Nobody ever even reads blogs anymore, so I think it's okay to just be real here.


I had to write that down so I could feel braver.

This year has been hard and terrible and heavy. Heavier than most in ways I didn't anticipate. And in ways I don't know what to make of just yet.
I don't feel smart enough or kind enough or old enough or young enough or loved enough or loving enough. I don't have any answers, only so many many questions that nobody will ever answer. This got real emo, haha!

Anyways.

My mom gave me a big pep talk today, and I wanted to remember some of the things she said, but I don't know where else to put them, so here they are. She told me to stay the course and to build a sandcastle with individual grains of sand. She told me that I'm mean, but important. I almost cried six times, but I wanted to be tough, and frankly, I don't have the time to cry. I only have time to work and write and think and watch all of the television (seriously all of it).

I really only have one friend here. I have more enemies than I knew were possible. I didn't believe the people who told me that this place is charged, but they are right. I was depressed in California and Utah and Nebraska, but Oklahoma is so much darker. I feel lighter, but it seems like the elements of this place are much sharper than anywhere else. The history of here is buried so close to the surface, but everyone keeps pretending that there's nothing but what you can see. I don't understand how to be, and I can't figure out how to stop thinking about what's hidden/ what I can't know. I wonder about who is buried under my house and whose graves are under the lake where the tap water comes from.

I think there's a ghost in the upstairs part because I saw too many orbs in a photo, and sometimes it smells like faintly dead things. I spend so much time scared of spiders and tornadoes and dead Kiowas and sounding crazy and being mean and not knowing enough, and not trying hard enough to mend things, and wondering if anyone is proud enough of me and if I can ever escape here, and if I am quiet enough or far too quiet and and and and and

And I miss my grandma.

I'm trying to figure out how to actually be a whole person instead of some fraction of something, and that's an impossible task when I'm constantly dissecting and being dissected. People keep asking me how much X I am. How can a person be only so much?

How can we live?

Does anyone even read this any more??

The last month, I know, has been gut wrenching to watch. From all vantages. I'm so sorry that we have borne this trial, and I sincerely hope that you have found someone to bear it deeply with you.

In my academic life, I study how minority groups are visually depicted and represented. I find a fascinating application for my training in looking towards my own self, and the groups with whom I am family. Right now, I want to turn my attention to us; to Mormons. Specifically, to Mormon women.

I was  struck when the church decided (whether autonomously or not) to FINALLY display a photograph of the highest female authorities of our organization in the conference center this year. I wondered, when that happened, why it was happening just now, and I was intrigued that there was only minimal precedent for such a display in such a public place in the church. Almost every Relief Society room I've been in has little oval portraits of the presidents of that organization hanging on its walls. I hadn't really ever considered that such a view wasn't displayed for everyone. When those sisters showed up in the conference center, with their pastel blazers and heavenly puffed hair helmets, I was moved to finally see my sisters taking their place.

Being represented on a wall with a portrait in a public place has a long tradition in western culture. A portrait conveys a message of importance, of belonging and sometimes of wealth or great knowledge. Historically, portraits were reserved for kings and queens, emperors and pharaohs , members of royal courts and heroic dynasties. I saw these sisters taking their place in line with a long tradition.

But the fact that it took them until 2014 to finally be put up on the wall told me a different story.
In art history (my area of academic interest and practice), there is a great array of means to approach visual representation. In my particular area of study, the mechanism of the "post memory" has been useful. The post memory, essentially, is the means by which the struggles and hardships of our predecessors are imbued with meaning. It is the means by which latter generations inherit these struggles as a part of their identity, their narrative, their truth. I posit that Mormon women today are inheritors of the minimal visibility of our faithful sisters before us, and the deep capacity to remain faithful regardless. I would like to further suggest that that specific struggle has a great deal of significance and meaning.

A dear friend KB recently expressed to me the frustration that she feels compelled to "bask in the history of my foremothers. But it is too deeply overshadowed by [our] forefathers." KB isn't one to be lost on sentiment where it isn't due, and I want to tell her, to tell all of us, that there is meaning in joining the struggle to be seen, to be heard, to matter, and to make the story of the gospel whole.

I think often about when Eliza Snow was writing the words to O My Father. She was discussing the theology and nature of Godliness with her husband Joseph Smith, when he told her that we have a Mother in Heaven just as much as we have a Father there. She excitedly added that verse to her poem and encased our deep revealed doctrine of feminine potential in its lines. Eliza helped to usher forth the truth of the gospel, providing a projected potentiality for the women of the church. Why, then, have we taken to being so quiet about her, then? Do we have an obligation to honor her thorough silence? Does a half of the God of the universe speak in a primary voice? Does She speak at all?

