myopathy.

The last 7 months have been about drinking in everything there is to this stage of life.

Before last summer, I had this feeling everything was about to shift— a deep-in-my-bones intuition that this was the time my life would be drawn into a before-and-after in a cataclysmic way. My mistake was in thinking the line was vertical. That it would strike down through a singular point in time.

It’s horizontal. A process. Like everything these days.

I’m a process.

Clearly, the line is horizontal.

I can’t spend my time waiting for something to pass, or waiting for something to happen, or waiting on anything at all.  Because life goes.  It goes whether you’re waiting or not.  Whether you’re being prodded along or striding at speed – it goes. 

And we spend our lives waiting for it.  Because we’re not quite there yet. Because we don’t quite have it all together, so it can’t be it, it can’t be my life.  Because, no, no, this isn’t it. It’ll be it when….. x.  Or when y.  When I finally drop a size.  When I have control of my emotions. When I have the perfect boyfriend. When I feel like this. is. it.

We’re so terrified of taking the wrong path that we don’t even own the one we’re on. And we miss it. We miss our lives. We forsake all these beautiful, raw moments because no, this isn’t it.  We don’t have it all, so we act like we don’t have any.  We discredit our lives – this process –  with our doubt and negligence.  

We wait, casualties of our own myopathy.

I don’t know how anything ends. I don’t know where the it is, or if it even IS at all. I don’t know my way. So I’m just weaving one, the best I know. And at the end I’ll look back and say, oh. Oh, so that’s how it was supposed to go. That’s how it went.

Today is an exercise in faith.

fin.

burning in a year that speaks mostly of drowning.

2013 knocked me down and took me for a ride.

It had been easy to thrive in London.  Something about that resplendent city clicked for me. I lived in a state of sheer wholeness that I can't put in words. I felt entirely realized and became accustomed to the wash of daily joy warming me each morning. It didn't need coaxing or cajoling; it was just there.

And then I left.

The beginning of the year was dim.  I was recently returned from London, depressed and reeling, and life felt off.  The needs-no-reason elation had been ripped away. My spiritual efforts depleted to be halfhearted and dispassionate. I realized I needed to develop intrinsic joy.  Environment -- surrounding yourself with good-- is vital, but generating joy from within is paramount. It's everything because it can't be taken.  I held out by forcing myself to find solace in the little things -- the daily ritual.  I struggled for peace.

Summer came. It was a summer for healing.  I fell into a wonderful group of friends, worked two jobs, and gathered myself. I wrote at the beginning, "I can't help but feel like I'm at a turning point in my life.  Like what was, never will be again.  There's a foreshadowing of change.  And I want to run full speed-ahead while desperately clinging to all details of the past. I can't."

I was so right -- that summer divided my sense of self into a well-defined "before" and "after."  Before this or after that and will I ever be the same again? 

The year progressed and I waded through elation, confusion, beginning, heartbreak, healing, disruption, loss, delight, and indecision.  Not in that order.

In the most terrifically and horribly cliché way, I felt like I found myself in London. At least, I thought I did.  And now as I stagger and falter and sweat to secure my footing, I realize what I really found was the capability to reach a deeper, more developed level of bliss.  There is no finding yourself.  There is only building. and fighting. and straightening out. and rising.

Despite the darkness -- perhaps because of it, though -- there were many wonderful, burning moments.  Burning in a year that speaks mostly of drowning.  And the burning harbors hope.

Somewhere in those early dark months, a destructive voice crept in. And for an innately confident girl, this was new.  It wasn't until my self-assurance lie in wreckage that I realized where those bitter thoughts were coming from. This year I'm going to kick them. Just, right in the face, I am.

For 2014,
I resolve to be kinder to myself.
To trust myself again.
To develop an ear to hear what my soul cries for.
To find solace in God first.

To burn more than I drown.

an unabridged woman.

I had a man recently allude-- not so directly, but in a way clearly understood – that I’m afraid. And the assertion ended there. I didn’t ask more because I didn’t want to hear more.

Afraid.

