You know how life takes you different places and you end up doing things you never imagined you would be doing?
Take, for example, my current job. I work for Avenia Bridal doing online marketing. Basically, I write and maintain their blog, I run their Facebook page (and Facebook ads), I'm learning how to oversee their website, and I help figure out other online marketing strategies. My writing (for the blog) means I interview past customers (brides) as well as our artistic director, Nancy (I ghost-write her). I also have to keep up on current wedding/bridal gown trends, ideas, and happenings, and I research other blogs/websites/forums to get information. After a month of doing this, what is the verdict?
I love it.
Weird, eh? I'm kind of a tom-boy at heart, and so finding myself writing for a boutique that sells high-end wedding gown couture is pretty funny. But I really enjoy this idea of marketing, and I really love the people I work with. I'm also impressed with the product and the integrity of the owners. It's a great job because it's less than part-time, on my own schedule, and I get to write! I also love socializing, so the networking part (which is starting to happen) is really fun. Plus they pay me to write. How cool is that?!
Anyway, even though it will look like blatant advertising, I just finished a post that I think you guys might like; it was about a girl I've known for nearly 9 years, and her mother and I have had several callings together at church. So fun! The coolest part is how she and her husband came together. Read it here!
Have you ever had a job in your life you loved? Did it surprise you that you loved it so much? Have you ever had a job you hated? Why?
Wednesday, September 30, 2009
Monday, September 28, 2009
Sunday, September 27, 2009
Two (count 'em) Lightening Bolts
Sometimes I don't like spiritual inspiration. Because it means I have to do something about the thing I was praying/thinking/wondering about and in all reality, I'd rather not do anything (which makes no sense because why was I praying/thinking/wondering if I wasn't looking for an answer, hmmm?). Or I'd rather just allow things to take their natural course. (Yes, that could mean desensitized children who mock, ridicule, and trample upon all that is sacred and holy, but if that's the natural course...?)
Just call me lazy. Or tired. Probably both.
So, last night at the Relief Society General Broadcast, I felt a bolt of lightening. No, it wasn't about visiting teaching (although there was some minor bolts about that one), or about the new non-Enrichment (Dude! I just finally stopped calling it Homemaking! Figures.), or about "Minding My Gaps" (although that had to be my favorite talk of the night. I adore that Sister Thompson! And considering Brandon is in London right now, and I know what the "Mind the gap, please. Mind the gap" voices sound like, it was quite a treat) --my lightening bolt had to do with something else.
Okay, wait. It was actually two lightening bolts. Both with ferocity. Is ferocity a word one can use in conjunction with spiritual matters? Good. I thought so, too.
Anyway, the two things:
1. Turn off the TV
and
2. You're making good decisions.
The first was a doozy. Television and movies are a big part of our family because we here take our connection to pop culture quite seriously. Perhaps not in the advertisement part (I hate commercials!), but most definitely in the "we record more shows than we can watch" part. The kids don't watch junk, but they do watch a lot of the non-junk. And #4, the absolute number one Star Wars fan, watches way more than any 2-year-old should. He watches because I work on the computer. Or do laundry. Or wash dishes. And when he says "Watch Stah Wahs Downstous?" I most readily agree. Because it gives me time to do things while his older siblings are at school. So, Obi-Wan and Luke Skywalker teach my son important values like how to swing a light saber and how to shoot guns and fly ships.
Yes, I have guilt. But not too much guilt. I mean, good wins, right?
Still, I know it's out of control. I've known my whole life (adult life?) that too much TV is bad for kids (and adults, yo). But I never realized how bad it had gotten until on Saturday, before the broadcast, the TV was on ALL DAY. All day! And was that good? Did we get things done? Did we go on a picnic or a walk or to the park or make cookies for the neighbors? What about reading or drawing or looking for rolie-polie bugs? Did we hike to a waterfall? Did we clean the playroom? How about writing letters to missionaries or grandparents?
No time for that! We had to watch TV.
Blah.
So, that first lightening bolt was good, even though I didn't want to hear it. I told the kids today that Star Wars was prohibited for at least a week (maybe longer? Maybe?), and TV shows would be limited to evenings and to 30 minutes. Ouch, eh? I guess I could've/should've gone for the whole enchilada and cancelled television for the whole week, but I'm starting out slow. Maybe. It actually might end up being easier to stop it all at once (like a band-aid! Right off!) and then work in some things next week, but...I didn't think about that. Huh.
Anyway, the second lightening bolt came in the form of peace. Validation, if you will. I've been having a tough time as of late --what, you didn't know?!?! --and I've had to put some things in my life on hold. I've been trying to figure out where, what, how I exist, and it's meant a lot of prayer. But, the answers have come (not all of them), and acting on them took a lot of courage. A lot. Feeling peace was fabulous. I need me some peace.
What about you? Learn anything from the RS Meeting? Or if you couldn't go, have you learned anything from anything this weekend?
P.S. Thank you, Rachel, for going with me! It was so good to see you...
Just call me lazy. Or tired. Probably both.
So, last night at the Relief Society General Broadcast, I felt a bolt of lightening. No, it wasn't about visiting teaching (although there was some minor bolts about that one), or about the new non-Enrichment (Dude! I just finally stopped calling it Homemaking! Figures.), or about "Minding My Gaps" (although that had to be my favorite talk of the night. I adore that Sister Thompson! And considering Brandon is in London right now, and I know what the "Mind the gap, please. Mind the gap" voices sound like, it was quite a treat) --my lightening bolt had to do with something else.
Okay, wait. It was actually two lightening bolts. Both with ferocity. Is ferocity a word one can use in conjunction with spiritual matters? Good. I thought so, too.
Anyway, the two things:
1. Turn off the TV
and
2. You're making good decisions.
The first was a doozy. Television and movies are a big part of our family because we here take our connection to pop culture quite seriously. Perhaps not in the advertisement part (I hate commercials!), but most definitely in the "we record more shows than we can watch" part. The kids don't watch junk, but they do watch a lot of the non-junk. And #4, the absolute number one Star Wars fan, watches way more than any 2-year-old should. He watches because I work on the computer. Or do laundry. Or wash dishes. And when he says "Watch Stah Wahs Downstous?" I most readily agree. Because it gives me time to do things while his older siblings are at school. So, Obi-Wan and Luke Skywalker teach my son important values like how to swing a light saber and how to shoot guns and fly ships.
Yes, I have guilt. But not too much guilt. I mean, good wins, right?
Still, I know it's out of control. I've known my whole life (adult life?) that too much TV is bad for kids (and adults, yo). But I never realized how bad it had gotten until on Saturday, before the broadcast, the TV was on ALL DAY. All day! And was that good? Did we get things done? Did we go on a picnic or a walk or to the park or make cookies for the neighbors? What about reading or drawing or looking for rolie-polie bugs? Did we hike to a waterfall? Did we clean the playroom? How about writing letters to missionaries or grandparents?
No time for that! We had to watch TV.
Blah.
