of helping us to heal. Have you ever healed from something? Healing hurts, but it's the only way to be whole, and I want to be whole and not broken.

I would love your encouragement and support. I don't need a watchdog to tell me how disappointed in me they are when I slip up, but I could use a few cheerleaders. If you volunteer I could bring brownies. ^_~

"A distressing emotion aroused by impending danger, evil, pain, etc."

My friend Mary wrote a post today that gave me pause when I read it this afternoon. In it she talked about fear and the things that we fear the most, and not allowing those fears to overcome us. 

I am a fearful individual. I am afraid of a lot of things, everything from the usual spiders and grasshoppers to failing life. Over the years I've let my fear stop me from doing and accomplishing a lot of things: trying out for Honor Band, talking to people about the Gospel in Korea, telling that cute boy I had a crush on him...you get the idea. I have come to understand this about myself much more clearly in the last few years and regretted my timidity in the past, while at the same time trying not to fall into those same patterns in my life right now. 

This is Mary's suggestion for facing those deep, dark things that you fear: "If you have some fears either lurking in the back of your mind or filling up your whole being I encourage you to say them out loud or write them down. You will see that they are lies. Pray to Heavenly Father about your fears and He will help quiet them. Face the future with faith and not fear." In an effort to follow her example, here are a few of the things I fear most.

I fear being inadequate -- in school, in life, in relationships, in the eyes of my Heavenly Father and the plan He has for me.
I fear my weaknesses and imperfections will keep me from being with my family eternally because I will procrastinate repenting and changing until it's too late.
I fear the disapproval, censure, contempt, and indifference of others toward me.
I fear disappointing my earthly parents and ancestors, and my Heavenly parents.
I fear being lonely and alone the rest of my life because of my imperfections.
I fear finally having a husband and family and then losing them.

This list could go on for a very long time. Like I said, I'm afraid of a lot of things, though most of them fall under two larger headings: inadequacy and rejection. I think I am probably in good company, though, since I am sure I am not the only person who fears those things. I'm sure I wasn't born that way, but I've struggled with them almost as long as I can remember, and while I've made progress in overcoming them, I still have a long way to go. Overcoming them will require many hours on my knees seeking the Lord's help in prayer, as well as a lot of effort to forgive and love myself.

The Evolution of Me

You know those graphics that show the evolution of man from Neanderthal to homo sapiens, going from stooped to upright? The same general principle holds for the pictures below.

I'm not even sure what I want to say about this, but the general feeling is one of disappointment. Yes, a part of that is that my waist is no longer that tiny (I can't get over how small it looks in that second picture -- I don't remember being that slender). I can't lie; I'd like to look like that again. But there's more. What I see -- and what you reading this can't see -- is all the memories and emotions and circumstances and attitudes surrounding each of the split seconds in time these pictures represent.

While I'd love to be a size six again, what I really wish I could recapture is the excitement, the anticipation, the innocence, and the hope in my eyes in those first few pictures. I miss that about myself. When did I get so cynical and fatalistic? When did I start "fixing" my problems with a large bowl of ice cream instead of working out my frustrations by going for a run? I don't know that the person I was in the first picture would recognize the person I am in the last picture.

When did that happen?

And how do I change it?

I Guess My Mom Was Right About a Clean Room

A clean room really does make you feel better. Who woulda thunk? (Maybe me, after being taught the virtues of an orderly living space by my parents for years. Or not.) Right after I got back from Christmas vacation I moved from the basement of my house to the upstairs, thanks to a roommate who embraced matrimonial bliss. While I didn't mind living in the basement, per se, it is nice to see a little more sunshine in my room. I've been meaning to mention this, but the thing is it took me about two weeks to finally get around to actually unpacking/organizing. (If you're new, there aren't many things I loathe more in this world than unpacking, hence the procrastination.) But last Monday I had a day off of work thanks to MLK Day, so I decided to bite the bullet and just get it done. I present to you the pictorial record of my labors. And thanks to my awesomest-of-mothers and the new camera she gave me for Christmas, the pictures are actually decent. Warning: Below There Be Messes!