And why, until Mormon revelation was the overriding Christian belief that Eve ruined all of existence for humanity?

It has been tempting for me to believe that the real truth is what I hear so very very often, even from people in the church; I'm tempted to believe that maybe God really doesn't value me as a whole being because I am a daughter. It's heartbreaking for me to even write this down. I am tempted to buy the line that I was made with the wrong parts to be a full participant in Zion. I'm really really tempted to believe it when people tell me (so often) that women are silent and invisible because that's how God wants it. It seems to make so much sense- all of my foremothers, all of the heroines and prophetesses of scripture are muzzled in light of their male counterparts. I am bereft at the fact that I don't miss their voice more, that we don't long more wholly for our Mother. There is no song we teach our young about the presidents of the Relief Society.

I could bemoan the inequities for days. But I will spare you (since you are here, you are probably already acutely aware), and instead offer this thought: I believe that as the women of the church, we link with these women- powerful role models: Heavenly Mother, Eve, Mary, The Other Mary, Emma, Lucy, Deborah, Miriam, Jael, Jezebel, Leah, Dorcas, The Woman Taken In Adultery, Ruth, Bonnie, Carole, Linda, The Other Linda, The Other Carol, Neill, Rosemary, Jean and Cheryl, Margaret, Maxine, Lynne, Lavina,  Kate, and countless others - in seeking to be seen, to be heard, to be faithful to righteousness. We inherit their struggle and their faith also in NOT being seen or heard, but valued abundantly nevertheless.

There is a scripture that I found recently that caught me in a moment of my temptation to believe the lie that women's authority is null: it's aaaaall the way back in Doctrine & Covenants  138. It's embedded in this recounting of Joseph F Smith's vision. He is telling about a vast congregation who await Christ while His body lay in the tomb. Is says that, assembled among Adam and his male cohort, was also "our glorious Mother Eve, with many of her faithful daughters who had lived through the ages and worshiped the true and living God."

-D&C 138:39

I feel dumbfounded that this scripture isn't more well known and beloved and celebrated amongst Mormon feminists. I intend to learn it and use it every time I enter back into temptation to believe the lie that women don't matter or are lesser. It reminds me that daughters have place in the halls of Zion. Even on the walls with the sons!
These daughters' struggle is ours. I in no way praise the institutions of the world nor forgive the mechanisms of almighty history for forgetting these women, I simply ask that we see, as their inheritors, the light of the gospel in them and take them as our mothers. I want to be nourished by them.

And so. 
For those is us who are ready to be done with the church, I stand with you. I want to hug each of you in the lobby on your way out the chapel doors and weep with you. I want to shout out my anger with you, using all of the tones and swears unbefitting the "good girls" we were trained up to be. I want to walk around with you and know where you can still see God and I want to worship with you there. I know why you have to go, and I honor that. I don't blame you, or begrudge your choice in the slightest.

For those of us who can stay a little longer, I hope that you find meaning and a means by which you can honor our women in spite of the temptation to believe that we must be mute and invisible. I hope that we magnify and grow our faith from the realities of our predecessors. If there's one thing we are good at, it's honoring our pioneer ancestors. I believe that it's the thing that Christ would have us do.
I think we have a chance to make this into a blessed time for growth as a sisterhood, as a people, and as humanity.

ghost

I think about maybe being a ghost a lot.
Like in that movie with Nicole Kidman and those little kids who were allergic to light.
Are people really allergic to light?
What if I am haunting someone now?
Do you think they would be scared of what I do? Do you think they would like how I arranged the furniture, and do you think they would also notice that the little guy who lives on top of my fridge spins around so that he's always looking toward the front door? No matter how many times I put him back, he is vigilant.
I hope I don't scare the ghosts who are alive. I hate that part in that movie where you finally see that they are dead. It seems more scary than it needs to. Maybe its okay to be a ghost for a little while. At least they have one another and that beautiful old house to haunt.

I live alone now for the first time in my life.
It has been a month.
I sometimes get nervous that I don't see any person for entire days at a time, and I get scared that nobody sees me either. I'm not really anxious about it, but I notice it. It's like a toothache before it gets serious. Just sort of... there.
Sort of dull.
Sometimes less sharp. Sometimes more.
I take pictures of myself.
Usually they are sort of humiliating, but I like them. I hope I delete them.
There are a few things that I am doing always now. I am taking the pictures, and I am reading again. I hang up all of my clothes and clean my floors, and my dishes are always clean, never left in the sink.
I make my bed every day.
It isn't for someone else.
And it feels good.