So, that first lightening bolt was good, even though I didn't want to hear it. I told the kids today that Star Wars was prohibited for at least a week (maybe longer? Maybe?), and TV shows would be limited to evenings and to 30 minutes. Ouch, eh? I guess I could've/should've gone for the whole enchilada and cancelled television for the whole week, but I'm starting out slow. Maybe. It actually might end up being easier to stop it all at once (like a band-aid! Right off!) and then work in some things next week, but...I didn't think about that. Huh.
Anyway, the second lightening bolt came in the form of peace. Validation, if you will. I've been having a tough time as of late --what, you didn't know?!?! --and I've had to put some things in my life on hold. I've been trying to figure out where, what, how I exist, and it's meant a lot of prayer. But, the answers have come (not all of them), and acting on them took a lot of courage. A lot. Feeling peace was fabulous. I need me some peace.
What about you? Learn anything from the RS Meeting? Or if you couldn't go, have you learned anything from anything this weekend?
P.S. Thank you, Rachel, for going with me! It was so good to see you...
Friday, September 25, 2009
And You?
Things I've learned this week:
1. Treating the Sabbath Day as a day of rest truly works. It's invaluable, really.
2. French pastries are divine.
3. Self-glorification is not a reason to keep doing something. Especially if it's making you feel guilty for any reason.
-----------------------------
Photography I took Labor Day weekend in my parent's front yard:
------------------------------
Favorite quote of the week (from this article):
Even God rested on the 7th day. And Christ, our exemplar frequently took time to
rest and to pray. Muller said, “When we think of Jesus, we usually think of
him teaching, healing, or being accosted by hordes of sick or possessed who
sought his touch. But Jesus would just as often send people away, or disappear
without warning, dismissing those in need with neither excuse nor explanation,
and retire to a place of rest.”
-------------------------------
Videos that made me laugh so hard I cried (but read mad's warning first. One is kind of PG-13ish, but if you're like me, you will find it hilarious. Maybe. Unless your sense of humor is different from mine. Which it could be. Still, I don't care, because I like 'em! And thank you, madhousewife! I still laugh when I watch it...).
-------------------------------
Reasons to smile:
1. I'm meeting with a psychiatrist next week.
2. My sister should be having her baby any day now!
3. Autumn is upon us. Oh, how I adore Autumn...
And you?
1. Treating the Sabbath Day as a day of rest truly works. It's invaluable, really.
2. French pastries are divine.
3. Self-glorification is not a reason to keep doing something. Especially if it's making you feel guilty for any reason.
-----------------------------
Photography I took Labor Day weekend in my parent's front yard:
------------------------------
Favorite quote of the week (from this article):
Even God rested on the 7th day. And Christ, our exemplar frequently took time to
rest and to pray. Muller said, “When we think of Jesus, we usually think of
him teaching, healing, or being accosted by hordes of sick or possessed who
sought his touch. But Jesus would just as often send people away, or disappear
without warning, dismissing those in need with neither excuse nor explanation,
and retire to a place of rest.”
-------------------------------
Videos that made me laugh so hard I cried (but read mad's warning first. One is kind of PG-13ish, but if you're like me, you will find it hilarious. Maybe. Unless your sense of humor is different from mine. Which it could be. Still, I don't care, because I like 'em! And thank you, madhousewife! I still laugh when I watch it...).
-------------------------------
Reasons to smile:
1. I'm meeting with a psychiatrist next week.
2. My sister should be having her baby any day now!
3. Autumn is upon us. Oh, how I adore Autumn...
And you?
Monday, September 21, 2009
Talk, Talk, Talk...
Blah.
Have you noticed how the same things get talked about in your life over and over and over? And for the most part, this is just peach-keen, dandy, and fabuloso. We talk about our kids, our husbands, our jobs, our parents, our friends, pretty much all of our relationships, and then we move onto other things like shoes, movies, books, blogs, etc.
And when I say "we" I'm talking about most people in general.
So, we talk about these things. We go over these things, and although they change in scenario (relationships change, parental issues change, shoe styles change), they are kind of the same thing. Personally, I think it's kind of awesome. It's nice to have the same things to talk about, and when you can find a friend to talk about these same issues with over and over and over, it's even better. But sometimes, I feel sorry for my friends, because my topics are just constantly repeating themselves. And these aren't topics like I've mentioned above (because I can never get enough talking about blogs, TV shows, movies, books, although talking about shoes gets kind of old after a while, so it's probably a good thing I've never lingered on the topic of shoes for very long), these are the topics that include the yucky things about my life that I can't seem to solve.
Like Depression.
And Priorities.
These two things seem intertwined in my life. I'm not sure if it's because my inability to prioritize/de-stress is causing the Depression, or if it's a result of the Depression, but either way, I talk about both of them a lot. A lot-lot. It's one of those ad-nauseum things, like when people try to blog about politics or gay marriage or male circumcision and everyone "suddenly has something to say!" except in my case, the only person truly talking is me. Because these are my things --this is my deal I have to get through. I have to figure it out. Not necessarily alone, thank goodness, and as you know, dear reader, there are plenty of people who have something to say about Depression or Priorities or both --which is not necessarily a bad thing. But I think after a while, it becomes a not-so-good thing because they would rather not talk about those things anymore. It's kind of like when bad things happen, people react in different ways. Some console, some build-up, some serve, some feed, some run-away, some wait-until-it-blows-over, and others deny, deny, deny. We all react in certain ways to bad situations and to our friends' bad situations, as well we should. We're all different in how we react to anything in general, so why would we react differently to somebody's Depression/Inability To Prioritize?
I'm just sayin'.
But here's the problem with talking about something ad nauseum --it can turn into a personality trait. "She's the Depressed one, you know, and she can't talk about anything else." Of course, this becomes labeling, and I already wrote about that here. That doesn't mean labeling doesn't happen --just that it shouldn't. But regardless of whether it should or should not, my point is that sometimes it can be annoying. I find myself annoying at times. [And let me be clear: I'm talking about MYSELF. I do not find you, dear reader annoying, and if I did, I would tell you. Or at least avoid talking to you. But since I don't avoid anyone that I am aware of (on purpose), then we can safely assume that I am, once again, talking purely about myself, eh? My blog, my life, my selfish posts.] I can sense that I am annoying people, although sometimes I sense that I am actually, in fact, not. Annoying people, that is.
Which is good.
Where was I again? Oh, right. My two topics. So, here I am, facing my two topics which is the story of my life since....ummm...I had children? That doesn't seem very long, but 8 years (holy cow, she's 8 1/2!) can be a long time in a person's life, especially if they've been dealing with something for those 8 years, even if they didn't realize during those full 8 years that they were dealing with something. But so it goes! And my Depression and my Priority Problems are constantly plaguing me.