This is what my room looked like when I moved all my stuff in:

The view looking straight into my room from the door.

A slightly angled view into my room through the door.

Standing with my back against the open door, doorway to my left.

 The view from the head of my bed. 

The other wall as seen from the head of my bed. 

It never ceases to amaze me, the amount of stuff you accumulate, even when you try not to. It doesn't seem that bad when it's all hidden away in closest and drawers, but when it's spread out all over the floor it seems just a little ridiculous. Anyway, this is how I lived for about two weeks, until I figured I'd finally better tackle it instead of ignoring it and hoping little elves would unpack for me in the night.

But you know the saying, Things get worse before they get better?

I decided, after two weeks of sleeping with the bed on the south wall that I didn't like it there. I wanted my dresser next to my mirror so I could use it as a place to hold all my make up. Makes sense, right? But having the foot of the bed so close to the front of the dresser meant I had a hard time getting into it to get my clothes. Not to mention I wasn't awfully fond of the cinderblocks as bed risers, so with the help of my roomie's awesome boyfriend (thanks, Tyson!) I removed the cinderblocks, moved the bed, and put it up on my (slightly less ghetto-looking) plastic bed risers from Wal-Mart.

But you can see that I hadn't actually gotten anything put away at this point. The mess just migrated from one part of the room to the other.

See that frame hanging above my dresser? I should have taken a closer picture of it, but it's got four cards in it that are shaped like hanbok, or traditional Korean dress. Well, the ones I have are traditional Korean dress for nobility/royalty. Traditional Korean dress for peasants is much, much less elaborate (and not as pretty). The top two are for girls, the bottom two for boys. Appropriate for over a dresser, right? Right now they're just slapped into a frame I got half-off at Hobby Lobby, but I need to either get a new mat or paint this one, since I think the black is too stark. The chain of hearts down the left side of my mirror is actually a sweet letter from a friend of mine. Each heart is one thing she likes about me, and it makes my mornings just that much better.

Can you spot what's been added in this picture? In addition to the hanbok frame in the last picture, I hung these four, as well.

(Please forgive the bad pictures of my art. I was shooting at night in artificial light and I'm still getting the hang of my new camera.) To the left of my bed I hung my Proclamation on the Family, flanked by pictures of the First Presidency and three significant temples in my life: Seoul, Washington D.C., and Logan. At the head of my bed I hung a poster of Le baiser de l'hôtel de ville by Robert Doisneau, which I've had a sentimental soft spot for since my junior year of high school. Not, mind you, because of the subject matter, per se, but because a large poster print of it hung my high school French teacher's room and at the time I was enamored with all things French. Maybe it's because of the influence of my art-loving father, but I never really feel a space is mine until there's art on the walls, even if it's only the cheap kind I can afford.

Are you ready to see the final product now? I have to admit, it bears little resemblance to how it started out. Only the dresser stayed in the same place. Well, and the curtains.

I spent a good half-hour or forty-five minutes trying to figure out what to do with my desk. I'd had it facing the wall the window is in, but then my second bookcase had to be awkwardly placed on the blue wall, and it just didn't look right. I finally hit on placing it at the foot of my bed. It's not necessarily perfect, but it looks better than any other alternative I could come up with.

How about some closer shots?

Yes, I do have four pillows, and yes, all four are necessary. And yes, I do still sleep with my stuffed Winnie-the-Pooh my parents gave me for Christmas when I was three. He's a great cuddler. And yes, that blanket he's sitting on is my baby blanket that I still sleep with. I refuse to give them up until I have to sleep with someone else.

My Grandpa Saunders helped me put together this shelf, one of the last things I got to do with him before he died. Consequently, even though it's cheap it's rich with sentimental value. I love having a bookshelf next to my bed so I can always have my books within arm's reach.