I prayed, so far, only once this calendar year.
I have always liked when people say "calendar year."
We are 17 days in. I might do it again. I might not. Someone told me recently that they miss God, and I think that maybe I do too. I try to remember that when I bake the bread every week. I try to make a place for God to come back to me in my heart.

I brush my teeth now better than I ever have in my recollection. My teeth always feel weird.
Maybe things will change.
Change is sometimes the only thing that I think will save us. It's the certain constant in the universe. Nothing else. Not death. Not taxes. That's stupid. Change is the master. Change is hope. Maybe that's what all of that religion has been trying so hard to tell me: become better, become bigger, become more, become stronger, become kinder, become more gentle, become more pliable, become more forgiving. Become, become, become. It's so scary, change, but its the thing that is hopeful. I was caught the other day thinking, "No matter what, someday, all of this will be different."
I just want to be able to allow it.

FOO'ZBALL

I just need to say this.

I really don't care about football.

Just really, no.

There. I did it.

I know I should. I went to two colleges and that are big football schools. It's like a major religion at both of them, and I have been to one game at each. I enjoyed myself, but it's really just whatever. I know that so many people who I love (maybe even you?) care SO much. It's cool. But I really really, sincerely just could not care less. I understand the game, I grew up watching it... I just don't care, and I am incredibly tired of feeling obligated to care.

I just don't.


#rantover

-schlafzeit-

I have gotten bad at sleep again.

It comes in waves.

Sometimes I arrange my pillows in my bed so that they are like another person under the blankets with me. 

I snuggle the crap out of them.

Sometimes I get scared that it will always be pillows and never a person (this is a confession).

Also, there is a cricket who lives a few millimeters away from my window, who likes to watch me sleep and really likes to whisper the sweetest nothings to me all night long. I hope she doesn't die when it gets too cold out there.

sooooo...

Hey guys. Um... I got a job. I am happy and nervous. But mostly happy.

I am teaching an art history course at a private university in Lincoln. It's Ancient to Medieval, which isn't my main specialty or favorite period (I DO LOVE GOTHIC ART AND ARCHITECTURE, BUT THAT IS AT THE VEEEEEERY END!!), but I am still excited. And nervous. Did I mention that I'm nervous?

Remember when I was planning on moving to Maui? That was hilarious. Everything is in the timing of heaven, and more than anything I am grateful that I get answers to my prayers, even if they are trying in the meantime, and that they often come in super unexpected and nick-of-time ways. More on this thought later- It's a pattern in my life that I am more fully trying to wrap my mind around. Suffice it to say for now: I feel extremely blessed.

I got a delicious blessing from my bishop this week, and I feel confident that I will be okay... In the meantime, I am nervous. And happy.

On Women and the Priesthood: Finally

This post has been a long time coming, and it has been a labor to get to it. It hasn't been without its rewards, and I hope that I can help in lending my voice; at least in a small part. 

In April of this year, I put a request for discussion of women and the Priesthood in the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints as my Facebook.com status. I wanted to hear from my friends what they were thinking about it, and I wanted to find a means through which to formulate my own opinion on the matter. I was blessed with an outpouring of thoughtful and well reasoned conversation from men and women of a multitude of opinion.  I haven't actually heard any news about the discussion that was officially begun and carried on in an institutional manner since a few months ago, but some of the things that were brought up in discussing this topic with some friends have been weighing heavily on me. I want to share those and talk about my own experiences. 

I finally feel like I can talk about this. I finally feel like I should weigh in. This post is freaky-long and filled to bursting with more freaky-long links. Take your time, it'll be here forever. Sorry if you are already past it and you live in Idon'tcaresville already; skip this post and read my thoughts about nature or gardening or art or crushes or grass (those ones are good too). Or better yet, get a drink of water and go outside. Your bicycle probably misses you.