Do I try to solve it? Oh, sure! That's why I talk about them all the time. In fact, I have two posts in the draft folder talking about Re-Prioritizing my life (again), and they are all introspective and lovely and poetic and quite frankly, I hate them. Yeah, I could get rid of everything in my life at this moment that causes even the slightest bit of stress --and trust you me, I already have gotten rid of some big things --but what would be the point? I'm not only a Depressed, Constantly Prioritizing woman, but I'm also a Go-Getter. A Responsibility-Seeker. A Maybe-This-Won't-Help-Me-In-The-Way-I-Think-It-Will-But-It-Looks-Like-Fun-So-I'll-Do-It! I tend to fill my time up as soon as it's empty. I've tried to fill up empty space with nothing and it doesn't work. So, this is why the Prioritizing comes in; I can't give it all up, but I can re-organize it to work. Maybe I should call it "Organizing" instead of "Prioritizing"? Oh, who am I kidding. It's still a priority thing. I mean, what comes first? and then third? Where do I fit it all in?
I seriously ponder this at times. I'm currently 18 pounds overweight [and yes, I know, I just had my fifth kid and so I'm supposed to be all satisfied by being 100 pounds overweight, and how could I possibly think about weight issues when I'm nursing a baby?! Don't I know that I'm being purely self-absorbed and please won't somebody think of the children??!] and so I think: "Hmmm...I don't want to gain another 20-30 like I did last time; I should start weight watchers again and start exercising every day." But when am I supposed to do this? I used to run 4 miles a day, but how can I do that now? I'm nursing on demand, and so early-morning runs are out; plus Brandon travels a lot. I could just jump on the elliptical machine (and I have), but to find a consistent time has eluded me. Of course, I also know I could just do Pilates, but my 2 years old won't let me be on the floor without jumping on my dough-bag, and the kid won't nap. Granted, I guess I could do it after the kiddos go to bed, but by then, I've hit zombie-status, and the idea of exercising makes me want to hit vomit-status.
See the conundrum?
And this is just the beginning. Because what I realize is that I need to figure out what is important and what is not. Is exercise important? Is it? If it is, then why don't I make it work? Hmmm? What is my problem? But then let's add in the fact that I need a therapist (and psychiatrist) desperately --but not just any therapist; I need one that insurance covers. This is a priority. Of course, it would help if I had time to sit down and actually find one, too. Then the thought of finding a babysitter (Brandon's gone a lot, remember?) in order to go to one, and my brain starts to fall apart. But that doesn't change the fact that I truly need therapy. I do. I want to go, and I have no doubt I'll figure it out and make it work.
Now then let's add to it the responsibilities I've heaped upon myself (Responsibility-Seeker, remember?). Sure, I've whittled my piano students down to 7, but what did I add? Bridal blogging, missionary editing, and a new baby. Add the two callings (another topic I seem to keep bringing up), and you have yourself a woman with stress. However, what do I look like without stress and responsibility? Depressed. Ooh, ooh! But what do I look like with the stress and responsibility? Depressed.
Thus the need for meds and the therapist.
Except I don't have time to find that therapist...
Get the picture? It's a cycle of abuse --abuse of self. I need to change it. I need to make it all work. I have to figure out. This is why I talk about it all the time. To the point of alienating people, including myself. Can you alienate yourself? Probably. It won't stop me from talking about this until I figure it out, though, so if annoys you, dear reader, I apologize. But not really, because I'm labeling myself this time: I'm the Talker.
Or maybe we could just move! That could solve it all...
Have you noticed how the same things get talked about in your life over and over and over? And for the most part, this is just peach-keen, dandy, and fabuloso. We talk about our kids, our husbands, our jobs, our parents, our friends, pretty much all of our relationships, and then we move onto other things like shoes, movies, books, blogs, etc.
And when I say "we" I'm talking about most people in general.
So, we talk about these things. We go over these things, and although they change in scenario (relationships change, parental issues change, shoe styles change), they are kind of the same thing. Personally, I think it's kind of awesome. It's nice to have the same things to talk about, and when you can find a friend to talk about these same issues with over and over and over, it's even better. But sometimes, I feel sorry for my friends, because my topics are just constantly repeating themselves. And these aren't topics like I've mentioned above (because I can never get enough talking about blogs, TV shows, movies, books, although talking about shoes gets kind of old after a while, so it's probably a good thing I've never lingered on the topic of shoes for very long), these are the topics that include the yucky things about my life that I can't seem to solve.
Like Depression.
And Priorities.
These two things seem intertwined in my life. I'm not sure if it's because my inability to prioritize/de-stress is causing the Depression, or if it's a result of the Depression, but either way, I talk about both of them a lot. A lot-lot. It's one of those ad-nauseum things, like when people try to blog about politics or gay marriage or male circumcision and everyone "suddenly has something to say!" except in my case, the only person truly talking is me. Because these are my things --this is my deal I have to get through. I have to figure it out. Not necessarily alone, thank goodness, and as you know, dear reader, there are plenty of people who have something to say about Depression or Priorities or both --which is not necessarily a bad thing. But I think after a while, it becomes a not-so-good thing because they would rather not talk about those things anymore. It's kind of like when bad things happen, people react in different ways. Some console, some build-up, some serve, some feed, some run-away, some wait-until-it-blows-over, and others deny, deny, deny. We all react in certain ways to bad situations and to our friends' bad situations, as well we should. We're all different in how we react to anything in general, so why would we react differently to somebody's Depression/Inability To Prioritize?
I'm just sayin'.
But here's the problem with talking about something ad nauseum --it can turn into a personality trait. "She's the Depressed one, you know, and she can't talk about anything else." Of course, this becomes labeling, and I already wrote about that here. That doesn't mean labeling doesn't happen --just that it shouldn't. But regardless of whether it should or should not, my point is that sometimes it can be annoying. I find myself annoying at times. [And let me be clear: I'm talking about MYSELF. I do not find you, dear reader annoying, and if I did, I would tell you. Or at least avoid talking to you. But since I don't avoid anyone that I am aware of (on purpose), then we can safely assume that I am, once again, talking purely about myself, eh? My blog, my life, my selfish posts.] I can sense that I am annoying people, although sometimes I sense that I am actually, in fact, not. Annoying people, that is.
Which is good.
Where was I again? Oh, right. My two topics. So, here I am, facing my two topics which is the story of my life since....ummm...I had children? That doesn't seem very long, but 8 years (holy cow, she's 8 1/2!) can be a long time in a person's life, especially if they've been dealing with something for those 8 years, even if they didn't realize during those full 8 years that they were dealing with something. But so it goes! And my Depression and my Priority Problems are constantly plaguing me.
Do I try to solve it? Oh, sure! That's why I talk about them all the time. In fact, I have two posts in the draft folder talking about Re-Prioritizing my life (again), and they are all introspective and lovely and poetic and quite frankly, I hate them. Yeah, I could get rid of everything in my life at this moment that causes even the slightest bit of stress --and trust you me, I already have gotten rid of some big things --but what would be the point? I'm not only a Depressed, Constantly Prioritizing woman, but I'm also a Go-Getter. A Responsibility-Seeker. A Maybe-This-Won't-Help-Me-In-The-Way-I-Think-It-Will-But-It-Looks-Like-Fun-So-I'll-Do-It! I tend to fill my time up as soon as it's empty. I've tried to fill up empty space with nothing and it doesn't work. So, this is why the Prioritizing comes in; I can't give it all up, but I can re-organize it to work. Maybe I should call it "Organizing" instead of "Prioritizing"? Oh, who am I kidding. It's still a priority thing. I mean, what comes first? and then third? Where do I fit it all in?