  

My closet really needs little explanation, but I wanted to prove that I didn't leave it out of the organization/unpacking spree.

I'm determined not to clutter up my desk by throwing random papers and junk on it, which is what happens when it's next to my bed. I don't do any studying for school anymore (hallelujah), but I like having a dedicated space for my scripture study. It brings back an air reminiscent of the mission. The print I have there on the right was a gift from my mother. It's called Add to Your Faith Virtue; and to Your Virtue Knowledge by Walter Rane, and I love it. Perfect for this study space.

And last, but not least, is my second bookcase. This one holds all my church books and magazines, like my Korean Book of Mormon and Bible, old General Conference Ensigns, and a few books like The Miracle of Forgiveness by President Kimball and Jesus the Christ by Elder Talmage. I put the words Faith, Patience, and Diligence (from lots of places in the scriptures, but these are specifically referring to Alma 32:41-43 in the Book of Mormon) in frames to remind me to work on them, since unfortunately they are not terribly developed in my character. My Scentsy is behind the Faith frame.

And there you have it. My room, finally finished and in order. It only took me two weeks to get around to it and four hours to accomplish, but it's done. How about one last look? It's probably the last time my bed will ever be made.

Yeah, Baby

Versions of Me

One of my senior pictures, summer 2004

Have you ever gone back and looked at old pictures of yourself? I do, sometimes. We spend so much time looking out from behind our eyes that looking into them can feel like you're looking at someone else. 

Hanging out in a friend's kitchen, summer 2007

Sometimes, I look into the eyes of these old mes and remember how innocent and hopeful I was. Innocent of all the hard and challenging things that lay ahead of me, innocent of the disappointment of not facing those challenges head-on and overcoming them the way I would like to think I can. Hopeful that things would unfold the way I thought they would, hopeful that all those things I'd dreamed of were coming to me just the way I'd dreamed they would.

In the Young Adult fiction nook of our town library (my favorite place), fall 2007

The old me could have never have imagined the current me. In some ways we're very different people, and in others we're very much the same. I wonder if parts of her still linger, or if somehow the current version of ourselves gets "saved" over the older ones, like drafts of a Word document, and the only hints of those old versions of ourselves are the moments captured in photographs.

In the MTC, winter 2007

Uncertainty - I'm not a fan

I'm not a big fan of uncertain things. I like things -- my life, especially -- to be tied up nicely and neatly in a smart little package with a bow. I'm the kind of person who likes to be on very solid footing before taking the next step.

Unfortunately, that hasn't been working out too well lately. Or ever, really. I don't think life usually works like that.

P.S.

After rereading my post from yesterday and talking to my mom about it, I think I came across much more petulant than I was actually feeling. I was feeling pouty about the whole prospect of life not working out according to my plans / ideas of how it should go, but I think it was more frustration at my own stubborness and childish clinging to unreasonable expectations than a temper tantrum. I'm still not thrilled at the prospect of doing things I don't want to do (who would be?), but I'm happy to report that after a few days of reflection I'm feeling a little more willing to do them.

Stubborn

I'm a little mad at the world right now.

Doesn't that sound so petulant? Sadly, I think petulant -- "childishly sulky or bad-tempered" -- is the most appropriate word for my attitude right now. I shared yesterday about my "compelled to be humble" experience, but apparently I'm still struggling with the humility, because the logical and grown-up part of me is rather appalled at the bad attitude of the rest of me. And it isn't that impressed with stupid excuses I'm making, either.

See, the thing is, the solution to my current situation is simple. It involves getting a job. As it was pointed out to me yesterday, people who are much less qualified and much less intelligent than I am have jobs, so obviously my hang up is not getting a job, but getting a job that I want to get. The humility part of this is in acknowledging the truth of that statement. Admitting it's true puts responsibility for my current state of unemployed-bum-hood squarely on my own shoulders and breaks up the little pity party I'm throwing for myself. People will feel sorry for you if your woes are inflicted on you by the Universe or the vagaries of the economy, but they tend to be much less sympathetic when it's your own fault.