Of what?

Of love? Or of falling in love?

Of commitment?

Well…I am. Of all the above. No kidding, Sherlock.

Regardless of how accurate the statement is, it felt less like an observation and more like a blaming. A branding, even. Branding me as “one of those girls” -- too scared to make commitments, or too frivolous to be loyal. Foolish and thoughtless in the game of hearts.

I resent that.

My least favorite passive-aggressive compliment is, You really know how to play the game, don’t you. That doesn’t fly with me. It works me up into quite the tizzy, actually.

For clarification, I suppose there are two genres of game-playing.  There’s the knowing when to call, being just busy enough, well-placed tight jeans kind of game.  It’s lighthearted and fun. No expectations have been set. This is the game of breezy flattery and ego-boosts and once-a-week lunch dates. This is the game in which I’m alright with considering myself….well, we’ll say “versed.”

Then there’s the heavy game, dealing with deep-rooted affections.  Approaching that with a sense of flippancy is wrong. Playing this game for self-serving reasons or the sake of competition is wrong.

Accusing me of playing the latter game irresponsibly is, frankly, insulting. It’s insulting not because I’m unwilling to own up to how I am, but because it belittles everything most important to me. Because anybody who knows me half-well will tell you the number one focus in my life is building relationships.

And I’m just trying to unearth this life of mine the best I know how.

Isn’t everybody afraid, at their core? If they aren’t, maybe they should be.  It's terrifying to think of soul-rocking, life-changing, honey-we’re-out-of-milk-I’ll-go-to-the-store forever kind of love.  It should be terrifying because it pushes the limits of our natural man, forcing us to expand past our own selfish humanity.

And yes, some of us have more walls than others. Some of us are lonely and some of us are jaded and some of us are insecure. Usually we’re a little of all of it.  But regardless of how we “play the game,” so to speak – everybody is a little. bit. scared.  

I have so much love to give. It’s my finest and worst attribute, really.  It gets me into trouble too often. But when the right time and the right man line up, it’s going to serve me well.

I’m going to love wholly and unreservedly.

It’ll be easy. So easy. I’ll settle into the curves of our life and exhale, exclaiming, all those years! all those years and I didn’t know how to breathe.

One day, there will be a man who will turn me into an unabridged woman.

And I’ll run to him.

AN ANNOUNCEMENT: When Life Hurls You into Thorough Anarchy, and Then You Deal with It (Gracelessly).

Several weeks back I took a vacation with my mom and sister to New York.

Normally, I feel in place in the city. Not in every way at home, but in place. Normally, the bustle and anonymity is invigorating.  But this time it made me feel very, very small.

I’ve always been a girl who plans. Schedules. Draws up lists. Color-coordinates. Day plans, week plans, year plans. Five year plans.  Got it?

In the last few years I’ve become even more particular – “excessively fussy,” some say --  about life structure. My structure, and the protection that it brings.  So you can imagine the hell that broke loose when I went to register for next semester and realized….I will graduate next semester. 

WHAT?!! This is only my fifth semester in Provo! FIFTH. HOW IS THAT EVEN POSSIBLE.  

WHO GRADUATES FROM COLLEGE AT 20?! 

I became un. hinged. Manic, I tell ya, Jose.  M-A-N-I-C.

My 4-year schedule has been planned since freshman year.  And somehow, some way, I shaved two full semesters off without going summers. (Shout-out to my highly-capable mother, who blessed/cursed me with the gift of draconian efficiency.) It was a freaky combination of AP courses/ classes that counted for dual requirements/ testing out of credits in my major.  Even my counselor did a double take.  “Wait, is that right? What? How did you do that? You barely have enough BYU credits to count as a junior, but….you’re done.”

And then came the options. A suffocating number of options.

After a hysterical episode (Or two. Or five. Or like more than that don’t h8) I put it out of my mind and left to enjoy the week. Well, until I was cornered by my mother on the plane ride home. How do I break this tiny yet indestructible plastic window? Will I be sucked into the night abyss by a swirling cloud vortex? Is my elbow strong enough to do that? (It wasn’t.)

