Home is where you are.

Today, more than most days, I miss home. Yes, I'm currently staying in the house that I grew up in, sitting in the kitchen that we ate family dinner in every night. This is the house that I cleaned to earn my allowance, with the porch that I shoveled every time it snowed. There are the stairs that I fell down of too many times and the wrinkle in the carpet I always tripped over. There's the marking on the door frame where I measured myself 4 foot 7. Every dent, crack and corner holds precious memories, some that I don't even posses anymore. But as I sit in this old empty house, thinking about all the forgotten memories of when I called this home, I feel big, clumsily out of place. This isn't home.
Home is a half constructed cement house, over crowded and nestled in the midst of a little village called Nakazadee, surrounded by sugar cane fields. It has bars on the windows, but not barbed wire on the top of the fence, 5 buckets in the back courtyard, and an eclectic assortment of clothing dangling from a spider-web of twine. Each room is filled with bunk-beds and suitcases and dirty feet. Much less glamorous than American living, this is the home that my heart longs for.
But home is not really a place, its not about a physical place. Home can't be defined by a structure, by memories, by a group of people. Home is defined by you. Home is where you feel the most alive. It is the place where you become you, a place that allows you to be you. It is the epitome of love and peace. It is a instance of personal discovery, acceptance and growth. It is when you find yourself and lose yourself all at the same time. Home is living, working, growing, loving, sharing, thinking, dreaming, understanding, learning, giving, being and not wanting to be anywhere else.
So today I miss home: me, the muzungus, Nakazadee, Lugazi, Uganda, Africa.

in-between.

I'm in an airplane, some where thousands of miles above the mid-west, and I feel that this is the perfect place to think, because I'm not really anywhere. I feel that a location always sets precedence and biased in clear thinking. When I'm some place, I don't want to be there; I'm longing for somewhere else. Or, I get so wrapped up in the here and now that I naively disregard anything out of sight. But here, in limbo, I can look down at any place I want, I can regard, analyze, over analyze, contemplate where I've been and where I am going. Caught up in the excitement of going home, of seeing my mom and best friend, snuggling up on the couch with my puppy Beefcake, spending time with my big brothers, eating my Gramma's cooking, hugging my family, driving down to Connecticut, reminiscing in my childhood play ground, finally getting to finish my book, not having a care in the world, not having a place to be or a checklist of have-to's but instead, want-to's. I haven't been able to think of anything else, and trust me I haven't. Finals were a chaotic blur of all the material that I realized I should have learned this semester, and then just like that, it was all over. I quickly bounded off on my escape from a crazy semester. Now, as I take my first deep breathe, suspended between one place and another, I'm realizing all the amazing things I have in both places. When I'm living in Utah, I miss the Vermont greenery. I miss the pace of life, trees, people, calm, comfort, familiarity and everything that I've been so excited for. And when I get there, and I guess now, even before, I realize that I'm going to miss everything I'm leaving behind. Crazy, spontaneous, hectic life in Provo, Ut. This semester marked a very important turning point in my life. Completely life altering decisions were made, good ones and bad ones. Heartbreaks, intoxicating butterflies, deep conversations, insurmountable growth, contagious laughter, a real definition of love. As I look back on it all, I might not be able to translate my life into french, calculate the PRE for a data set, tell you that the 64th section of the Doctrine and Covenants teaches us about forgiveness (although it does) or control my fear as I address the room "honorable chair, fellow delegates..." But, I'll leave behind this semester having learned more than I think I ever have. I learned about life, love, trust, relationships, joy, faith, forgiveness, understanding, patience, time, help, diligence, prayer, and acceptance. Me 3 months ago probably wouldn't recognize me today. That's a whole lot of change in not a whole lot of time. All that growing was painful, excruciating. But, I'm better because of it. I'm a little bit stronger, a little bit wiser and a little bit closer to the person I want to become.
Right, so me. here, now. Here being a relative term, now being 11:39 am (although I don't know what time zone that is). I can't wait to land, to run for my bus and finally drop my over-packed luggage and hug my mom. I can't wait to say goodbye one more time and have another semester of self-discovery, healing, growth, and change. Mostly, I'm just anxious to see what happens. Ultimately I don't really know where I am headed, but I'm going there.

Pink Spoon.