The cause of all this stubborn pride is an assumption that's been lurking in the back of my brain for years and years -- probably since I was old enough to realize that "one day" I'd be grown-up and out of school -- that my life at 25 would include a husband, a kid or two, a house, and me at home taking care of all of them. I went through a "I want to be a fighter pilot / astronaut / ballerina when I grow up" phase, but by high school I knew I wanted to be a domestic engineer -- a stay-at-home mom. It wasn't that I didn't have any dreams, or that I was somehow less ambitious than girls who wanted to be doctors or the next president of the United States or small business owners. (See this for a fantastic post on the topic.) I firmly believe that the greatest good I'll ever do and the highest calling I'll ever have is as a wife and mother. That doesn't preclude any other contributions to society, of course. But all I have to say on that subject is a post for another day. The main point is that I never expected to find myself in this position. I don't really want to be in this position, either. 

It's not that I don't want to do other things, because I do. I'd love to be able to travel all over the world. I'd love to live in a big city here in the States for a while, maybe NYC or DC, and explore all it has to offer in the way of food and museums and parks. I'd be ecstatic to move back to Korea and eat all the Korean food I ever want and finally become fluent. I want to have an environmentally friendly car, a small but nice house with a yard someplace safe and quiet, all my student loans paid off and a nice cushion in the bank, a fantastic bed, and one room in my house devoted totally to books. I most definitely do not want to stay here in Logan and work some boring job that isn't very stimulating, rewarding personally or financially, or likely to set me on the fast track to some amazing career if I don't end up getting married and having a family. I don't want to be paying off my student loans until my oldest child is 16. I don't want to live 1.5 hours from the nearest city and have no car. I don't want to live in any more apartments or in someone else's home. I want my life to follow my plan for it.

But it just doesn't work that way, and sulking about it isn't going to change anything. The AnnMarie I dreamed up when I was 12 doesn't exist. She never existed. She's never going to exist. Sometimes you have to do things you don't want to do, and being jealous of someone else's opportunities is not very becoming. Neither is refusing to deal with reality. It's one thing to realize all that intellectually, and quite another to actually believe it and act accordingly. Of course I knew all this, I'm not stupid or totally ignorant of the way the world works. I certainly don't lack examples of these principles. If I came to me with my attitude, I'd've given me the same dressing down I got yesterday. Quit whining and just get a job, moron. Unhappy with a paycheck is better than unhappy without one. (I paraphrase.) At least then you'll be able to pay your bills and be independent. 

Life is unpredictable. I think that's been pretty well established, and shouldn't be a surprise to anyone. It shouldn't come as a surprise, either, that sometimes the best experiences of our lives grow out of other experiences we might not be so thrilled about having. We lack the perspective to see, in the moment, how our difficulties and challenges will make us better people and perhaps even bring us greater blessings than we could have ever imagined. I am reminded of a Chinese proverb I learned in some of my classes at USU: 塞翁失馬焉知非福 (Saiweng Shima, Yanzhi Feifu). Since that probably means nothing to 99.9% of you, I'll share the story of the old man who lost his horse. (There are several different versions of the story, but the one I quote here you can find here.)