I seriously ponder this at times. I'm currently 18 pounds overweight [and yes, I know, I just had my fifth kid and so I'm supposed to be all satisfied by being 100 pounds overweight, and how could I possibly think about weight issues when I'm nursing a baby?! Don't I know that I'm being purely self-absorbed and please won't somebody think of the children??!] and so I think: "Hmmm...I don't want to gain another 20-30 like I did last time; I should start weight watchers again and start exercising every day." But when am I supposed to do this? I used to run 4 miles a day, but how can I do that now? I'm nursing on demand, and so early-morning runs are out; plus Brandon travels a lot. I could just jump on the elliptical machine (and I have), but to find a consistent time has eluded me. Of course, I also know I could just do Pilates, but my 2 years old won't let me be on the floor without jumping on my dough-bag, and the kid won't nap. Granted, I guess I could do it after the kiddos go to bed, but by then, I've hit zombie-status, and the idea of exercising makes me want to hit vomit-status.
See the conundrum?
And this is just the beginning. Because what I realize is that I need to figure out what is important and what is not. Is exercise important? Is it? If it is, then why don't I make it work? Hmmm? What is my problem? But then let's add in the fact that I need a therapist (and psychiatrist) desperately --but not just any therapist; I need one that insurance covers. This is a priority. Of course, it would help if I had time to sit down and actually find one, too. Then the thought of finding a babysitter (Brandon's gone a lot, remember?) in order to go to one, and my brain starts to fall apart. But that doesn't change the fact that I truly need therapy. I do. I want to go, and I have no doubt I'll figure it out and make it work.
Now then let's add to it the responsibilities I've heaped upon myself (Responsibility-Seeker, remember?). Sure, I've whittled my piano students down to 7, but what did I add? Bridal blogging, missionary editing, and a new baby. Add the two callings (another topic I seem to keep bringing up), and you have yourself a woman with stress. However, what do I look like without stress and responsibility? Depressed. Ooh, ooh! But what do I look like with the stress and responsibility? Depressed.
Thus the need for meds and the therapist.
Except I don't have time to find that therapist...
Get the picture? It's a cycle of abuse --abuse of self. I need to change it. I need to make it all work. I have to figure out. This is why I talk about it all the time. To the point of alienating people, including myself. Can you alienate yourself? Probably. It won't stop me from talking about this until I figure it out, though, so if annoys you, dear reader, I apologize. But not really, because I'm labeling myself this time: I'm the Talker.
Or maybe we could just move! That could solve it all...
Friday, September 18, 2009
Randomness for the Weekend
I'm becoming disillusioned with our government (not new, eh?). I was more than happy to give Obama a chance. And then another, and then another. Sure, it's not even been a year, but by golly! You'd think things would be on the upswing already. It's frustrating to see him talk about unity --but only if we change everything to match his own opinions.
Umm...wha?
Now, I'm just happy that the conservatives have finally figured out how to rally together themselves a protest and an undercover sting. [*Warning: That last link shows a Jon Stewart video that is PG-13, but it was quite educational. And shocking. And hilarious. Jon Stewart at his best!] It's about time, you silent majority!
Please let me be clear, though: I do not believe in trash-talking the President of the United States with vulgarity or personal attacks. I completely respect the office. But just as people were freaking out over good ol' George over the last decade, I am starting to freak out over Obama. And I believe it is my right to do so, as well as the protesters. Sure, some people can take things too far, but I find it ludicrous that many liberal/left-wing citizens are allowed to scream at the top of their lungs and be listened to, while conservatives are "judgemental, religious fanatics" who are not allowed the same privilege.
Nancy Pelosi, anyone?
Rant over.
----------
BYU Football rocks. I love the game, the team, the tailgating, the cheering, the excitement. Home games start tomorrow, and it's Date Night for us, baby!
Go Cougars!
---------
Brandon has to be in London for 10 days pretty soon. Then next month he'll be in Germany for another 10 days. Plus, his school classes are tacked onto the end of both trips (and the beginning of one), making the London trip actually 14 days, and the Germany one 17 days.
Yeah, it's a lot of travel. Yeah, it leaves me alone with the kids for a long time. Sure, it's not always easy. But here's what I'm thinking:
1. All those air miles. Vacation for two after graduation? Heck, yes!
2. Cool experiences for Brandon.
3. The toilet seat will stay down?
Yeah, so I'm stretching here, but still --I'm not bitter. I knew what his job would be like when he took it (I think) and we knew doing school would be burdensome for a couple of years. I could get mad, or rant, or rave --but honestly? That's too exhausting. I'd rather be supportive and be positive. We gotta do what we gotta do, you know?
-----------
I love my book club. Love them! We reviewed the book The God of Small Things last night, and I was so impressed with the group's ability to have such open minds. I've been the youngest member of the club (that has been meeting since the mid-1980's) for a while now, and I am still amazed at these strong, intelligent women I associate with. They are so diverse, but there's not a judgemental soul among them.
Love it!
-----------
I'm taking Zoloft.
Is it working? Not sure, yet --it's only been 5 days! But I was getting pretty bad there. Now I just need to get myself a therapist that insurance will pay for.
Wish me luck!
Umm...wha?
Now, I'm just happy that the conservatives have finally figured out how to rally together themselves a protest and an undercover sting. [*Warning: That last link shows a Jon Stewart video that is PG-13, but it was quite educational. And shocking. And hilarious. Jon Stewart at his best!] It's about time, you silent majority!
Please let me be clear, though: I do not believe in trash-talking the President of the United States with vulgarity or personal attacks. I completely respect the office. But just as people were freaking out over good ol' George over the last decade, I am starting to freak out over Obama. And I believe it is my right to do so, as well as the protesters. Sure, some people can take things too far, but I find it ludicrous that many liberal/left-wing citizens are allowed to scream at the top of their lungs and be listened to, while conservatives are "judgemental, religious fanatics" who are not allowed the same privilege.
Nancy Pelosi, anyone?
Rant over.
----------
BYU Football rocks. I love the game, the team, the tailgating, the cheering, the excitement. Home games start tomorrow, and it's Date Night for us, baby!
Go Cougars!
---------
Brandon has to be in London for 10 days pretty soon. Then next month he'll be in Germany for another 10 days. Plus, his school classes are tacked onto the end of both trips (and the beginning of one), making the London trip actually 14 days, and the Germany one 17 days.
Yeah, it's a lot of travel. Yeah, it leaves me alone with the kids for a long time. Sure, it's not always easy. But here's what I'm thinking:
1. All those air miles. Vacation for two after graduation? Heck, yes!
2. Cool experiences for Brandon.
3. The toilet seat will stay down?
Yeah, so I'm stretching here, but still --I'm not bitter. I knew what his job would be like when he took it (I think) and we knew doing school would be burdensome for a couple of years. I could get mad, or rant, or rave --but honestly? That's too exhausting. I'd rather be supportive and be positive. We gotta do what we gotta do, you know?
