A week ago yesterday, Em and I were headed home from beautiful San Diego. As the conversations of a 22-year-old friendship and roadtrip music had died down and as we drove through sleepy Utah, she asked me what my dream life would be.
When my sisters and I were younger and we played The Game of Life, I always wanted to have the Country Cottage with its white picket fence and two cars full of kids. I was going to be an artist with a paycheck of $100,000. I had a great imagination then.
Over the years that dream has been reshaped often. In the beginning years of college it was often formed and carved upon by whoever I was dating, with a few small parts of what I had wanted as a kid. I was easily swayed by what they wanted. Maybe not swayed. I formed who I was based on them. I hadn't really found myself yet. All I knew was that I wanted someone. And a family. And a house. I didn't really care about the details.
But as I've gotten older and found my own footing. As I've discovered all the parts of me that have been hiding, the parts that will be forever here to stay, the parts I love, I've started to recognize the value in having some insistence on the details.
I don't think I'm picky, most importantly I want to marry and start a family with someone who loves me and if what comes with it isn't exactly how I had imagined, I don't care. As long as I'm happy and he's happy and our children are happy.
But as Em and I drove through the soft light of dusk, the green hills of central Utah twinkling with farm light, I told her what I wanted my dream life to be, because I finally really knew what I wanted. I finally knew the lifestyle I desired and hoped to create...
I'll marry someone who's fitfully, patiently, warmly in love with me, and I him. We'll have kids, four or five. Though maybe we'll give ourselves a year to travel and just be the two of us taking on the world.
We'll have a house with a big porch and a bit of land some place green. There will be a garden, maybe a barn, but definitely a shed with a worn down old VW bug for the kids. A pair of dogs and maybe chickens.
We'll have a studio split in two with one side for my writing table and another side for his desk for whatever he does. My heart still yearns for a creative soul, but if he's an accountant I'm sure I'll manage.
We'll go on adventures as often as possible. We'll conquer mountains and explore the deep waters. And every now and then we'll go live some place exotic for a year while I research and write a book.
We'll raise our children to love God and the earth and all that is in it. We'll nurture, guide, and protect them to the best of our abilities. We'll start our own family traditions and give them some place safe and cozy to always come home to.
And we'll continue loving each other and doing good in the world. Kissing the scrapes and bruises, wiping the dripping ice cream from our chins, and forever holding hands. Fingers intertwined.
Monday, June 30, 2014
Sunday, June 29, 2014
marathon madness
I finally had a panic attack the other night as I realized just what I had gotten myself into with this whole marathon business.
I was creating a route for Saturday's 9-mile run while Meg was checking my schedule and telling me when the half marathon was coming. As I navigated my way through GoogleMaps, the fact of just how far 26.2 miles is struck me and I started gasp-laughing (aka hyperventilating of sorts), which is basically a combination of laughing at the ridiculousness of it all and gasping for air in sheer panic.
It is 26 miles from Provo to Draper, UT. That's a THIRTY-SEVEN minute drive!!!!!!! Which will take me 37 hours to complete then at best. People should NOT be running for that long. It took me a minute to get a handle on myself as I remembered that I've done this before, halfway at least. I've done the training, the hard work, I just need to do it again, for a bit longer, and a bit farther. No biggie.
Everyone keeps saying that I'm in the "prime of my youth," but there are days that I don't feel like it. Days where my knees are creaking and my ankle is sore (the latter has actually started to worry me). Days when I can't wait to get home to just take a nap, and still manage to get to bed by 10pm. And other days when I can barely manage a 12-minute mile.
Running a marathon has always been a goal of mine, and I kind of like the idea that I'll be 26 when I do my first. But reading other people's stories of their own marathon/triathalon/ironman experiences has really worried me. What if I get halfway and all my faculties shut down and I have to be carried away on a stretcher with an IV jammed into my arm? What if my legs turn into jelly at the finish line and I wobble over it, fall down, pass out and again am carried away on a stretcher with an IV jammed into my arm?!