     "During the Han Dynasty—in the third century B.C.—an old man living on China’s border one day lost his horse. His neighbors all said what terrible luck that was, and sympathized with the old man. But Sai Weng said: “Maybe losing my horse is not a bad thing after all.”
     Lo and behold, the next day the old man’s horse returned, together with a beautiful female horse alongside him. All the neighbors exclaimed: “What great luck!” But the old man responded: “Maybe this is not such good luck after all.”
     The old man had a strong young son. The boy fell in love with the new horse and rode her every day. One day the new horse got spooked by a wild animal and threw the boy from her back. He broke his leg very badly and was permanently crippled.
     All Sai Weng’s neighbors said: “What a tragedy, your strong son will never walk without pain again.” But the old man again said: “Maybe this is not such a bad thing after all.”
     And so it went that when the New Year came, the emperor’s army passed through the border region and recruited all able young men to fight in the frontier war. Because the old man’s son was crippled he could not fight and was left in the village to farm with his father.
     Sai Weng said to his neighbors: “You see, it all turned out okay in the end. Being thrown from the horse and breaking his leg saved my son from fighting in the war and almost certain death. So it was in the end a lucky thing after all.”"

I admit, I don't like it. I'm not thrilled about possibly having to get a job doing something I don't love. I'm not excited about staying in Logan. I'm not happy at maybe having to spend the next ten years of my life making small payments on my student loans and worrying about insurance and living in rented apartments or rooms. I'm mad at myself for not doing unpleasant things earlier that would have put me in a better position right now, financially, physically, mentally, emotionally, spiritually, educationally. I hate the thought that I might never get the life I think I want right now. I'm still feeling stubborn about it all. It's not like my attitude about all of this is going to change overnight, but I hope some of the compelled humility will worm its way into my perspective and I'll be more willing to do what I need to, rather than stubbornly holding out for what I want.

The Blues

"The Blues" by Switchfoot

I have a talent for wallowing in self-pity. I'm not totally sure if this little character quirk is a factory default, or if it's one of the bugs I've acquired sometime in the last quarter-century of life. In any case, it's mine to deal with now, and I've noticed I'm all too prone to it. Mopiness is something of an automatic reaction to difficulties in my life. It's as if, when the little avatar in your Nintendo game runs into a brick wall, it sits down and pouts rather than backing up and trying to find a way over, around, under, or through it.

At various times in my life I've handled it better than others. I usually do best when I have a clear goal in mind--a reason to scale that brick wall, if you will. But all too often I find myself (metaphorically, of course) sitting at its base, depressed about how I can't get over it. This point in my life is the latter. For the first time in my life I find myself without a clear goal or milestone toward which to work. I'm out of high school (thank heavens), I moved out of the house, been on a mission, finally finished college--now what? Obviously, the two big choices are a career and marriage. I can't make the second happen all on my own (something about other people having agency or some such crazy notion), and I'm surprisingly unsure about the first.

"All Blues" by Miles Davis

After moving past the "I want to be a ballerina! An astronaut! Robin Hood! The President of the United States! A movie director!" stage, I finally settled on one day becoming a college professor. Thanks to my father's career, my family has always lived in a college town, and I love the atmosphere of education and learning that imbues them. My family went to museums and libraries the same way other kids went to sports games and amusement parks. (Literally. Never once did my family go to an amusement park; I remember we went to a water park once, though, when I was five or so. But we went to plenty of museums and galleries and art fairs and libraries.) I'm confident I still want to live in such an environment, and perhaps one day it would be lovely to teach at a university, but I can't really see myself doing the five or six or eight more years of school necessary to get a degree and be qualified to teach. At least not right now. Plus, your chances of being hired fresh out of your Ph.D. program at the moment are dismal.

There are a few things I am confident about. First, I want to help people. Not necessarily large groups of people; I think I work best and feel most fulfilled when I work with people in small groups or one-on-one. I also would like to work with people who need opportunities, or opportunities to take advantage of opportunities. My experience in Korea and my studies have helped me see that I have the desire and perhaps the skills to work with immigrants and refugees, a group of people who definitely fall under the "people who need opportunities" heading. Second, I'm not too worried about making scads of money, which is lucky for me. I don't think working with immigrants and refugees will make you big bucks. What I really want out of a career is personal fulfillment. I've worked jobs just to make money, and almost always I was miserable. I don't need to be rich, I just need to eat, have a place to sleep, be able to do a few fun things, keep clothes on my back, and be able to pay off my student loans. Third, I'm pretty sure I want to somehow be able to use my Korean language skills and cultural experience at some point. I didn't spend all that time and shed all those tears learning Korean just to watch Korean dramas and rock out to Kpop. Lastly, I'd like to go into a field or at least develop skills that will allow me to eventually become a full-time mother, while also allowing me to still contribute and serve.