-----------
I love my book club. Love them! We reviewed the book The God of Small Things last night, and I was so impressed with the group's ability to have such open minds. I've been the youngest member of the club (that has been meeting since the mid-1980's) for a while now, and I am still amazed at these strong, intelligent women I associate with. They are so diverse, but there's not a judgemental soul among them.
Love it!
-----------
I'm taking Zoloft.
Is it working? Not sure, yet --it's only been 5 days! But I was getting pretty bad there. Now I just need to get myself a therapist that insurance will pay for.
Wish me luck!
Wednesday, September 16, 2009
August and September Pictures
Results from the Elementary School Carnival:
#5's Baby Blessing on August 30th:
#3 started Kindergarten! Isn't he handsome?
We went to Idaho to attend the EISF parade and visit with family while Brandon was at the BYU game in Texas:
On Labor Day, we hiked to a grotto up Payson Canyon, and then Brandon took the oldest 3 kids and hiked the Y:
View from the Y:
Since the Wharton West Coast EMBA students spend all of their time in San Francisco, they don't get to see much of the UPenn campus in Philidelphia, PA. Luckily, they get to spend one weekend of classes on the UPenn campus --and it was last weekend. Brandon had a great time --I'm just reeling over the beauty of these pictures! I want to visit now, too...
Tuesday, September 15, 2009
Self-Censorship
Here are the problems with having a blog:
1. If it's public, you could, at the very best, alienate people who read it (but have never told you, so you don't know they're actually reading until they tell you in person, and then you quickly go over your entire blog in your head --almost 4 year's worth --to see if you somehow offended them and are very suddenly relieved when they say they actually enjoy what you write), and at the very worst, welcome psychotic people to exploit your photos and words, as well as give fodder for the untamed conversation, which tends to end in contentious discourse.
2. If it's private, nobody can read it, unless they have been invited, although being private prohibits the blog-obsessed from reading your blog on Google reader, which, in most cases, becomes the life-line for the blog-obsessed; in order to read blogs, some people must do so through an electrical/wireless(?) interaction, because time is so limited. Also, the chances of becoming friends with new people via a blog introduction cannot happen if your blog is private because how can one find your blog if nobody but the people you already know have access to said blog? Therefore, there are no readers. Or very few; which is fine if that is the reason for the blog.
3. Using a blog as a journal of sorts is fabulous when one blog is private. But why have a private blog to journal when you can just type it out in a word document? Having a public blog proves that the journal is for others to read. The problems arrive, however, when you type on a private blog, and wish people were reading it, or when you type on a public blog and wish people weren't. The conundrum is found in the writer's psyche, of course --there is no reason why anyone MUST write privately or publicly --you just want to. You want to share with the world; you don't want to share with the world. You do want to write private thoughts; you don't want to write private thoughts. And this brings me to...
4. Self-censorship. Self-censorship is a must when communicating with any person; you cannot begin to write without knowing who your readers are. A novelist, I understand, does not necessarily have to worry about this self-censorship (of course, and unless, this is a sequel or a novel with expected proportions from the intended audience, as well as writing for a very specific and intended audience...) in the way a blogger does. This is because a blogger is publishing a document of --usually-- very little edited content --this content does, also, and most usually, contain personal feelings of some kind and the personal relationship of the writer (blogger) to the written word (post) is usually quite pointed. When you write (you, the blogger), you are putting your heart on your proverbial PC (or Mac), and are putting it out there for others to read it --and to read it immediately. The writer knows their document will be published without effort; the reader knows they can read immediately without waiting for sequels or release dates. The purpose is this immediate gratification on that of the writer ("look, I'm writing!" or "Look! I'm keeping a record of my people!") and that of the reader ("Loved this post!" and "Hated this post!"). This instant relationship is attained only because two people (or four, or twenty) decided that communicating instantly was better, easier, and nicer than writing that book. [Or perhaps --in most cases than not --the writer and reader both wish they could write a book, or haven't finished one, or...maybe not. After all, anyone can write a blog --as well they should! Blogging isn't just about perfecting writing or reading or fostering relationships --blogging can also induce pride, envy, compassion, tears, laughter, or disgust. Everyone experiences this; blogging or not.]
However! Writing books aside, putting every thought out there for everyone to read is simply an impossibility. As stated in the first point, at best, you will alienate friends and family who you believed would understand. At worst, it will induce contention that is either not wanted, nor solicited. Another awful, awful result of blogging about true feelings is the immediate assumption on the part of the reader that what they are reading is a veil covering some distant truth the writer is simply trying to avoid --by hiding under clever words.
Ha! Like this post I am writing; no doubt a reader will assume I'm offended by a particular person, and yet I am not. I'm merely being observant of my own situation in which I cannot truly, truly, truly write the feelings in my heart and head without self-censorship. I cannot begin to dictate my deepest feelings upon this page because I am very aware of the diverse audience I have reading it. I do not know who will be reading at any one time, or who has stopped reading altogether. As stated before, this is the curse of the public blog --the one which you advertise in public forums (Facebook) and talk about with friends and leave on Christmas letters. Is the old boyfriend reading? Is my aunt? Perhaps the friend from high school who I never talk to anymore --does she read? What of college friends? Ward members? Neighbors? The paranoia, if you let it, can run amok; this is why I try to gently ignore it.
Some will say the paranoia is insanity, something brought about because of a desire to please everyone. This is partly true. But I do believe that my paranoia is also alive because I have a solid sense of propriety. I do not care to make people uncomfortable when I can prevent it, and I truly mourn the loss of friendship over words that could have been exchanged in a better manner. This is the problem with compassion, or at least the self-depreciating side --to care more about how others will understand, perceive, or react to the way something is written, than to care what the subject is that is being written about. The curse, as it is, is something I have embraced. In all reality, it can be seen as a deformity of sorts, but I see it as the chance to exercise some respect and care on the side of my reader. In my own defense, I do not hide the truth --only details. I do not ignore my life --I only refrain from writing about those things that could incriminate people I love, including myself. This is self-censorship, is it not? And when writing for a public audience, this censorship is a must in my mind.
What about you? Why do you write your blog? Is your intended audience privy to your deepest thoughts, or do you also censor yourself? And can you tell I'm reading Jane Austen again? Persuasion this time. Holy cow, you'd think I talked like this all the time!
P.S. My next post will have lots and lots of pictures!
1. If it's public, you could, at the very best, alienate people who read it (but have never told you, so you don't know they're actually reading until they tell you in person, and then you quickly go over your entire blog in your head --almost 4 year's worth --to see if you somehow offended them and are very suddenly relieved when they say they actually enjoy what you write), and at the very worst, welcome psychotic people to exploit your photos and words, as well as give fodder for the untamed conversation, which tends to end in contentious discourse.