So I returned home and I thought. And weighed and prayed and graphed.

I owe a lot to friends and family who listened to me reason, out-reason, and re-reason through the situation. (A lot of unreasonable occurred, too.) 

Sometimes I’m terrified and sometimes I’m nauseous and sometimes I’m so excited I can barely stand it.  But like….mostly the first two.

Because I don’t know what happens next. I have no freaking clue.

And I just really don’t want to wear a pantsuit.

bleach.

Last week I moved home.  For the first time since I moved out, I'll be home for a longer period of time.

I exited I-15 and drove east, up slightly sloped streets. Up to the mountain.

To home.

Nothing is home like the curves of my mountains against the sky.  All mountains bring a sense of comfort; I guess that comes with the territory after being raised for 20 years in their shadow. But these are my mountains. Familiar.  My soul settled into the crags and ravines, and I was at peace.

Peace. What I felt had been missing all semester. 

I can't help but feel like I'm at a turning point in my life.  Like what was, never will be again.  There's a foreshadowing of change.  And I want to run full speed-ahead while desperately clinging to all details of the past. 

I can't. 

My dad's beard is bleaching.  It has given up its salt-and-pepper coloring for a soft white.

And I feel anxious.

and excited.

and terrified.

and terribly overwhelmed.

But I know this is where I need to seek a haven.  Under the watchful eye of my mountains. 

on bodies.

I want to talk to our world -- the world of the teen and 20-something females -- about bodies. Our bodies.

This isn't another post spewing anti-Victoria's Secret propaganda and patting you on the back, asserting in soothing tones that "it doesn't matter if you're 60 pounds overweight! You're perfect however you are!"

And it's not a post condoning the severely fallacious images presented to us by the media.

I intend for this post to address what I perceive to be a loss of balance.

It's a big part of our reality, body image.  Whether we openly acknowledge that or not, physical appearance is important. But not just for appearance -- not only for the concoction of attributes we piece together to form us, in order to have us to present to others. It's important for health and being wholly happy.  For looking, but more importantly feeling, our best.

I find myself disheartened -- and frankly, annoyed -- by the amount of what I can only call backlash.... I suppose what I call the anti-skin-and-bones campaign. In no way do I excuse the media for their objectification and exaggeration of women's bodies. That should indeed be fought against.

But I can't help feeling that there's a proper way to do it.

There seems to be no middle ground anymore  (at least in words and outward attitudes -- I don't claim to speak for anybody else's thought process).  We seem to be so anxious about calories that we can't enjoy eating at all, or so obsessed with fighting the unachievable standards and standing as symbols of reality that everything becomes exaggerated.  We tell ourselves it's really okay to constantly indulge, because we're showing the man! Let's stick it to him! Queen's fat-bottomed girls unite!  We try to one-up each other with how many pieces of pizza we ate, and tease anyone turning down sweets about being "anorexic." We joke that the only way we work out is lifting our fingers from the Cheeto bag to our mouths.  We satirically brag about sitting on the couch all day.

Forget about calories and fat. What about the sugar and the chemicals that our body can't break down? In my opinion, the eating disorder counter-culture can be damaging too. It promotes a lifestyle that isn't good for our bodies.... and wasn't the whole point of the movement to be good to ourselves?

There's a way to promote a balanced lifestyle. Let's promote healthy, not anti-skinny.

My stunning mother is 48 (sorry, mom) and has a rockin' body. Do you know why? Because she works so. incredibly. hard for it.  She runs. She bikes.  She cooks vegan a few nights a week. She forgoes dessert and orders kale salads at birthday celebrations.  And you know what? She does it (mostly) to feel good, not to look good. Her way of life isn't for everyone, but find what makes your body feel good and DO IT.

Work out. It doesn't matter what -- get moving.  Dance. Walk.
Pass on the soda when you're out at dinner, and then say yes to a cookie after school.
Balance.