But more importantly, what if I get injured? I strained my IT band training for the half, ran injured, and then didn't run again all summer. Then just this last Christmas break I strained my MCL while sledding (I know people who have been paralyzed from sledding so don't you dare laugh!) and all I can think about is what if I injure myself to the point of no return and can't run ever again, turn into a couch potato and then Gilbert Grape's mother?!
So instead of freaking out for the rest of the summer, I've started stretching any chance I get. I've looked into post- and pre-workout exercises to help, better cross-training ideas, yoga, hydrating, better eating, just about anything so that I don't die in the process. I don't mind if I die after I cross the finish line, but I'd like to at least get there.
I was creating a route for Saturday's 9-mile run while Meg was checking my schedule and telling me when the half marathon was coming. As I navigated my way through GoogleMaps, the fact of just how far 26.2 miles is struck me and I started gasp-laughing (aka hyperventilating of sorts), which is basically a combination of laughing at the ridiculousness of it all and gasping for air in sheer panic.
It is 26 miles from Provo to Draper, UT. That's a THIRTY-SEVEN minute drive!!!!!!! Which will take me 37 hours to complete then at best. People should NOT be running for that long. It took me a minute to get a handle on myself as I remembered that I've done this before, halfway at least. I've done the training, the hard work, I just need to do it again, for a bit longer, and a bit farther. No biggie.
Everyone keeps saying that I'm in the "prime of my youth," but there are days that I don't feel like it. Days where my knees are creaking and my ankle is sore (the latter has actually started to worry me). Days when I can't wait to get home to just take a nap, and still manage to get to bed by 10pm. And other days when I can barely manage a 12-minute mile.
Running a marathon has always been a goal of mine, and I kind of like the idea that I'll be 26 when I do my first. But reading other people's stories of their own marathon/triathalon/ironman experiences has really worried me. What if I get halfway and all my faculties shut down and I have to be carried away on a stretcher with an IV jammed into my arm? What if my legs turn into jelly at the finish line and I wobble over it, fall down, pass out and again am carried away on a stretcher with an IV jammed into my arm?!
But more importantly, what if I get injured? I strained my IT band training for the half, ran injured, and then didn't run again all summer. Then just this last Christmas break I strained my MCL while sledding (I know people who have been paralyzed from sledding so don't you dare laugh!) and all I can think about is what if I injure myself to the point of no return and can't run ever again, turn into a couch potato and then Gilbert Grape's mother?!
So instead of freaking out for the rest of the summer, I've started stretching any chance I get. I've looked into post- and pre-workout exercises to help, better cross-training ideas, yoga, hydrating, better eating, just about anything so that I don't die in the process. I don't mind if I die after I cross the finish line, but I'd like to at least get there.
Friday, June 27, 2014
all the love you can give
I recently read this post on a friend's blog (I say friend but really he's an acquaintance from The Porch who I told the first time meeting him that I wanted to meet his mom). Aside from that, and the fact that I have been blog stalking him endlessly during my down time at work.... this specific post was about The Sound of Music and all about our dreams, our situations, our realities. It was about looking inward and being honest with ourselves.
I got to this specific part of his post:
"Mother Superior tells Maria to be willing to climb every mountain and do all of the hard things and self-reflection she needed to do to find her dream, 'a dream that will need all the love you can give, every day of your life, for as long as you live.'"
And it struck me that I haven't given my dreams all the love that I could give them, and then I wondered what that even meant.
He went on to talk about how Maria has to be brave and strong enough "to do what feels right and true according to her capabilities and life circumstances."
I feel like I've done a good job in always being honest with myself, in admitting my fears and in knowing what I want. But I got to thinking about this past week and the discouragement and frustration it has been and maybe I haven't been brave enough to do what has felt right to me all along.