I collect little things. Key word being little. I'm not a horder, or a pack rat. I don't need someone to make a reality TV show about me. I just like tokens. momentos. memories. I tack them to my bulletin board: a concert ticket from one of my favorite bands. a name tag. a hospital bracelet. the bib from my first road race. an address scribbled on a piece of paper. a button. a tassel. a note. a key chain. a sticker for the first time I donated blood. a change of major form. a necklace. a lift ticket. a package for silk and steel guitar strings. a luggage tag. Tonight I'm adding a spoon. The spoon is of little significants. In fact, most of these items are. But I keep them because they remind me of something much more important than their physical existence. Each of them carries a message, a lesson learned, a turning point in my life's direction.
So this little spoon, is so much more than a spoon. Aside from the fact that it enabled the consumption of the most healing serving of frozen yogurt I've ever eaten, it is a beautiful representation of today. It's a reminder of what real friends are. They are people that you can tell the truth to, and they'll still love you. Hey, they'll even taken out and buy you a condolence frozen yogurt and sit there and giggle with you as you let it melt down your little pink spoon.
That little pink spoon embodies excitement, excitement for the future. Anticipation of a brand new beginning, a new adventure. It establishes strength, a strength I've been longing to posses for so many years, a strength to show who I really am, to share what is more dear to me, and to become something greater than I once was.
A pink spoon reminds to remember all the little things that make me happy: retelling bizarre dreams at six in the morning, walking in a blanketing snowfall, singing christmas carols in the car, dragging your roommate out of bed, putting your favorite song on repeat, crawling under a comforting quilt, and texting your big brother.
Sometimes, even when we have good intentions, there's something better we could be doing; there's somewhere else we are suppose to be. And so today I learned to trust. Trust myself, trust my friends, trust my Heavenly Father. Because ultimately, He'll lead me right where He needs me. There are a lot of places I would want to be in the world, but no where more important than where He wants me. Thank goodness that He wants me home in Vermont in 48 hours.

Today.

Today I am grateful to be alive.

to be healthy.

to have the pain-free days finally out number the rest.

to be here.

to be happy.

to be me.

to have an extra carton of OJ in the fridge.

to be loved.

to learn.

to accept without understanding.

to be hopeful.

to exercise.

to laugh uncontrollably.

to eat dinner.

to be honest.

to care.

to experience.

to finally get to sleep.

Sunshine go away today, I don't feel much like dancin'

You know, sometimes it's just one of those days. low. and you find yourself at the bottom of everything. totem poll. food chain. surrounded by nothing but rocks. Familiar or not, the scenery just isn't welcoming.

Every once in a while I found myself down there; face-first on pavement, exhausted. Why is falling so tiring? I try to flex my bruised knees and scrabble back to my feet, hoping that no one saw my humiliation.

Sometimes we just fall; trip over our own shoelaces, can't get our foot all the way up on the next step. We slip on an unexpected surface or walk into a pole while we're looking down.

Some days we find ourselves crying on our best friend's couch, eating too much chocolate. and we hide this shamefully. why? because we are afraid of being weak? of being human?

no, I'm not really talking about you- I'm talking about me.

These past few weeks have brought me from the highest to the lowest and then tossed me sometime right in the middle. I'm still falling, not really sure where I'm going to land.

But, for every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction. For every bad day, there is a whole week of good ones. Days where you're just excited about everything, about life, about potential. Moments when your stomach get's all fluttery and twisted and you end up standing there with a ridiculous grin on your face. pure happiness, not for any particular reason, just because. My own smile just brings on another one, and another. Those days, sunshine makes me feel beautiful.
and so, I think sometimes we have to go down, just so we can come back up.