2. If it's private, nobody can read it, unless they have been invited, although being private prohibits the blog-obsessed from reading your blog on Google reader, which, in most cases, becomes the life-line for the blog-obsessed; in order to read blogs, some people must do so through an electrical/wireless(?) interaction, because time is so limited. Also, the chances of becoming friends with new people via a blog introduction cannot happen if your blog is private because how can one find your blog if nobody but the people you already know have access to said blog? Therefore, there are no readers. Or very few; which is fine if that is the reason for the blog.
3. Using a blog as a journal of sorts is fabulous when one blog is private. But why have a private blog to journal when you can just type it out in a word document? Having a public blog proves that the journal is for others to read. The problems arrive, however, when you type on a private blog, and wish people were reading it, or when you type on a public blog and wish people weren't. The conundrum is found in the writer's psyche, of course --there is no reason why anyone MUST write privately or publicly --you just want to. You want to share with the world; you don't want to share with the world. You do want to write private thoughts; you don't want to write private thoughts. And this brings me to...
4. Self-censorship. Self-censorship is a must when communicating with any person; you cannot begin to write without knowing who your readers are. A novelist, I understand, does not necessarily have to worry about this self-censorship (of course, and unless, this is a sequel or a novel with expected proportions from the intended audience, as well as writing for a very specific and intended audience...) in the way a blogger does. This is because a blogger is publishing a document of --usually-- very little edited content --this content does, also, and most usually, contain personal feelings of some kind and the personal relationship of the writer (blogger) to the written word (post) is usually quite pointed. When you write (you, the blogger), you are putting your heart on your proverbial PC (or Mac), and are putting it out there for others to read it --and to read it immediately. The writer knows their document will be published without effort; the reader knows they can read immediately without waiting for sequels or release dates. The purpose is this immediate gratification on that of the writer ("look, I'm writing!" or "Look! I'm keeping a record of my people!") and that of the reader ("Loved this post!" and "Hated this post!"). This instant relationship is attained only because two people (or four, or twenty) decided that communicating instantly was better, easier, and nicer than writing that book. [Or perhaps --in most cases than not --the writer and reader both wish they could write a book, or haven't finished one, or...maybe not. After all, anyone can write a blog --as well they should! Blogging isn't just about perfecting writing or reading or fostering relationships --blogging can also induce pride, envy, compassion, tears, laughter, or disgust. Everyone experiences this; blogging or not.]
However! Writing books aside, putting every thought out there for everyone to read is simply an impossibility. As stated in the first point, at best, you will alienate friends and family who you believed would understand. At worst, it will induce contention that is either not wanted, nor solicited. Another awful, awful result of blogging about true feelings is the immediate assumption on the part of the reader that what they are reading is a veil covering some distant truth the writer is simply trying to avoid --by hiding under clever words.
Ha! Like this post I am writing; no doubt a reader will assume I'm offended by a particular person, and yet I am not. I'm merely being observant of my own situation in which I cannot truly, truly, truly write the feelings in my heart and head without self-censorship. I cannot begin to dictate my deepest feelings upon this page because I am very aware of the diverse audience I have reading it. I do not know who will be reading at any one time, or who has stopped reading altogether. As stated before, this is the curse of the public blog --the one which you advertise in public forums (Facebook) and talk about with friends and leave on Christmas letters. Is the old boyfriend reading? Is my aunt? Perhaps the friend from high school who I never talk to anymore --does she read? What of college friends? Ward members? Neighbors? The paranoia, if you let it, can run amok; this is why I try to gently ignore it.
Some will say the paranoia is insanity, something brought about because of a desire to please everyone. This is partly true. But I do believe that my paranoia is also alive because I have a solid sense of propriety. I do not care to make people uncomfortable when I can prevent it, and I truly mourn the loss of friendship over words that could have been exchanged in a better manner. This is the problem with compassion, or at least the self-depreciating side --to care more about how others will understand, perceive, or react to the way something is written, than to care what the subject is that is being written about. The curse, as it is, is something I have embraced. In all reality, it can be seen as a deformity of sorts, but I see it as the chance to exercise some respect and care on the side of my reader. In my own defense, I do not hide the truth --only details. I do not ignore my life --I only refrain from writing about those things that could incriminate people I love, including myself. This is self-censorship, is it not? And when writing for a public audience, this censorship is a must in my mind.
What about you? Why do you write your blog? Is your intended audience privy to your deepest thoughts, or do you also censor yourself? And can you tell I'm reading Jane Austen again? Persuasion this time. Holy cow, you'd think I talked like this all the time!
P.S. My next post will have lots and lots of pictures!
Friday, September 11, 2009
September 11th
I wrote this last week for the bi-weekly neighborhood newsletter I edit (I live in a very Mormon neighborhood, just FYI):
Eight years ago, my husband and I -- along with our 6-month old daughter -- vacationed on Lake Powell. We enjoyed three days of sand, sun, water, and isolation with friends and co-workers. We hardly noticed the lack of Internet, television, and cell phone coverage; it was easy to get lost in nature.
The day we left Lake Powell was September 12, 2001. We arrived at the marina to a buzz of concern and fear, and we couldn’t figure out why. Someone told us about the World Trade Center...the terrorists...the Pentagon. At first we scoffed. What? Planes into buildings on purpose? But as we soon found out, it was real.
Very, very real.
The trip home was frantic. We stopped at every gas station along the way to watch the news. We nervously awaited our emergence from Spanish Fork canyon so we could finally call family on our cell phone. Our aunt and uncle lived in Manhattan --luckily, they were fine. Physically, anyway.
Over the next few days, we were glued to the TV. I remember crying over the death, the destruction, and even the heroism. It was a tough time; the whole country felt it.
We all felt it.
And now, here we are --here I am -- eight years later. My husband and I have continued our lives, as most of the world has. We’ve had more children, moved away from and back to Grandview Hill, and we keep going. My brother has served one tour in Iraq, our aunt and uncle have moved from NYC, and time keeps going...and going...and going.
But we don’t ever forget. I don’t think any of us could forget. As with the attack of Pearl Harbor, 9/11 has reminded us that we are not completely impenetrable, and bad things can happen to good people. However, what I love the most about my memories of 9/11 is what happened in the wake of it. People reached out to other people. A country united together and determined to continue our way of life, without apology for freedom and liberty. We all loved each other a little more, prayed a little more, and served a little more. There was less sarcasm, less frivolity, and less focus on self. This is the beauty of tragedy. As it says in John 16:22
Eight years ago, my husband and I -- along with our 6-month old daughter -- vacationed on Lake Powell. We enjoyed three days of sand, sun, water, and isolation with friends and co-workers. We hardly noticed the lack of Internet, television, and cell phone coverage; it was easy to get lost in nature.
The day we left Lake Powell was September 12, 2001. We arrived at the marina to a buzz of concern and fear, and we couldn’t figure out why. Someone told us about the World Trade Center...the terrorists...the Pentagon. At first we scoffed. What? Planes into buildings on purpose? But as we soon found out, it was real.
Very, very real.
The trip home was frantic. We stopped at every gas station along the way to watch the news. We nervously awaited our emergence from Spanish Fork canyon so we could finally call family on our cell phone. Our aunt and uncle lived in Manhattan --luckily, they were fine. Physically, anyway.