I've been raised to say a prayer every morning and every night, but lately I've really only been good at the night part. Most times when I remember in the mornings, it's during my walk up to work, so I stumble out a quick thank you and please-bless-us. But it just so happens that the morning before I read Eli's post I found myself mindlessly stitching together something to resemble a heartfelt plea. And as I stuttered my way up to work, I found myself really talking to my Father in Heaven. It was then that a groggy lightning bolt hit- I've always felt that my Father in Heaven has faith in me and trusts me to make good decisions (despite the years of making some really dumb ones, He still believes in me). But even though my Lord trusted me, I didn't trust me. I didn't believe I had it in me to make a good choice. Especially when it came to love because, well, I've done a fair job of always making what seems like the wrong choice. I've had moments where I have selfishly told the universe and my Father in Heaven I was going to love someone despite all the red flags and signs, I've had moments where everything felt right and good and in the end that person made a choice to not continue forward, to not love.
And then I've had moments like now, where all the goodness and hope is staring me in the face and all I can do is get defensive and worry about what others must think of me because I chose the hard way. I know I chose the road of heartbreak. But the fear of judgement and worry from others has almost paralyzed me. I find myself lying in bed asking what to do, what to do. Someone pick for me, someone choose for me because I don't trust myself to make the choice you all want me to make.
But that's not what life or love should be. I should be making choices on what I want, I should be following my dream. And even if our dreams are similar, my journey there is my own.
I need to do what feels right and true to me, depending on my capabilities and my heart. Because I am the one who gets to love that dream "every day of my life, for as long as I live." So even though it may seem stupid and wasteful to others, I've chosen something I believe in and something I could maybe love. If my God can trust me, then I should be able to trust me too. And trust that I can make not only good decisions, but ones that I want and love and that really are good, even though it may not seem like it to those on the outside. So I'll keep praying for my personal miracle and courage in myself. And I'll keep trusting and believing in that person and hoping that maybe he'll come and prove everyone wrong. And if not, I'll find a new hope (wow, didn't even try for that. Too much Star Wars lately).
And while I patiently wait I will enjoy my life now. Because it is good, and all is well. And all the worry of what I feel others might be thinking won't make the empty nights any easier. Being me and enjoying what I do have is what will help me up that mountain.
I got to this specific part of his post:
"Mother Superior tells Maria to be willing to climb every mountain and do all of the hard things and self-reflection she needed to do to find her dream, 'a dream that will need all the love you can give, every day of your life, for as long as you live.'"
And it struck me that I haven't given my dreams all the love that I could give them, and then I wondered what that even meant.
He went on to talk about how Maria has to be brave and strong enough "to do what feels right and true according to her capabilities and life circumstances."
I feel like I've done a good job in always being honest with myself, in admitting my fears and in knowing what I want. But I got to thinking about this past week and the discouragement and frustration it has been and maybe I haven't been brave enough to do what has felt right to me all along.
I've been raised to say a prayer every morning and every night, but lately I've really only been good at the night part. Most times when I remember in the mornings, it's during my walk up to work, so I stumble out a quick thank you and please-bless-us. But it just so happens that the morning before I read Eli's post I found myself mindlessly stitching together something to resemble a heartfelt plea. And as I stuttered my way up to work, I found myself really talking to my Father in Heaven. It was then that a groggy lightning bolt hit- I've always felt that my Father in Heaven has faith in me and trusts me to make good decisions (despite the years of making some really dumb ones, He still believes in me). But even though my Lord trusted me, I didn't trust me. I didn't believe I had it in me to make a good choice. Especially when it came to love because, well, I've done a fair job of always making what seems like the wrong choice. I've had moments where I have selfishly told the universe and my Father in Heaven I was going to love someone despite all the red flags and signs, I've had moments where everything felt right and good and in the end that person made a choice to not continue forward, to not love.
And then I've had moments like now, where all the goodness and hope is staring me in the face and all I can do is get defensive and worry about what others must think of me because I chose the hard way. I know I chose the road of heartbreak. But the fear of judgement and worry from others has almost paralyzed me. I find myself lying in bed asking what to do, what to do. Someone pick for me, someone choose for me because I don't trust myself to make the choice you all want me to make.
But that's not what life or love should be. I should be making choices on what I want, I should be following my dream. And even if our dreams are similar, my journey there is my own.