Great Expectations

Things never turn out the way that we expect them to. Fact. Think about it, how many times have you been disappointed in your life? and why were you disappointed? Because you expected things to be a certain way, and they weren't. If we are creatures that are suppose to learn from experience, why can't any of us get this. Most importantly, why can't I?
Every time we find ourselves disappointed, we have some snide commenter who never fails to mock, "well, what did you expect?" Obviously not this, otherwise I wouldn't be so disappointed. Instead, you should begin by asking yourself, why did I expect this. Find the fallacies in your logic, trace your evidence back to the point where you diverged from realistic deduction and ended up in la-la land. We all do it, because if our expectations weren't so unrealistic, things might actually turn out the way that we expected them, at least sometimes. So here's my advice to you; here's my advice to me. Stop just expecting. Stop expecting the impossible, the unrealistic and the improbably. Stop expecting to always have your own way, for the picture to always look the way you painted it in your head. Take those expectations and burn them in the courtyard. You'll save yourself a whole lot of disappointment.
I'm not trying to be pessimistic here. Just replace your expectations with hope, hard work and a sense of peace that no matter what, you are going to be okay. Because you shouldn't expect anything to be a certain way unless you are willing and capable of putting in the effort to make it that way. Be proactive, don't just sit around and expect things to happen.

pensées

They say "talk is cheap", when in reality talk might just cost you everything. If all you have is talk, you lose your potential; you limit yourself to mere words when you could have filled actions.

Find shoes. big ones. step into them and walk around for a little, try to make your feet grow.

Fear should never be a reason for anything.

Sometimes you'll find that you knew the answer all along, but you still had to wait for someone to tell you. There were signs on every corner and you just didn't take the time to read them.

You know yourself best, so take your own advice.

Windows and doors always open and close but they don't coordinate. You might find yourself in a sealed room on occasion. Take that opportunity to enjoy the silence.

Sometimes you trip up the stairs, so don't be afraid of falling, in any direction.

Why? Why not?

Consider yourself lucky.

Be passionate, passionate to the point of insanity, passionate to the point of tears and most importantly, passionate to the point of action.

Let it mean, what it means

The other day I was asked, "do you burn bridges?" which made me stop to think.
I look back at all the bridges I've built in my life and sadly say, no, most of them are not still standing. Did I burn them all? Well yeah, some of them I burned, rejoicing as they crackled and crumbled in front of me.
Some, I regret lighting that match.
Others, I wasn't even the arson responsible for all the smoke in the sky. I watched my beautiful creation go up in flames and my tiny pail of water did nothing to ease the scorching pain.
Some of those bridges were already on fire when I started crossing them. But I bounded across giving no care or second thought to the singed edges.
Some started burning when I was still standing in the middle of them. And when that happens, what do you do? Keep going or turn back?
Then there are the bridges that I look at and there is no smoldering coals or dampened ashes, but they are gone; rotten and decrepit, decaying into an unrecognizable form. This destruction was not perpetuated by a can of gasoline and a match; not even a spark. There was no explosion, no catastrophic event; just the quiet destruction of neglect. When the weeds grew in the ornately carved cracks or each archway and when small insects began to gnaw away at the support beams, nothing was done. And without maintenance, the majestic bridge that took careful years to construct, deteriorated without a second thought.
Those are the bridges that I regret destroying, because those are the bridges that are the hardest to repair. Illogically, burned bridges are sometimes easier to fix.


But, we aren't really talking about bridges, are we?

F is for fabulous.

C is for credit.

I'd never felt so good about an exam as I felt today. Seriously, I knew it all, better yet, I understood it all. I snacked on derivatives, muttered inverse trig functions in my sleep and dreamed about cylindrical tanks being filled with water at 3 meters-cubed per minute. Except in my dreams it was always pudding. chocolate pudding. I was so ready for this beast, I studied my brains out, past the point where I had neurons leaking out of my skull. (okay, not really, that would have made a mess, and those little buggers do me more good when they stay fused between my ears). I felt great all morning, I felt great during my final study session; felt great as I took the long walk all the way to the hee-bee-gee-bee. I confidently marched up the marble staircase, flashed my I.D. card, sharpened all three of my pencils and chose the most isolated desk from all the other frantic test-takers. I still felt great. I started from the very last page of the test, worked my way backwards; regurgitating all of the information that I had shoved down my throat in the last two weeks, and then proudly handed my test back. I even felt great walking down the stairway of doom. I exited that dreadful building and...didn't feel so great anymore.

I sat down on a bench, crossed my legs and let that all-too-familiar wave of incompetency drown me. and yet, I had far to many tasks left to do for the day to give in and indulge myself in the walk of shame.

My International Relations Professor last semester had quotes pasted on the outside of his office door, which I happened to spend a lot of time in front of, with nothing better to do than read the collage of inspiration. One read, "don't let school get in the way of your education". I've taken that to heart. My education is much more than the marks on the top of my tests and papers. Contrary to what that little screen at the testing center may say, I'm not stupid. I've learned more in the past two years that I've spent here than any other one place, even if I don't have the grades to prove it.