Over the next few days, we were glued to the TV. I remember crying over the death, the destruction, and even the heroism. It was a tough time; the whole country felt it.
We all felt it.
And now, here we are --here I am -- eight years later. My husband and I have continued our lives, as most of the world has. We’ve had more children, moved away from and back to Grandview Hill, and we keep going. My brother has served one tour in Iraq, our aunt and uncle have moved from NYC, and time keeps going...and going...and going.
But we don’t ever forget. I don’t think any of us could forget. As with the attack of Pearl Harbor, 9/11 has reminded us that we are not completely impenetrable, and bad things can happen to good people. However, what I love the most about my memories of 9/11 is what happened in the wake of it. People reached out to other people. A country united together and determined to continue our way of life, without apology for freedom and liberty. We all loved each other a little more, prayed a little more, and served a little more. There was less sarcasm, less frivolity, and less focus on self. This is the beauty of tragedy. As it says in John 16:22
And ye now therefore have sorrow:We will never forget the lives lost, the pain, and the anguish, but let us also remember the good that has come from our tragedy. As we did then, let us even now love a little more, pray a little more, and serve a little more. Let us rejoice in our freedom and liberty --and never apologize for it.
but I will see you again, and your heart shall rejoice,
and your joy no man taketh from you.
Thursday, September 10, 2009
Staying is Harder or TINSWIRWIMLS
When things start to get hard, I usually approach my husband with words like, "Let's move" and "let's move." He usually smiles, nods, understands, agrees; we look for homes in San Jose or Boston, I reminisce about the cottage I had found in Surrey (England).
It's not too hard to imagine leaving, starting over, finding a new adventure. The idea excites me --new people, new places, new experiences...but for some, it frightens them. Moving across the country (world?) is akin to having an arm removed. Why leave family and familiarity? Why leave comfort and religious understanding? It is too hard; to risky. There is too much to lose.
But to me? Staying is harder.
Leaving is easier because there is no longer a need to face the immediate challenges. Leaving creates an excuse to sever relationships, and ignore glaring problems, hoping they won't reappear in the "promised land." But they always do. We can't escape from "problems" because that is what we face in life, no matter where we live or what we do. Of course, choosing to live in a certain place could definitely make the problems easier to face --or change them altogether --but it won't erase them completely.
On another note, I have this problem. This problem is called The I'm-not-sure-what-I-really-want-in-my-life Syndrome. Let's call it TINSWIRWIMLS for short (for long?). Here's the symptoms of this disease:
I want to be a rancher. I want to be a farmer. I want to ride horses and plant gardens and brand cattle and herd sheep and mend fences and cook potatoes and rise with the sun to haul some hay. I will work hard with my family at my side, and we will reap the benefits of that hard work through satisfaction, rain, and mountain vacations.
BUT!
I want to live in a mansion --no, an estate! In England. I want to be wealthy and have gardeners and maids and spend my days walking through my forests and gardens and write my novels. The fame I'll have will come from my not-so-quirky desire to be a recluse, and I will spend romantic evenings by the fire, and beautiful days in the local village buying fresh produce and laughing with shopkeepers. My novels will be read by Queens and teens, housewives and old men. Writer's block will be cured daily by walking through those gardens, and I will write at least 8 perfect novels, not quite unlike Jane Austen.
BUT!
I want to live in the City. San Francisco, New York City, Boston, London --doesn't matter. I want to have the latest fashions, and spend time with famous people; royalty, actors, philanthropists. I want to eat the best food and dance to the best music. I want art museums, operas, concerts, and trains. I'll wear cocktail dresses, long coats, and jewelry. People will respect and know me because of my music; I will be a concert pianist, and I will be good at it, too. Dang good. My ability at the piano will inspire millions and millions...
BUT!
I want to be Donna Reed. I want to feel excitement at preparing a beautiful meal for my family. I want to be the best mom: cook, sew, read, clean, prepare, shop. I want to be that "cool mom" who knows all of her children's friends and hosts parties and plans neighborhood picnics while running the PTA. I want to raise my children in the same house forever --marriage to death, the same house. The sense of community will be the reward, and I will be known as a stalwart neighborhood figure --even when I run for city council.
BUT!
I want to travel the world. The children will be home-schooled as we visit far-off lands. We will all learn about biology in the Galapagos and study insects in India. We'll learn about tribal law in Africa and hike mountains in Peru. Snorkeling in Australia will be followed by architecture study in Germany. We'll spend months in the Baltic, years in Italy, weeks in Thailand, and at least a month in Bali. We'll discover species in Madagascar, and explore the Amazon in Brazil. I will write about our adventures, we'll make amazing friends for life, and we will have gained a perspective that can never die. And then we'd do it all over again.
BUT!
I want to go back to college. I want to get a marketing/advertising degree and spend 20 years as the CEO of my own advertising agency. Or maybe I will get my Master's in MFT (marriage and family therapy) and practice therapy. I will be a famous therapist and wind up on Oprah. Or maybe I'll just use my degree to open a small practice in a city in Canada. I will help people change their lives; I will help save marriages and families. I will feel such peace when I stop a suicide or encourage a couple to work it out.
BUT!
I want to take a nap.
My awesome buddy Michelle (whom I miss most dreadfully, and still don't get to talk to nearly enough) and I talked about this at length: we both want to be everything and go everywhere and do everything. The conflict of our TINSWIRWIMLS is so intense, that it amplifies all of our other problems. Depression is worse. Whining is worse. Longing and pining and yearning is worse...
These are the problems with TINSWERWIMLS. The longing, pining, yearning, whining, depressing state of mind --it's quite consuming at times. The good part is if I were to follow these impulses and move each time and try out each new thing, it might stop. It could!
But I doubt it.
So, are you all crazy with TINSWERWIMLS, too? Or am I just the insane one? And if you could move and live any place in the world, where would you live and why? Would it change if your circumstances were different?
It's not too hard to imagine leaving, starting over, finding a new adventure. The idea excites me --new people, new places, new experiences...but for some, it frightens them. Moving across the country (world?) is akin to having an arm removed. Why leave family and familiarity? Why leave comfort and religious understanding? It is too hard; to risky. There is too much to lose.
But to me? Staying is harder.
Leaving is easier because there is no longer a need to face the immediate challenges. Leaving creates an excuse to sever relationships, and ignore glaring problems, hoping they won't reappear in the "promised land." But they always do. We can't escape from "problems" because that is what we face in life, no matter where we live or what we do. Of course, choosing to live in a certain place could definitely make the problems easier to face --or change them altogether --but it won't erase them completely.
On another note, I have this problem. This problem is called The I'm-not-sure-what-I-really-want-in-my-life Syndrome. Let's call it TINSWIRWIMLS for short (for long?). Here's the symptoms of this disease:
I want to be a rancher. I want to be a farmer. I want to ride horses and plant gardens and brand cattle and herd sheep and mend fences and cook potatoes and rise with the sun to haul some hay. I will work hard with my family at my side, and we will reap the benefits of that hard work through satisfaction, rain, and mountain vacations.
BUT!