"Rhapsody in Blue" by George Gershwin

So you can see that my problem and my opportunity are exactly the same thing: a very broad idea of what I want to do with my life. It affords me an incredible amount of flexibility to pursue whatever might present itself, but at the same time it's so broad that trying to decide which direction to go feels rather like trying to drink out of a fire hydrant. There's lot of water to slake your thirst, sure, but it knocks you flat on your back in the process and not that much water ends up in your mouth, anyway. (Disclaimer: I have never actually attempted drinking from a fire hydrant, that's just what I imagine would happen if you did try.)

Back to the "wallowing in self-pity" thing. Being the Type A person that I am, I'm more prone to see my situation as a problem than as an opportunity. That part of me demands I find the "perfect" opportunity that will meet all my wants and needs and set me up for life. The realistic part of me rolls its eyes at the Type A part of me and sarcastically remarks that that's a load of bull and totally impossible in the bargain. That just makes the Type A part of me curl up in a metaphorical corner of my mind and start whimpering. This is about the time I start the "woe is me" song and dance. Then the self doubt part of me gets in on the party and starts a whole refrain about how I haven't really done anything and don't have a lot of experience and why would anyone want to hire me (etc, etc, ad infinitum)? By this time, just to get away from all the arguing and the massive pity party going on in my head, I've decided to give into another of my vices, procrastination, and deal with it "later" by going to watch a TV show or a kdrama. Thus dooming myself to a repeat performance sometime down the line, without ever solving anything.

"Blue" by Big Bang

I realize that some of you (if you've made it this far) are asking yourselves, "What is this woman's problem? Stop whining and just do something already!" Trust me, you're not thinking anything I haven't already thought myself, many times over. But just like you don't understand why I don't just "do something", I don't understand why some people can never remember when to use fewer instead of less. My point is, we all have our own struggles. I'm not debating that I should get out and do something--I'm really working on it. I'm working on not wallowing in self pity. I'm working on seeing things in a positive light and taking steps to do something. What I'm saying is overcoming this part of me is a real challenge in my life, just like trying to control your chocolate cravings or your swearing habit is a challenge in yours. It's not going to change overnight. Maybe not even in a few years. Maybe it'll take my whole lifetime, and I'll still struggle with it when I'm eighty. (I really, really hope not.) But I'm resolving to do better, from this point on.

Ten Things That Are Really Awesome About My Life

When I find myself contemplating how awful my life is, I know it's time to pull out the big guns. Because really, how awful can my life be, right? So here they are:

Ten Things That Are Really Awesome About My Life

1. I have a body that works.

Seriously! How awesome is that? It may not be Natalie-Portman-Kiera-Knightley-Emily-Blunt-gorgeous, but everything works pretty well. All my arms and legs move like they're supposed to, I don't have any illness or conditions, and aside from some fillings and glasses and some flabby abs, everything in pretty good condition.

2. I have a mind that works.

I have to be honest, I'm pretty stoked about this one. I'm not a genius, and I'm not claiming to be one, but I can usually learn things pretty easily. (Unless it involves math; then it's not so easy.) I can think through problems and come up with solutions and make rational, reasoned decisions.

3. I am passionate.

I think life would be pretty lackluster without things to be passionate about. They make life fuller and more exciting.

 4. I have an education.

And I have the student loans to prove it, too. Despite the fact that no one is beating my door down to hire me, I know that my education has helped me to grow tremendously as a person.

5. I wake up in a comfortable bed each morning; 

I go to bed in that same bed each night.

And that bed is safe and bug-free and the room is climate-controlled. This is a luxury that many people in the world don't get to enjoy.