 *****************

In March of this year, I went to church with my aunt in Ogden, Utah. During Relief Society, an elderly sister raised her hand and made a non-sequiter comment to the effect that the "good" sisters of the church are not advocating for change. They don't ask a million zany questions, they aren't disruptive in their appearance, they don't ascribe to gifts or callings, they are sweet, they are good cooks, they are submissive, they are pleasant, they are gentle and meek, they are educated as a backup plan, they are quiet, and they do not wear pants to church (this was shortly on the heels of what had become called "Pantsgate," about which you can read more here, here or here). It would have been easy to put this sister's comments to rest for curmudgeonly state, but her comment reached down deep and made me think. Her attitude was one that created a real "us/them" dichotomy that made me uncomfortable and actually excused the spirit from that meeting. I know many women who are seeking after righteousness and the Spirit in their lives who fit precisely in the crosshairs of this woman's frustrations. I know how deeply these sisters defy all that she has been taught was good and true, but they are still her sisters. I include myself on many points. While this experience happened before the Ordain Women movement really hit the ground (April 2013), there was a foment in the air. This sister's comment became linked, inextricably in my mind with the question of women and the Priesthood and it is the thing that has bothered me most deeply in the discussion at large: it is divisive. 

I sought first to dismiss the whole issue because of its potential to tear apart the tender and vital ties that create a sisterhood within the church- that is something that I believe in and value greatly. We are asked to serve one another, and we are very good at it. My mother is no longer active in the Church, but she often inquires, gratefully, about the service that the sisters in my Relief Society in Nebraska have offered me. They treat me, without hesitation or guile, as one of their own. They enjoin me to their hearts as any sister would, and the enquire after her. I rejoice in detailing the goodness of the women (and men) with whom I am blessed to associate. Service and charity always first.  Our work is service in the work of perfecting the saints. This is a part of the four-fold mission of the church, which is: to proclaim the gospel, redeem the dead, care for the poor and needy and the perfecting of the saints. I love that the emphasis is on the ACTION of perfecting rather than the admiration or adoration of the already perfected. That emphasis allows plenty of space for impetuous, imperfect, me. What greater principle can there be?

Our second responsibility as members of the church, is to ask questions and respond when prompted in the name of coming unto Christ and becoming Christlike in our attributes and in our attitudes. We seek further light and knowledge always. The entire church is founded on a question. We believe in continuing revelation even when it is hard to bear and the changes we are asked to make seem strange or incomprehensible. We have a very long history of making those changes anyways. It is a SUBSTANTIAL part of our faith narrative, and one which I embrace wholly. I admire the spirit of Mormonism for which the veil is thin and the Heavens are open, for which the tenacity to approach the God of the Old and New Testament is a daily practice. That is the geist to which I seek to join myself; this is faith enacted. It is faith that compels action and moves a people across a continent, across oceans in an attempt to make promises with their God in holy temples. It is the power of healing and of blessing and the encircling comfort of angelic sweetness. It is the vehicle of forgiveness. This is the power by which we are enabled, our faith finished. There are evidences of this faith that I cannot deny, and this is what keeps me in the church. 

If questioning is such a substantial part of our faith, then I applaud those who have fostered the Ordain Women movement. I wish only that they were carrying on a continued conversation about it. Perhaps there is a conversation going on, but it hasn't reached Nebraska yet (If you know/are an answer to this, please comment). I am grateful for the opportunity to ask what Joseph Smith meant on founding the Relief Society as a "Kingdom of Priests." I am grateful to ponder the thinness of the veil and the willingness of my God to hear my concerns and treat my questions.  I have been blessed in asking questions about the power and authority that come through receiving an endowment in the temple. It has been a noble course of study to seek to more deeply understand the priesthood at large as well as in the specific (I have LOVED Joanna Brooks for leading this). I believe deeply in questioning.

But somehow I'm not satisfied with the ordination of women as an answer to all of that questioningness (If you were looking for a simple take-away message, this is it: I am not satisfied with the ordination of women to offices in the priesthood as it has been presented). A persistent concern for me in this entire conversation and in the buzz surrounding mormon feminism's upsurge in the last few years, is a disquietude for other cultures and traditions. I believe that God is big.  Bigger than I can fathom. Yes, I believe that the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints is the location of the restored gospel of Jesus Christ. I do not, however, believe that Mormonism has a corner on the market of righteousness or of correctness in principle or faith. I easily dismissed the "wear pants to church day" as a day for a very specific subset of Mormon women in the western United States to voice their concerns and demonstrate their opinion and feelings. This was not an important day where I live- there hasn't been a Sunday that a woman hasn't worn pants to church in the two years I have lived outside of the Western U.S. Nobody has ever batted an eyelash. I believe that there are more important things about us, as children of God, than what we look like or wear. I wore a dress on that day.  I am still a Mormon feminist. 