I want to live in a mansion --no, an estate! In England. I want to be wealthy and have gardeners and maids and spend my days walking through my forests and gardens and write my novels. The fame I'll have will come from my not-so-quirky desire to be a recluse, and I will spend romantic evenings by the fire, and beautiful days in the local village buying fresh produce and laughing with shopkeepers. My novels will be read by Queens and teens, housewives and old men. Writer's block will be cured daily by walking through those gardens, and I will write at least 8 perfect novels, not quite unlike Jane Austen.
BUT!
I want to live in the City. San Francisco, New York City, Boston, London --doesn't matter. I want to have the latest fashions, and spend time with famous people; royalty, actors, philanthropists. I want to eat the best food and dance to the best music. I want art museums, operas, concerts, and trains. I'll wear cocktail dresses, long coats, and jewelry. People will respect and know me because of my music; I will be a concert pianist, and I will be good at it, too. Dang good. My ability at the piano will inspire millions and millions...
BUT!
I want to be Donna Reed. I want to feel excitement at preparing a beautiful meal for my family. I want to be the best mom: cook, sew, read, clean, prepare, shop. I want to be that "cool mom" who knows all of her children's friends and hosts parties and plans neighborhood picnics while running the PTA. I want to raise my children in the same house forever --marriage to death, the same house. The sense of community will be the reward, and I will be known as a stalwart neighborhood figure --even when I run for city council.
BUT!
I want to travel the world. The children will be home-schooled as we visit far-off lands. We will all learn about biology in the Galapagos and study insects in India. We'll learn about tribal law in Africa and hike mountains in Peru. Snorkeling in Australia will be followed by architecture study in Germany. We'll spend months in the Baltic, years in Italy, weeks in Thailand, and at least a month in Bali. We'll discover species in Madagascar, and explore the Amazon in Brazil. I will write about our adventures, we'll make amazing friends for life, and we will have gained a perspective that can never die. And then we'd do it all over again.
BUT!
I want to go back to college. I want to get a marketing/advertising degree and spend 20 years as the CEO of my own advertising agency. Or maybe I will get my Master's in MFT (marriage and family therapy) and practice therapy. I will be a famous therapist and wind up on Oprah. Or maybe I'll just use my degree to open a small practice in a city in Canada. I will help people change their lives; I will help save marriages and families. I will feel such peace when I stop a suicide or encourage a couple to work it out.
BUT!
I want to take a nap.
My awesome buddy Michelle (whom I miss most dreadfully, and still don't get to talk to nearly enough) and I talked about this at length: we both want to be everything and go everywhere and do everything. The conflict of our TINSWIRWIMLS is so intense, that it amplifies all of our other problems. Depression is worse. Whining is worse. Longing and pining and yearning is worse...
These are the problems with TINSWERWIMLS. The longing, pining, yearning, whining, depressing state of mind --it's quite consuming at times. The good part is if I were to follow these impulses and move each time and try out each new thing, it might stop. It could!
But I doubt it.
So, are you all crazy with TINSWERWIMLS, too? Or am I just the insane one? And if you could move and live any place in the world, where would you live and why? Would it change if your circumstances were different?
Sunday, September 06, 2009
Wish I Had Gone!
BYU: 14
OU: 13
Brandon was there in Texas --I watched it on TV. But man, it was spectacular!
GO COUGARS!
P.S. Yeah, Sam Bradford might have been injured, but that certainly didn't stop OU's awesome defense from trying to stop us. Which they COULDN'T.
Ha!
I love BYU!
OU: 13
Brandon was there in Texas --I watched it on TV. But man, it was spectacular!
GO COUGARS!
P.S. Yeah, Sam Bradford might have been injured, but that certainly didn't stop OU's awesome defense from trying to stop us. Which they COULDN'T.
Ha!
I love BYU!
Thursday, September 03, 2009
Twelve Years Ago...
On Tuesday night, I got together with my BYU Freshman Roommates. We have tried to get together at least once a year (or more, or less) over the last 12 years, and it is always so fun to see them.
While we ate fabulous food, we reminisced about the good ol' days, and one of us remembered a photo that was taken at our first Ward Social (literally days after we had moved into our dorm in Heritage Halls) where we were "sitting" on each other. So, we decided to take another one outside the restaurant. I thought I'd post the pictures here because it's so fun to see how we've changed (and not changed):
While we ate fabulous food, we reminisced about the good ol' days, and one of us remembered a photo that was taken at our first Ward Social (literally days after we had moved into our dorm in Heritage Halls) where we were "sitting" on each other. So, we decided to take another one outside the restaurant. I thought I'd post the pictures here because it's so fun to see how we've changed (and not changed):
(Me, Angie, Katie, Rachel, Tam, and An)
[Katie (pregnant!), Angie, An, Rachel, me, Tam]
The crazy part is how much we haven't changed over the years. (Okay, maybe we've changed physically!) Sure, there are now three husbands, eleven children, three missions, several degrees, and seasoned world-travelers --but we are still the same. We know how each one of us will react and what we will talk about and how we will express ourselves; in that way, not much has changed. We'll forever be ourselves, and I love it that way.
Just not sure how I feel about the "Hey, guys, remember how Princess Di and Mother Theresa died the first week we all lived together? When was that...11 years...no, 12 years ago??!?!"
Oh, how time flies...
Wednesday, September 02, 2009
Blogging Party in Idaho? Yes!
For the first time ever, I've decided to let my blogging compadres know that not only will I be in Idaho this weekend, but I'm going to go ahead and have myself a par-tay.
That's right! Par-tay! Say it with me...
So, if you live in the southeastern Idaho region, and you are going to the Awesome, one-of-a-kind-I-think-I-might-cry-because-I-haven't-seen-it-in-9-or-10-years-EISF Parade, then stick around for the day! The plan is to meet at a park in the afternoon sometime and just hang out. With kids, without kids, whatever. Bring your husband, bring your dog, whatever. I'm just thinking it would be awesome to see old friends (Steph!) and meet new ones (Fluffychicky!). Besides, I feel bad I haven't done this, yet. I should have done it years ago...
If you would like to join me for some fun, please email me [happymeetscrazy at gmail dot com] or leave me a comment (with your email address) and I'll tell you when and where. Just be aware that it will be in the Blackfoot area...and I may hug you when I see you!
That's right! Par-tay! Say it with me...
So, if you live in the southeastern Idaho region, and you are going to the Awesome, one-of-a-kind-I-think-I-might-cry-because-I-haven't-seen-it-in-9-or-10-years-EISF Parade, then stick around for the day! The plan is to meet at a park in the afternoon sometime and just hang out. With kids, without kids, whatever. Bring your husband, bring your dog, whatever. I'm just thinking it would be awesome to see old friends (Steph!) and meet new ones (Fluffychicky!). Besides, I feel bad I haven't done this, yet. I should have done it years ago...
If you would like to join me for some fun, please email me [happymeetscrazy at gmail dot com] or leave me a comment (with your email address) and I'll tell you when and where. Just be aware that it will be in the Blackfoot area...and I may hug you when I see you!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)