6. My family is supportive and loving.

I didn't realize what an amazing thing this was until I got old enough to realize that not everyone had a family where this is true. My family isn't perfect, of course, but we all love each other.

7. I have friends that love me for who I am

It's taken a long for me to come to believe that there are people that actively seek out my companionship, but I am so grateful for the ones that do. I'm grateful for each person who knows me and still loves me anyway.

8. I find enjoyment in learning.
Which is not to say I love doing homework, but I'm grateful to be blessed with a natural sense of curiosity and a thirst for knowledge. You don't get to take much with you when you die, so I'm glad I don't have to learn to enjoy the only thing you do get to take.

9. Many, many amazing people have invested in me. 

I have been privileged to interact and serve with some truly extraordinary people. So many of them have taken the time to instruct me and teach me by their example. These many people have done a lot to make me a better person.

10. I have potential and a future.

Nothing but my own limitations really stand in the way of becoming what I want to be. I'm healthy, educated, and intelligent; I face no danger of being taken away from my family and friends and made to do something I don't wish to do. 

Stubbornness and Continents

I was a particularly stubborn child. I think my parents can attest to that. I've grown into a particularly stubborn adult. I think my parents can attest to that, too. I like to do things by myself. (Or get other people to do them for me. I'm okay with that, too.) I like to be in control and do things in a logical order - my order.

The funny thing about life is that it doesn't usually work that way.

Life is a collaborative effort. This has been reinforced to me over and over in the last year or so, in my experiences and in quiet moments of reflection. We can't do it alone, and we're not supposed to. Everybody needs somebody - multiple somebodies, actually. We need family. We need friends. We need members of the community. We even need complete strangers. None of us can reach our full potential without other people. It's ignorant, arrogant, and counterproductive to think that or act like we can. Try it. You'll fail.

I think John Donne's famous "No Man Is an Island" poem sums up the implications of this truth much better than I could.

No man is an island,
Entire of itself.
Each is a piece of the continent,
A part of the main.
If a clod be washed away by the sea,
Europe is the less.
As well as if a promontory were.
As well as if a manor of thine own
Or of thine friend's were.
Each man's death diminishes me,
For I am involved in mankind.
Therefore, send not to know
For whom the bell tolls,
It tolls for thee. 

We don't have the luxury of ignoring what is happening to other people "far away", because their lives are tied up in ours. They need us, and we need them.

A Jaunt Down Memory Lane

I was going through my documents folder on my computer this afternoon when I realized it was a little messy. As I started to tidy it up, I opened a few folders I haven't looked through in years, the ones containing all my papers from high school and my first few years of college. I started opening them and reading them, and boy, what a hoot! I have a pathological need to take myself hyperseriously, and it shows. But anyway. I opened and read one particular essay I wrote for my favorite English professor of all time, the amazing Dr. Bradshaw, during my very first semester of college. I don't remember exactly the assignment; something about narrating a small, seemingly insignificant moment. I wrote mine about the moment it really, truly hit me that I was graduating from high school. Now, seven years later, having just barely graduated from college (but having yet to have that same moment of realization about graduating from college), I thought that it was a timely piece of writing to pull out and dust off.

* * * * *

Photo from the Fuller Partners' website, here.

It was a trip I'd taken a thousand times before.

The car windows were rolled all the way down, and my arm was draped over the side of the door, weaving in and out of the stream of air that rushed past. Sweaty hair, pulled back into a messy ponytail, whipped back and forth with every gust, leaving stinging trails across my cheeks. Outside, the sun shone fiercely in its slow, daily trek to the west. The azure sky burned a brilliant blue. A few wispy clouds hung determinedly to the horizon, but the vault of heaven remained clear of any friendly clouds that might wander across the path of the sun and cloak its blazing wrath. Denied their rightful place high above our heads, they had settled for sending their moisture to saturate the still air down below, smothering us in what felt like a hot, wet blanket.