Sometimes life is about more than our numerical definitions. There are things in each day that are more important:

Like waking up at 6:30 am, and watching the sunrise from outside the Temple; finding out that my best friend is coming home from his mission 2 weeks from tomorrow, the first of many to Return With Honor; getting e-mails from my Uncle on my smarter-than-me phone; laughing really really hard; finally getting a letter in that fancy new mail box; replacing the ring that I wore on my necklace everyday with something else; taking a nice long run to watch the sunset and finally realizing that that is what is important about today. and that C, that's just for credit.

Feelings.

I know what you're thinking, oh boy another blog post about "feelings" ...how original. (not)

what can I say? I'm one of a kind.

My life feels like a huge jumble of incoherent feelings. There are so many inside and outside me; all churning and bubbling to the surface at all the inappropriate times. Some of them are just not so great and others, well, they are just the best feelings in the world:

Like the feeling of sunshine.

or the inability to feel anything with my left-hand fingertips.

those butterflies fluttering in my stomach

the feeling of that smile I can't get off my face.

damp grass tickling my bare feet

and cool concrete after a scorching day

taking a few moments to get to know a stranger

freshly squeezed Orange Juice gulped right from the carton

a hug that lasts a little bit too long

the celebratory green bar across my computer screen

bass turned up just a little bit more

finding a letter in the mail box

the burn as I reach for my toes after a long run

heavy raindrops splattered across my face

my chalked fingers gripping a beautiful granite hold

2am and talking to my Best Friend

eyes closed, head under the pillow

that's enough for one day.

You do the Math

I've done nothing but math now for 2 weeks straight. No really, that's not a gross exaggeration. I'm pretty sure I could bleed Calculus functions and their limits as h approaches 0, wherever h came from. And therefore, I feel that my life has turned into nothing by mathematical equations. Literally.

mathlab = newhome

7 credit hours + Summer plans = cancelled plans

Last Sunday of the month = Committee meeting + Home Teaching + Visiting Teaching + "talks" - Sunday afternoon nap

jammin' with the roommies = no homework + too much fun

hero + sidekick - school = band

Jonathan Jones + The Velour = 1 perfect night

piecewise function:

me + Xtacos = Taco Tuesday Success if X<4

=1 really long run if X>4

my bank account - $212.48 = harness, climbing shoes, reverso, automatic locking carabiner, chalk bag, and chalk

My nap time + ((roommate) (smartphone)) = Facebook photo album

y= fun^x where x is all real numbers >100. If you know what y is.

(Tuesday + Thursday) - Patrick Jane < Tuesday + Thursday + Mentalist

me + guitar + sunshine = bliss

1 day climbing - harness + webbing = ∞ bruises

My limit as x -> ∞ of mathx = 0

Pants

The only good thing about today is the fact that I am wearing the most comfortable pair of pants I've ever had constricting my leg movements. seriously. And that's saying something, because if there's anything I dislike more than pants, it's wearing them. Anyone that knows me knows that I prefer to dance around without them. Not in any scandalous way, let me assure you. You try wearing nothing but skirts for 3 months strait and then tell me your thoughts about trying to squeeze your chunky legs into two tight tubes better known as pantalones. We all know that when I came back from Africa I couldn't even fit into my pants, and that is when the once beautiful relationship was over and we went our separate ways. So, I continue the blissful freedom of flowing skirts and loose athletic shorts. Even now, I wake up in the morning and groan to my roommate, "do I have to wear pants?" Yes she replies, "pants are always a necessity." I rarely take her advice. But, she loves wearing pants. I can't explain how we ended up the perfect roommates when we have such fundamentally different views.

Well dear roomie, you should be very proud of me for wearing pants today and enjoying it.

It must mean that today was just one awful day, or these are some very amazing pants.