I recently had the opportunity to travel to northwestern Montana to learn from the Assiniboine tribe, from which I am descended. I learned so much in my time there, and a study of gender was a crucial component. of my thought process (so much more to come on this later). As it pertains to this topic, I was entranced by the exclusion of women in the performance of ceremonial functions. The Assiniboine are a traditionally matriarchal society, but even still, women are not participants in pipe ceremonies or in the Sun Dance except as dancers. The women make the food and watch the children. Watching this gender normativity play out in an indigenous tradition provided a means for me to both greater understand, and forgive the misgivings of Mormon gender relations. There may be a leap in logic there, but my point is that the supposed exclusion of women in priestly office is not singularly the fault of the LDS church, but rather a larger practice that I do not purport to fully understand. I didn't understand it in the context of my tribe, and I don't understand it in the context of the church (my other tribe). I will continue my study on this topic, but I will do it with a gentle heart. I will do it with humility and forgiveness in mind. 

Two final thoughts and I will wrap up this longest-ever-post. 

One: I am not certain that women aren't priesthood holders. I don't know how to quantify this here, but I think that women are not excluded from authority. We do not hold office, but is this separate from holding the priesthood generally? We wield authority in the temples of our God in both initiatory and endowment work for our selves as well as for the dead. We have power when we bring humanity into existence (and yes, I believe that fatherhood, NOT priesthood is the equivalent of motherhood; I also believe in a Heavenly Mother. She is a major part of my belief system although I do not know her well; these are the questions that I am still seeking answers for, still studying). We have authority in our callings and the magnification thereof. I believe this and I have done this. We are qualified for the work to which we are called. I have been blessed by women both inside and out of our temples, and I can't deny the power that I have felt from them. I have learned about the Levites in Exodus, who were washed and anointed, set apart as priests unto God. We inherit their tradition. All of us. Certainly it is frustrating that I entered into this when I was 25 when my brother was ordained to an office in the priesthood when he was only 12. Yes there is a tinge of disparity. And yes, I feel that too. 

But that brings me to my second and closing point. Many of the people I talked to about this topic were women who felt already-burdened by the cares they are asked to have in the daily functioning of the church and their lives. How many times did I hear sweet, over-burdened sister say that they felt filled up in the demands of running their houses, their education, their travels, their concerns for the future and their negotiations of the past? We feel like we are running at capacity perhaps, and that an office in the priesthood would be nothing but an added level of care. To them, I acquiesce and wish them the help and comfort they seek in the held-by-men-offices in which they invest meaning. Others wish that there were more of an opportunity to serve. I echo this and I find ways to do it. I make the bread each week for our sacrament service. I provide service in planning uplifting activities for my congregation. I pay my tithing. I ask questions. The church is remarkable in the way that it works with individuals. If you haven't found this to be true, move out of the Western United States for a year and try to do your visiting teaching 100%. Your testimony will quadruple and YOU WILL BE CHALLENGED.  I recommend that we re-examine the basics before we demand the complexities. Milk, then meat. My wise friend reminds me of this often. And then she texts me nightly to see that I read my scriptures. It's really fun to get wrapped up in the complicated, heady matters of the gospel, but I think we need a moment to breathe and take in the simple purity of the gospel. The small and simple things, after all, are the means by which greatness is brought to pass. 

This is my friend Dana, modeling a shirt made for her birthday by our friend Justin. I love the message on it- "Real feminists visit teach 100%." Amen sister. Amen. 

Remind me later:

Please help me never to forget how much I love the wild things.
I need to always know how rain smells when it kisses the prairie floor.
And what sage brush smells like in hot.
And the anxiety of not- knowing, the spirit feels ferocious.
And the pitch of a mosquito near your ear in the shade. It's its own brass section.
And that I no longer believe in"fly-over country."
And how sometimes there are stars that leave streaks in the night sky that you can feel in your bones.
And the clap sounds that aspen leaves make.
And how my hands look after touching the ground too much.
And the dark of turning over dirt again. It's almost always surprising.
And the ripples of the tall grass.
Those waves.
And how needful and demanding it feels to be loved and welcome.
And how a desert is exploding and alive.

And the subtlest contrast of that near-dead-purple and the brightest green of spring and the not-yet-spring/still-winter-grey, foreboding sky. It's almost invisible to detect.
Push me to remember this.
I can't afford to let it go.