The radio blared yet another song about a guy and a girl falling in love, or maybe falling out of love; it was hard to be sure. Beside me in the front seat, my sister sat looking out at the familiar trees and houses flashing past her open window. She pulled absently at the clammy tee-shirt that clung to her. “How do you think practice went?” she asked over the sound of the radio and the rushing air.

“Oh, I don’t know,” I replied, shrugging. “I think we made some improvements, definitely. T-man seemed happy with what we got done.” I, too, pulled at the tee-shirt clinging to my sticky, sweaty skin. A bead of moisture escaped my hairline and rolled down my cheek; another traced a leisurely line down my neck. “Considering that it’s about fifty million degrees outside, he should be happy we didn’t all collapse and die of heat exhaustion.”

She nodded. “I think things are finally coming together. There are still a lot of rough edges, but I think we’ll do well on Saturday.”

I glanced at her briefly before turning my eyes back to the road. “Yeah, me too.” 

* * *

We traveled down the same road, the two of us, this time going in the other direction. Not much had changed, if anything at all. The placement of the cars in the driveways, maybe.

This time, the windows remained up, so as not to muss meticulously arranged hair, or displace carefully chosen clothes. Instead, the air conditioner quietly blew chilled air across our faces and ruffled the filmy fabrics of our best black pants. I curled my feet in my high heeled shoes; the cool air was making my bare toes cold.

My sister flipped down the passenger-side visor, peered intently at the mirror attached to the back of it. She looked down quickly and rummaged through the contents of the bag perched precariously on the seat next to her. “Where is it, where is it…stupid mascara,” she muttered.

I glanced over, amused. A little foundation and eyeshadow was all that was involved in my toilette. “You were supposed to do all that before we left.”

She waved a hand at me absently, and continued digging. “Yeah, but I didn’t get to put my…ah hah! I found it!” She held it up triumphantly. “I didn’t have time to put any mascara on before we left, I had to eat.” Her mouth open and eyes wide in concentration, she carefully brushed the black goop onto her eyelashes. She finished and thrust the wand back into its tube. “I wish we could wear lipstick,” she complained. “Makeup just doesn’t look right when you can’t do your mouth.”

“Come on,” I said. “You know that’s not practical. You can’t wear lipstick because if you did, your horn would slide all over the place and you couldn’t play. And it’d get all in your horn and would be the devil to clean.”

“I know,” she sighed. “But still, it would be nice to wear it just once.”

* * *

The same trees and houses and cars I had seen countless times slid silently past the window of the car. In four years, nothing significant had changed.

I squirmed uncomfortably in my seat in the back of the car, tugging at my skirt, trying to pull it down over my knees. The scratchy wool resisted my efforts, stubbornly riding up again. Skirts, I thought darkly, are not my thing. I sighed and shook my head a little, blowing a few loose strands of hair out of my eyes. Despite the care I’d taken to pin it back, my hair was just as stubborn as my skirt in the matter of staying where I wanted it.

A hand involuntarily rose to scrub at my eyes, but stopped just short of actually touching them. Nuh uh, I thought sternly at myself. No touching. Don’t smear mascara and eyeshadow all over your face.

Mom and Dad chatted amiably in the front seat, occasionally directing a comment to the backseat and my sister or me. I was reaching for my chapstick when it hit me.

“I’m not wearing any lipstick,” I said blankly. “I’m not wearing lip gloss, either.”

Mom looked back at me, confused. “So?”

“So,” I said, “so…I can wear lipstick. I don’t have to play tonight. I’m not in the band anymore, so it doesn’t matter. I’m not wearing any lipstick,” I repeated dazedly.

My sister stared at me, then said slowly, “You’re right. You’re not in band anymore. You’re graduating…”

You’re not in band anymore.

The words echoed silently through my head. I’m not in high school anymore, I thought, sitting back numbly. I’m graduating.