Small

Some days I feel really small. I think about the size of the boulder that almost flattened my entire climbing class; the size of the truck that almost ran me over last night; the size of the flight of stairs I climbed on my way to school; the trees, the buildings. I look up at those rocky mountains towering over me, look up past the sky and envision my relative size compared to all that's around me. I think of how far away home is, or better yet, how far away my heart seems to feel sometimes. I say goodnight to my mother as she tucks herself into bed, and I sit at the kitchen table eating dinner because it's only 7 o'clock here. I think about Carrie, who's chatting about Saturday mornings at work when I haven't even finished Friday yet. Space, time. It's all so massive. And here I am, standing on a little speck of concrete, on my even smaller feet, twiddling my minuscule fingers and wondering what significance such a tiny creature really can have. Heck, and I'm not even as small as an ant, they must feel really small.

And yet when I look at the world around me, instead of feeling limited and irrelevant because of my size, I'm inspired. Empowered, that something as small as me can make a difference in such a ginormous world; that we aren't quantified by our size, but qualified by our capabilities, and more importantly our potential. Being small only gives me that much more room to grow and fill my place in the world.

June 3rd 2010

This is an excerpt from my journal:

June 3rd is Martyrs day in Uganda. It's a huge national holiday. In 1886 the king of Buganda, named Mwanga, felt threatened by the rise of Christianity. He feared that his people would worship Christ more than him, so he decided to eliminate Christianity by killing all the Christians. He forces 25 of his pages (13 Anglican and 12 Roman Catholic) to walk 37 miles to Namugongo. Because they would not deny their faith in Christ, the pages were tortured, wrapped in bamboo and then burned alive. The flames we started at their feet, giving them the opportunity to renounce their beliefs up until their death. There are two shrines in Namugongo (one for the Anglicans and one for the Roman Catholics) to honor these 25 martyrs and the many others who died for their beliefs. Today, June 3rd, is recognized by most of Eastern Africa. People pilgrimage to Namugongo before and on this day to remember the sacrifices that were made. People walk there from all over, including Kenya, Tanzania, Rwanda and Congo. There were so many people there, it was incredible. We visited both shrines and learn all about the events that took place at that very spot, not so many years ago. I spent the day marveling at the courage of these young men. Would I be ready to lay down my life for what I believe? Would I be strong enough to endure the pains of torture and burning alive without denying my faith in Jesus Christ? Would you?

June 3rd, 2010: I was in a completely foreign country, on a continent half-way around the world, living with a group of people that I hadn't even known a month prior to the day. The day wasn't about me. I was in Africa serving the people of Uganda. I was whole heartedly invested in others, and so just for the experience, I forgot about myself a little.

And it was still the best birthday because there were the pieces of it that were special to me:

First, after days of restlessness, I ran. I took the path through the sugarcanes fields out behind the sugar factory with Carrie and Cecilly and I just ran. I'd never felt so alive before in my life. My lungs thrived on the beauty of everything around me. The glory of being alive, of being healthy, of being there! I felt like I could have run forever.

Next, I blissfully savored a Snickers bar that Carrie bought me in Mukono. Something American that happened to be my favorite candy bar. It was perfection.

Finally, just before bed, my mom called me and traditionally sang Happy Birthday to me.

Yeah, best birthday yet.

Pour Your Heart and Soul into the Pavement

Run.

run for power.

run for strength.

run for clarity.

run for freedom.

run for opposition.

run for rejuvenation.

run for purpose.

run for joy.

run for focus.

run for pain.

run for dedication.

run for inspiration.

run for life.

I run for a lot of reasons.

I run because it makes me feel free.

I run so that that I can eat whatever I want.

I run because it empowers me.

I run because I can.

But mostly I run because running is simple. I slide my brace up over my bruised knee, pull on un-matching socks, lace my shoes, plug in my headphones and run. I run to see where the streets and my shoes will take me. I run to see how long and how hard I can push myself. It requires every once of focus and not a single thought. I run when I'm up and when I'm down. And it doesn't matter what I am when I leave, I always return exhausted.

Running is a mind game. But, it forces me to listen to myself. to be honest with myself. I have to come to know myself well, to recognize when to push myself harder and when to take a break. To discern between my body telling me to slow down and my mind telling me to stop.

Running has been my teacher. The beauty of a run is the momentum built by self-motivation. If doesn't matter what has driven you to run, you have to keep running for yourself. Nothing can keep you going unless you want to. You have to want it, work it, push it, own it.completely. and it's yours; the next step, the next block, the next mile, the next route. It's all you. What else in life is like that? everything. and therefore I have everything to learn.