I need to do what feels right and true to me, depending on my capabilities and my heart. Because I am the one who gets to love that dream "every day of my life, for as long as I live." So even though it may seem stupid and wasteful to others, I've chosen something I believe in and something I could maybe love. If my God can trust me, then I should be able to trust me too. And trust that I can make not only good decisions, but ones that I want and love and that really are good, even though it may not seem like it to those on the outside. So I'll keep praying for my personal miracle and courage in myself. And I'll keep trusting and believing in that person and hoping that maybe he'll come and prove everyone wrong. And if not, I'll find a new hope (wow, didn't even try for that. Too much Star Wars lately).
And while I patiently wait I will enjoy my life now. Because it is good, and all is well. And all the worry of what I feel others might be thinking won't make the empty nights any easier. Being me and enjoying what I do have is what will help me up that mountain.
Wednesday, June 25, 2014
can't stop. won't stop.
I really did not like this song when I first heard it. In fact I can probably replicate the face I made at Kali when she tried to make me listen to it in the car on the ride home from climbing.
But here I am, slouched splendidly in my chair at work and I've listened to it 28 times (I might be on the 29th currently as I type this).
That's almost an entire hour and a half straight of the same ridiculousness. And don't worry that it's not on Spotify, so I haven't had it just on repeat. I actually had to go in to YouTube every time and click "replay" 28 (make that 30) times.
Ignore the earrings! If I stare at them too long I start to ponder on my own credibility.
But here I am, slouched splendidly in my chair at work and I've listened to it 28 times (I might be on the 29th currently as I type this).
That's almost an entire hour and a half straight of the same ridiculousness. And don't worry that it's not on Spotify, so I haven't had it just on repeat. I actually had to go in to YouTube every time and click "replay" 28 (make that 30) times.
Ignore the earrings! If I stare at them too long I start to ponder on my own credibility.
a conversation post running
Marathon training is a lot harder than I expected it to be.
I recognize that I am in my prime but dang it if my body doesn't vehemently hate me right now!
I got back from running yesterday and proceeded to have this texting conversation with Jacob. Mind you this was after THREE MILES. THREE. ONLY THREE. Ten minutes into my run I had to take a minute to walk and passed this crazy lady on the sidewalk who proceeded to talk to me, with one hand in her armpit, the other tucked in her pants. She asked me how long I had been running and guessed an hour (an hour!), and as I was panting and trying to keep my legs under me I realized how terribly pathetic I must be that after TEN MINUTES I looked like I had been running for hours.
I lied. And I told her about a half hour, because, well, it was better than ten minutes.
I finally made it home and as I lay on our hallway floor directly under the swamp cooler, half dead, decided to try to get some sympathy from a dear friend. I failed. But did manage some internal hysteria.
Conversation:
"Me: it took me 40 minutes to run 3 miles today :(
Jacob: you are tired. Let's work on your form.
Me: my knees hurt. it didn't use to be this hard!!!
Jacob: they are not the bees. hot bath
Me: ugh that's the last thing i want to do right now. it's ROASTING outside.
Some moments later...
Me: I don't know why I'm listening to you. But here I am sitting in our twice-scrubbed-yet-still-filthy-tub, pretty sure I just flashed our male neighbors through the open window, wondering what I ever did to you to deserve this.
Jacob: are you talking to your knees?
Me: no i was talking to you.
I WAS BEING A LITTLE DRAMATIC."
I don't think he quite got the fact that I needed sympathy. Though it will be nice to have someone help me with my form. My 26 going on 76 year old knees need some help.
I recognize that I am in my prime but dang it if my body doesn't vehemently hate me right now!
I got back from running yesterday and proceeded to have this texting conversation with Jacob. Mind you this was after THREE MILES. THREE. ONLY THREE. Ten minutes into my run I had to take a minute to walk and passed this crazy lady on the sidewalk who proceeded to talk to me, with one hand in her armpit, the other tucked in her pants. She asked me how long I had been running and guessed an hour (an hour!), and as I was panting and trying to keep my legs under me I realized how terribly pathetic I must be that after TEN MINUTES I looked like I had been running for hours.