No more body-bashing because we don't look like airbrushed models.
And no more out-eating each other just to prove a point.
Deal?





meg fee writes a lot on body image and health. 

I like this post by this brilliant girl. 

on my half-pint amount of sagacity.

1+    it's okay-- no, vital -- to be you. to be you beautifully and utterly, without justification.
2+    your mother is your biggest advocate and best friend, if you will let her be.
3+    great things come from the small things ventured.
4+    date the hell out of a lot of great men and don't regret it.
5+    be a lady with edge. wear dresses. be gracious. cuss occasionally. (see four)

6+     God is there. always. and He loves you. always.
7+     wordlessly demand respect and you will receive it.
8+     take care of your body and the respect and appreciation will come.
9+     rain is not an inconvenience.  it's a fresh start to the day.
10+   don't limit yourself to friends just like you.  choose people to broaden your views.

11+    be humble. understate. 

12+    be bold. flaunt. 

13+    the past is past. let it be. 

14+    do things you wouldn't.   

15+    go anywhere you haven't. 

16+    be opinionated. be boundless. suffocate the apathy with passion.
17+    choose to have love so vast that your heart can't hold it.  let it spill.  be kind.
18+    we're all a little weird, or a lot weird.  find people who love your weird.
19+    open yourself to learning. consciously and deliberately stretch your mind.
20+    the world doesn't end.
          those nights the blood sits heavily in your veins and your bones splinter
          and you know you won't make it..... you will.  you always will.

                 so have a little faith.

and so he did.

written february 2011

i think we were both in a period of transition. i was shrugging off the dark shadows of heartbreak, and he was.... he was....fixing.  repairing what was for passage into what will.

he came from Boston.

New England stole his heart, so he snatched its temperament in turn.   the brusque manner, hot-headed and bold.  he exited with his ration of riled nights and black eyes.

i didn't like him at first. he spoke too openly, too loudly.  he came on too strong.
he found the world black-and-white and i found him foolish and brash.

my refusals and beaus didn't dissuade him.  i conceded.  one date.  he did have unmatched taste in music, after all.  and let's be honest: the remnants of an east coast accent didn't hurt.  

he showed me that it's okay to take what you want.  to demand.

he taught me that a lukewarm opinion is worthless.
he was the first boy to ever challenge me.
the one to teach me to challenge.

somebody doesn't like you? what, is that supposed to bother you? chin up, pretty girl. you're rippling the waters. 

we were friends. we enjoyed each other and didn't bother with the romantic side of things.  there wasn't much to bother with, and that made it all the better.  no pressure, no strings.

he would take me out to sushi and we would discuss ethics, education reform, and past mistakes.  he wouldn't tiptoe around my feelings and wasn't afraid to call me out.   no sarcastic note was spared.   to him,  i was never fragile.  soft in comparison, yes, and vulnerable, certainly.   but never delicate.

he treated me as if i could hold my own.   and so i could.

it was empowering, knowing that he viewed me as an equal.
as more than his pretty girl.
my mind was valued and stretched.

i remember one night more than others. i was sitting at the counter as he was talking to mom. the banter turned to a discussion of my usually agreeable disposition and inability to hold grudges.  thanks to my tendency to attract strong personalities, the conversation was hijacked and my input was deemed unnecessary on this new topic.

you teach her to be careful, he addressed mom, or someone is going to figure out they can take advantage of her.  i bristled at his implication;  i was sure i wasn't so naive as he thought.

it was sound advice.

he taught me that you do what you love.  you really do it, and you do it well.  and then you share that with any willing soul.  after all, what's an unshared passion? why, it isn't a passion at all.

i think most importantly, he taught me that with enough desire, resolve, and backbone, you can change yourself.  despite background. despite pressures. despite assumptions.  despite past shadows.  

you can leave everything you know behind, re-color your heart, and move to a foreign place to change the world.  you can change and be changed.

you.  can.  change.

and so he did.

.......................................................

i'm still working on welding together all that that one gave me.

someday i want ladies to put their heads together and whisper,
"can you believe the sheer nerve of that one?"