Running is beautiful and hideous. It's elegant and unrefined. It's straightforward and complex.

But all the opposition cancels out: Running lets me release everything, good or bad, and just be.

Migraine

Here's my story, painted within the lines of a typical High School afternoon; these were the secrets I was too afraid to share because I thought no one would understand. But, if other people hadn't shared their stories, I would still think that I am alone.

I forced out a short laugh and pulled my lips back into a convincing smile as I waved goodbye to my friends from across the parking lot. I had already made up an excuse for missing practice and they all thought I was headed off to do something important. I brought my head around and as soon as I was facing my car door, I dropped my act. Once inside I let out a long sigh, and crushed my palm into the side of my head. I took those first few long-awaited seconds to acknowledge the pain and then I switched my grip from my head to my steering wheel. My hands wanted to tremble as I turned my keys in the ignition. The multitude of key chains bumped into my hand, steadied it and I watched the attached lanyard fall to the floor of the car.

Once I had given in, it took every ounce of conscious thought I had to perform these tasks. I took a deep breath in and looked up. Releasing the brake and turning my head, I slowly backed out of my parking spot. I struggled to keep my breathing steady. I wasn’t out of the parking lot yet and I told myself it wasn’t quite time to give in completely. My nostrils searched for the air freshener I had hanging from my rearview mirror. So sensitive to even the slightest distasteful scent, an unpleasant smell would cause my stomach to churn even more. And for some reason my stomach had the ability to send unconsoling throbs through my brain. Or was it the other way around? Was it the sick brainwaves that sent the stirring and brewing of nausea? The midsummer night yankee candle scent was definitely neutral enough to not add to the equation. To be spared from my sports bag, wet cleats or this morning’s lunch made the drive all that much easier.

It was days like this when I was grateful my mom had moved five miles from school. With my hands gripped tight on the steering wheel and my life passing by in slow motion, I pushed the speed-limit to get home faster. I let the hum of the engine be the only sound to penetrate my blissful silence and didn’t turn on the radio. I’m not sure if it was more my want of silence or the inability to release my grip and fumble with the buttons that kept me from turning on music. I kept my stare ahead; every few seconds I told my eyes to blink my vision back into focus from behind my dark sunglasses. The sun was always so bright at three in the afternoon. Of course it was. It was never an overcast day the afternoon I needed it to be

When I reached home I was snapped back into action by the gentle jolt of a complete stop. I pushed my shifter into park and twisted the engine off. I didn’t remember to pull the keys out of the ignition; I was out of the door and slowly climbing the stairs to my porch. I could hear my dog’s nails clicking across the kitchen as he trotted to the other side of the front door. He had obviously heard my car pull up and was eager to greet me. I opened the door, and he back-stepped to make room in our tiny kitchen. He looked up at me with his cliché brown puppy dog eyes and opened his mouth. The familiar greeting was the only thing that afternoon that provoked a real but still strained smile from me, and I reached down to rub his head. The sudden movement made me dizzy, and I fell the rest of the way to the floor. This was the greatest moment of the day. I had made it home. My dog bent his head down and stuck his nose into my side. He wormed his snout under my open hand and nudged it upward; reminding me that it had been on its way to pet him. I feebly tried to reach up to him but I couldn’t find where he was with my eyes shut so tightly. My fingers grazed his leg before hitting the floor again. “I’m so sorry” I tried to whisper.

Accepting the fact that I wasn’t going to move, he too sat down with a thud and then slowly slid his front paws forward. He watched me for a few minutes and then delicately placed his head on his crossed paws without releasing his un-judging stare. I was ready to bask in the gloom of our ill-lit kitchen. I let my face press against the cool smooth linoleum. The stiff cold felt good, the pressure from the solid floor counteracted the pressure coming from inside my skull. I reach one hand up and applied pressure to the other side. It was as if I were trying to squeeze the pain out. I was treating it as something tangible, but I couldn’t quite wrap my fingers around it and get a solid grip. My other arm reached around my stomach and gently wished away the nausea. Maybe its presence would keep my lunch down.