And the unbearable glitter of fresh snow.
And the determined eyes of a scared animal. Especially a mother.
And the drunken laziness of bees after noon.
And the bitterest little fight that garden-fresh spinach gives back.
And the velutinous rub of baby maple leaves.
Their translucence and verdancy.
And that maybe God is real and evident after all.
And the silence of rocks.
And that pollen rests on the ocean in mile-long skeins.
And how the moon sometimes only whispers that it is a sphere-
And how other times it can't help itself but shout to remind you when it sits down close-by.
And the zealous wink of turned leaves on a still-green mountain.

And how it feels to see your neighbors going outside into the sunshine for the first time.
It's like we meet each other and fall back into love.

And the absolute deafening roar of thunder that bounces off your skull and tempts to shatter whatever walls you have around your self.
What is thunder, really anyways, the physics of clouds?

And how my heart sounds in my head when I walk faster or wake up scared or alone.
And how harshly the skin on my legs burns when I get out of the ocean.
Maybe one day I will stop getting out.
And the rush of sugar from Grandpa's apples.
          (mmmm, mmmm, rotten)
And how spider babies fly on spun silk that glows in sun.
Are they ever afraid of heights or of landing?
And how raw and fast I think I need to push myself when I think I might be in love a little, even thought I'm not sure I ever have really.
And how ferociously my hair will whip in the wind. It punishes my eyelids and cheeks and makes temporary tendrils, promises to give me broken, split ends. I couldn't care less or love them more.
I wear them as badges of freedom and trust.

I am the most alive when I am free.

remind me if I ever forget to tell you.

A Month On-

I went for a long walk last night and talked to my mom for a long time about our own selves and about how we become the people that we are. It is a good thing to do: talking to your mother about your person. I walked the 4.5 blocks to the community garden in the dark and I met a squashed snake on the road. There was blood everywhere and I cried after I got back home. Soemtimes death doesn't bother me, but last night I was feeling raw and exposed already.
I have been graduated for a month now and I have learned so much in that time. I feel fortunate to have time to recover from grad school and from academia in general. That sounds like I am ungrateful for the education I have, and I know that that's how it sounds. I don't mean for to sound that way because I am actually quite grateful for precisely that. But there must be a reprieve. Why isn't that in the scripture someplace? It feels like natural law.
I am working at a cupcake bakery, a thing for which I am also very grateful. The work is easy and mindless and allows me the time and space to have private Robyn dance parties. I am an introvert, but I like people. The cupcake shop is ideal. That being said, I have had more dates since I graduated than any month prior. It has led me to the conclusion that I am less intimidating (A problem I have often struggled with throughout my life) now that I have a silly job. I think boys are more interested in less promising women sometimes. I'm not sure what to do with that, and maybe I am missing something. Maybe they just like cupcakes, or maybe I have gotten more pretty since I graduated. Those things seem external.
Two Christmases ago, I was in Utah with my dad's family for to celebrate the holiday. I had just completed my first semester at Nebraska, and there was a distinctive flavor of intimidation and lack of interest from my family. I am the only person from either side of my family to receive a Master's Degree in at least three generations and I got the vibe that my membership in the pack was being called into question because of my education(not to mention my marital status). As though attending BYU for my undergrad wasn't enough, the Master's sealed the deal and I was perceived as something I didn't want to be. I told my sister about my thoughts and she advised me to act dumber. It was like a revelation when I did, because suddenly I was back into the adorable position I had been in before- beloved and wanted by my family. I don't think it's really fair to ask someone to be what they aren't. This last paragraph sounds so awful and complainy, but I want to say it so that I will remember to value the accomplishments of others for the future.
I can safely say that I am friends with my mother. It is one of the most rewarding relationships in my life right now. I am working really really hard to get to that place with other people too. Mostly my dad. I need to figure out how to be kind, but also to say what I need. I am learning a lot about temperance... Study it if you can. Then tell me what you learn, ok?
My sister and my brother are remarkable people. I learned so much about and from them. I am missing them sincerely lately... which doesn't really make sense. I saw my brother less than a month ago, and I will see my sister in less than two weeks. Somehow I  feel entitled to much more time with them that I am permitted. My sister is only 18 months older than me, and so growing up, she was never very distant. Our personalities enabled us to earn from and protect and lean on one another in a very close way. I don't think I have ever learned how to be very good at being alone yet.  My brother is the one who shines at that. I need to learn how to be better at that, I think. Most of my life is alone. I need to learn how to like it better.
The question on everyone's lips now is where I am headed next. People seem shocked at the capacity I have to uproot myself and fling my life across the country. It's funny to me, but also a little astounding how little people understand my position. I sincerely love finding roots and digging deep in a place. life-flinging is not my preferred mode of living, but there is just so much world to embrace. And so I do. Maybe I need heavier anchors.
My response is never as bold as it probably should be and I more than likely sound reticent than I need or want to. I’m not sure why I do that; react that way. I guess it’s because I’m still not certain that it’s what I should be doing. 