I lied. And I told her about a half hour, because, well, it was better than ten minutes.
I finally made it home and as I lay on our hallway floor directly under the swamp cooler, half dead, decided to try to get some sympathy from a dear friend. I failed. But did manage some internal hysteria.
Conversation:
"Me: it took me 40 minutes to run 3 miles today :(
Jacob: you are tired. Let's work on your form.
Me: my knees hurt. it didn't use to be this hard!!!
Jacob: they are not the bees. hot bath
Me: ugh that's the last thing i want to do right now. it's ROASTING outside.
Some moments later...
Me: I don't know why I'm listening to you. But here I am sitting in our twice-scrubbed-yet-still-filthy-tub, pretty sure I just flashed our male neighbors through the open window, wondering what I ever did to you to deserve this.
Jacob: are you talking to your knees?
Me: no i was talking to you.
I WAS BEING A LITTLE DRAMATIC."
I don't think he quite got the fact that I needed sympathy. Though it will be nice to have someone help me with my form. My 26 going on 76 year old knees need some help.
Monday, June 23, 2014
a sneak peek at last weekend's adventures and the current music obsession
Haven't flown in THREE YEARS!!! So I figured I'd provide an airport photo with my sweet new rucksack and leopard shoes.
(I really can't wait to tell you about last weekend)
Also this fabulous song that I'm currently crushing on:
Little Bribes by Death Cab for Cutie
Wednesday, June 18, 2014
baby pigeons and crippling fear
First off, where are all the baby pigeons?!?!?!?!?!?!?! (thank you never-ending, Summer binge watching of 30Rock)
Second, as I laid in bed last night I heard something rustle in my laundry basket and I'm positive it was a snake.
Rather than investigate, I moved my basket to the other side of the room because if there was a snake he wouldn't be able to slither straight up into my bed of course (Right. It would only take just a little longer for him to make it across the room and into my bed where he would then wrap himself around my ankle cutting off the circulation in my foot rendering it dead whereupon when I woke in the morning we would have to cut it off making me a cripple although then I would have an excuse to start using a cane).
Snakes scare me. To death. I see them and my toes curl involuntarily, tears well up in my eyes, and my skin starts to retreat into my body as if it is trying to make my whole form shrink into nothingness. It's a crippling fear and I wholeheartedly confess it. I once was forced to pet a snake and my hands would not come of my armpits where I had crammed them into in hopes of continuing to maintain all ten fingers.
So no, I don't handle snakes well. And I'm not really sure where the confirmation of the mysterious noise came from since it was more than likely to be a mouse or the recently dried clothes settling.
And yes, I still have no idea what the noise was from, so on the off chance that it was a snake I must go home and burn the whole place down. Just to be positive.
Second, as I laid in bed last night I heard something rustle in my laundry basket and I'm positive it was a snake.
Rather than investigate, I moved my basket to the other side of the room because if there was a snake he wouldn't be able to slither straight up into my bed of course (Right. It would only take just a little longer for him to make it across the room and into my bed where he would then wrap himself around my ankle cutting off the circulation in my foot rendering it dead whereupon when I woke in the morning we would have to cut it off making me a cripple although then I would have an excuse to start using a cane).
Snakes scare me. To death. I see them and my toes curl involuntarily, tears well up in my eyes, and my skin starts to retreat into my body as if it is trying to make my whole form shrink into nothingness. It's a crippling fear and I wholeheartedly confess it. I once was forced to pet a snake and my hands would not come of my armpits where I had crammed them into in hopes of continuing to maintain all ten fingers.
So no, I don't handle snakes well. And I'm not really sure where the confirmation of the mysterious noise came from since it was more than likely to be a mouse or the recently dried clothes settling.
And yes, I still have no idea what the noise was from, so on the off chance that it was a snake I must go home and burn the whole place down. Just to be positive.
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