My knees, hips and shoulders were uncomfortable digging into the hard floor but I didn’t move. I laid like that in a daze, as tears started to leak out of the corners of my eyes. The heat stung the side of my face and splashed onto the floor. I pulled my fingers back through my disheveled hair as I caught a sob in my throat. I thought back longingly to the memories I no longer had, memories from over six years ago when this wasn’t my typical afternoon routine. When nothing came to me, I pulled all my thoughts back to the center of the pain. The sharp piercing throbs made every muscle in my body twinge and contract. The center of the pain was easy to pinpoint but the radiation that expanded encompassed my whole head. It seared around and through; it cuts like a blade through the center, dividing my left hemisphere from my right, destroying their communication and the unity of my cognitive mind set. My thoughts become fragmented and lost in the chaos. When it became too much I let the pain overtake me. I drifted off into a hazy semi-consciousness. I don’t know if I was asleep or awake, aware or completely cut off from reality.

The sudden movements of my dog, as he clamors to his feet and slips on the floor, brought me back to my surroundings. He didn’t vocally make any noise. Unable to get past my disconnected body sprawled across the floor, he perked his ears towards the door to announce my mother standing outside the door watching the scene through the window. I still hadn’t moved my head, but I could picture the scene perfectly. I knew the pause was her deep breath before she opened the door. It was the breath that released her frustration and stress from work and the breath that prepared her to walk into the house and deal with her daughter who looked unconscious on the kitchen floor. She already knew what was wrong but it didn’t make it any easier for her. A twang of guilt coursed through my body as I wondered if she ever wished I wouldn’t land in such an inconvenient place. Did she wish she didn’t have to come home to this? “I’m so sorry” I tried to whisper.

I struggled with these debilitating headaches for over 7 years. The neurologist called them "chronic daily headaches" but that title just makes them sound tame. To be honest with you, I don't think they really had a name for them. I've done my research; there is a whole extended family of headaches, each fourth-cousin with a unique origins and different symptoms. I never found any descriptions matching my case. Call it chronic daily headaches or call me a medical mystery, it doesn't matter.

They are a prominent part of my past and still a piece of my life. Every once in a while I feel that aching, then piercing, disorienting nausea that sweeps through my entire consciousness. I am still haunted by the memory of what they used to be. Every muscle in my body tenses when I catch a glimpse of the past and what seemed to be my probable future. It would be lying to say that I'm not scared, of course I'm scared. But, on a greater level I have learned to let go of my fear. I've learned to not let my fear dictate my life. And when the pain comes, I only allow myself to focus on the pain and the end of the pain; I don't let myself get lost in that hopeless thought that the pain might not go away. There is an end to pain.

I share my story as a testimony of hope. Maybe not hope for a cure, but hope for a better life; for the alleviation of suffering, not the elimination of the cause.

Maybe all of our symptoms lead to a conclusion other than a diagnosis. The idea that something needs to change, and maybe that something is us. We need to have a little more faith, a little more patience, a little more caution but a little less fear.

I'm not a blogger.

Today I remembered why I am not a blogger. I don't know what to blog about! I guess my life just isn't exciting enough, I don't have any really great stories to tell... But there are a few things that I have discovered this week:
Every other business in town is advertising that they need help and yet, no one is hiring.
I live 2/3 of a Kesha song away from the gym and that includes waiting at the cross lights. it's blissful.
That dark cloud hovering above my head, it's has been there all week. It only rains when I have to go outside.
I wake up in the morning and instead of feeling like P. Diddy, I just feel tired.
My roommate redecorates the walls everyday. and I have yet to have something fall down.
When I play the guitar, it's not always obvious what I am doing.
Red John makes mistakes. One day, Jane will catch him.
I almost enjoy speaking in public.
Bestfriends come and go. When they leave the impact that they had on your life never changes.
Complete strangers can be inspiring.
Christmas lights make any time of year feel like Christmas.
I should have been a boyscout or a sailor. I like ropes and tying knots. (not in any metaphorical way)
You'll miss what's right in front of you if you look too far ahead.
Mexican food works for any meal of the day. mexicans (:
The testing center has weird hours in the spring and summer.
Sometimes there aren't explanations, things just are.
There are plus size clothing stores. They don't carry size twos. (But how are you suppose to know this until you embarrass yourself by asking...)
A girl can get herself out of any awkward situation by laughing. I'm so glad I'm a girl.
G-mail is brilliant, far surpasses my own intelligence.
A snickers bar may just get you out of a sticky situation.
and blogging is bizarre.