Mostly I want to be called somewhere and to some work. I want to be wanted and needed somewhere. So I’m a normal human. I keep telling people that I am working for now at a bakery where I peddle cupcakes, but I am moving to Maui to live with Kara at the end of the summer. And I am going to drive to California before I do it and I am going to see at least seven national parks along the way. The conversation always turns out the same way: When else will there be time for this? And the answer really, is always. I think we make time for the things we love. I don’t yet know how to use the things I have learned, but I am carrying them with me even still.
I feel like that dead snake a lot of the time. I don’t think it knew what was coming and it was bigger than it probably realized (It was certainly bigger than I realized at first. All of that blood.) it was. I sometimes catch myself thinking that I have my whole life ahead of me still, but that means that I forget that I will be 28 this year and being 28 this year somehow means that I don’t actually have all that much time left.  

and now

I graduated from the University of Nebraska on May 3. It was my half birthday; exactly 27 and a half and I felt every year of it.

I don't know what to do with myself anymore. My life feels not- empty, but no longer compelled now that I don't have school to demand my attentions. I have no more milestones to overcome and I have no more deadlines to meet with gusto. In some ways I might flounder for a while. I can't quite concisely assess why the prospect of this is so disquieting, but I can't sleep any more anyways.

Something about a divine and innate need to make progress, to keep growing, to keep learning and to keep gaining. This is the worrisome and uncomfortable part.

Beets and peas are growing in the back yard so I guess things are ok.

And sometimes I get to touch boy's forearms and hands so I guess things are ok.

And I have a plane ticket and a strong heart that knows a lot of different weather so I get to hope that things are ok.

I go for much longer drives alone now than I ever did before. Never mind. I have always gone for long drives; the difference is now I can do them unrepentantly and without restraint.

We're going to have a baby and it's really really scary and a little sad, I think (maybe more on this later).

Nebraska is the most pretty when you can forget all of the sprawl and just see the clouds and dirt and grass.

I think I will always find a way to love tall grass.

This is all I can muster for now.

mostly geronimo

guys.
reading about old warrior chiefs living docile lives makes me so mad sometimes.
like... right now.

“you can kiss your family and friends good-bye and put miles between you, but at the same time you carry them with you in your heart, your mind, your stomach, because you do not just live in a world but a world lives in you.” -Frederick Buechner

okay, you guys. I don't generally enjoy gossiping about people on the internet, and factually, most of the folks I'mma talk about in this thing probably read this blog. But I need to put some of my thoughts somewhere. I need a place to vent. So here you have it. I am making the second New Year's resolution of my life this coming year, and I need to talk about a few things in order to succeed. I am just going to drop this baggage off in 2k12 and start over in 2k13. I have a good feeling about the coming year.

First off, I need to say that I am really sincerely trying to deal with all of this lightly and with patience and faith. I really am. Most days this results in me feeling like a terrible, insecure monster who cannot learn to be forgiving/kind/patient/humble/nice (yes, there is a distinction between nice and kind; another blog post, perhaps).  I am not good at dealing with things, and I feel guilty for my mistakes and frustrations 93% of the time. I am running on fumes and don't know where to go for help because the places I usually have turned aren't really helping all that much anymore. I am trying to maintain sanity and grounded kindness. I am wearing thin. I am also very wary in writing this, and I have experienced a lot of anxiety in deciding to post it. Please be kind with your judgement and gentle in how you handle the knowing of these things.

And now for the story.

My parents were married in the LDS temple in 1983. Essentially, this means that, according to Mormon practice, they were sealed as a married couple for time and eternity under the authority of the Holy Priesthood. It's a really big deal, you guys. It essentially means that they committed (among other things), to be together forever. The Mormon view of "together forever" is bigger than most versions I have encountered, and more intertwined and imitate than one might suspect. I don't know where problems began, and I am not writing this to condemn or judge anyone, but sometime in the course of their 27 years together, things went awry. The tipping point  came in the fall of 2007. I was home from school at BYU with dreams and prayers of serving a full-time mission for the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints. I was so full of ambition and conviction. My application was submitted, and I was ready to go when I discovered that my dad had cheated on my mom. I am not going to give you graphic details, but essentially, I had irrefutable proof that this was the case. I saw things that have haunted me since then and things that I am trying to learn to let go of.