The Roller Coaster of Life

The infamous "they" say that life is like a roller coaster. Life is not like a roller coaster. Life is like one of those teacup rides, the ones that spin you around and around and around until you are so dizzy,you barf. Well, it's really not as unpleasant as it sounds...wait, yes it is. But, there are people who actually enjoy that sort of thing, right? And to be honest, it usually is a lot of fun, up until that moment you are bent over the garbage can. Then, it's just embarrassing because you are puking in public.

This last semester was definitely a whirlwind of life; something that included: too many credit hours to count, a new found passion for rock climbing, an excessive amount of Ben and Jerry's, singing in public, forts on a Saturday night, one beautiful powder day, crowd surfing covered in colored chalk, an amazing season of total domination by our Cougars that play lacrosse, being an extra in a movie, snowstorms in the wrong season, my first road race and run for cancer, the engagement and marriage of my best friend, not enough Muzungu reunions, a small fortune of postage saved by the existence of DHL, meeting Cosmo, hamburgers for breakfast, and spending many long nights in the company of my dear friend, Harold. All part of a crazy ride that ended in a public display of that morning's breakfast.

Like I said, it isn't really a roller coaster... but I enjoy every minute of life spinning in a blur, until the moment when everything comes back up.

Things I've Learned (so you don't have to)

I'm officially done with my second year of college, on to my second off-campus apartment and I'm now a blogger. When did that happen?! I guess you could say a lot has changed in the past year. Mostly me. Everyday I learn something new that makes me more of who I am.
Here are a few things that I've learned in my life:

one ABC gum is not educational, it has already been chewed two you shouldn't put a ring on everything you like three Robin Hood didn't live in Utah, and if you wear his boots, your feet will get wet four there is in fact a monster under the bed, it eats socks five get-to-know-you cards are not a good medium for creativity, unless you want to embarrass yourself six remember to pack granola bars when moving to Africa seven no matter how many quarter you have, you will never have enough to do all of your laundry eight take pictures at every opportunity you get nine BYU guys don't wear boxers, don't have a boxer party, they are incapable of participating ten minivan drivers have a blind spot only for runners eleven doors always open out, especially in public places twelve put your socks on before your pants and don't fall for your best friend.

Bruised Knees, Boyfriends, Hotdogs, and Hipsters: Unexplained Mysteries of Life

First, I have a bruise collection. I thought it was more original than collecting postage stamps and toy trains. I also had no choice is this matter because I have no idea where 95% of them come from. Of the twelve I am currently sporting, two are explainable. The rest are a mystery.

2. Let’s be honest, no one really understands boys. They don’t even understand themselves.

3. The only thing in life you learn about hot dogs is to not question them; mostly because if people did, J-dawgs would certainly go out of business.

4. I’ve developed a new hobby of picking hipsters out of the crowd. I have this fascination with hipsters, it’s such a bizarre culture and bold fashion statement that has gone completely mainstream. I mean, true hipsterdom can’t really just include all the kids running around campus in super skinny jeans, flannel, and fake glasses. Definitely not, what posers. But still, hipster and hipsterish hunting is my unexplained entertainment.

Lesson On Patience

I hate waiting...

waiting for my roommates to get out of the shower

waiting for summer to start, or summer to end

waiting for a prayer to be answered

waiting for the commercial break to be over

waiting for the mail to arrive in the afternoons

waiting for my freshly painted fingernails to dry

waiting for the bus (especially when I've already missed it)

waiting for my grilled cheese sandwich to cook and all that delicious white Vermont Cabot cheese in the center to melt

waiting for this headache to go away

waiting for that cute boy who sits next to me in class everyday to ask for my number

waiting for my TA to finish grading my exam

waiting for the interviewer to call me back with a job offer

waiting for water to boil so I can make a cup of tea

waiting for that terrible song on the radio to be over so I can switch back to my favorite station

waiting for the cleaning check lady come to inspect our apartment

waiting for my next flight in an overcrowded airport

waiting for my lunch to digest so I can go for a run

waiting for a missionary to come home

All this waiting, you'd think I need a lesson on patience or something.

I wait for a lot of things. Believe me, it's harder than it sounds. I mean there's really nothing you can do, except sit there. and wait.