In a state of shock and panic, I decided that I wasn't in a healthy enough mental state to continue pursuing the dream of serving a mission for the Lord. I needed to go back to school, and I ended up keeping my knowledge a secret to myself. This has also haunted me. Looking back, on this phase in my life (up to the present), I am beginning to see that I may have been in a  state of Post Traumatic Stress, resulting from the psychological trauma of knowing the things that I have known. I carry them with me still. I also look at myself throughout the last 6 years with a lot of love and sorrow. I love that  21 year old girl and all of her pain and fear and struggle. I look at her loss of innocence and the abrupt end to her faith with empathy and compassion. I am continuing to try to love her more, to forgive her more, to nurture her more. I am trying to comfort her and tell her that what she saw was something that no person should ever have to see, that she didn't deserve that, and I am trying to convince her that she can find a healthy way to live after it. I am trying to tell her that she is worthy of being loved and that she belongs. She is a person who is very difficult to convince of certain things, and she deeply believes the precise opposite of most of those things deep down inside. She is a girl who is broken. But I want her to see how far she has come and how far she can still go.

By the summer of 2008, I was already back to Provo and trying to forget all of the ickiness I had known. I threw myself into social activities and school. I had the best semester of my academic career (which has generally been very good). I made many new friends. Of my some 1100 odd Facebook friends, probably half were made during this time. I couldn't bear to be alone or quiet or still. I hated everything during that year deep down inside, and I tried to douse the rage with a barrage of activity. I felt successful in taking control of my life and keeping myself occupied and my secret to myself until a gorgeous day in June when my mom called me in tears. She told me that she also knew the truth. I couldn't breathe. I remember sitting in my living room in that house on 500 north and trying to figure out how to tell her that I already knew, that I had kept my knowing a secret from her for the last 8 months. I just listened to her cry and mourn while I lay silently weeping on the floor. How could we go from here? How could he do this? How did we not know? What did it mean? Did we matter? What was next? Could we survive? Did we deserve to?

This was the beginning of a very very dark time in my life.It is interesting to me to read through my blog, because I began keeping this shortly after I returned to Provo, feeling abandoned and broken. It is interesting that I haven't ever written about it explicitly, but it shows up nevertheless.  I had a sincere wrestle with my faith and belief in God in this time. During patches of this time, I turned away almost completely from my faith practice, and there is still a thread that is woven through my religious practice which is informed by this period. I wear it as a battle scar.

I won't bore you with the details, but over the course of the next few years, my parents were divorced. Things were rough. I constantly doubted almost everything I had known to be true. I constantly questioned myself and doubted my ability to do anything. I was overly critical and convinced myself repeatedly that I didn't belong to anyone anywhere, and that somehow I was unworthy of love. In any form. I built a barricade around my heart that was very very strong. I couldn't feel love. In the end, I am convinced that I am unloveable and that I deserved to be excluded. This is a dark thing to write out and post on the internet. It is hard for me to admit that this is the narrative that I have written for myself. It is in such opposition to the beliefs I claim to espouse and that are taught to me (that I teach others!) in the gospel of Jesus Christ.

I had a conversation with a very dear friend once, where we both recognized that we weren't fun like other people in our age and social group were fun. I wasn't carefree- everything had so much weight to it. I wasn't lighthearted- my heart was heavy and dark. I wasn't sarcastic or ironic- I was sardonic and bitter. I am hoping that in realizing and looking at this, that I will find a path to move forward. I believe that we don't talk enough about mental health and there are too many stigmas associated with depression and other mental disorders. I am writing this so that I can acknowledge for myself that this was and still is my reality. I deserve to be loved and healthy and free. I deserve to feel important and needed and loved by the people who are important and needed and beloved to me. I am starting to learn that this reciprocation is maybe what love IS.

2012 was a year that was earmarked from the start. In my first New Year's resolution of my life, I promised myself to be present in this year. I wouldn't say that it was a landslide success and, if you looked through the pages of a family album, you wouldn't know that I existed almost at all. I became a ghost for some of them. I wasn't present at or invited to my dad's wedding. I wasn't in many of the pictures from this Christmas. I wasn't really there in spirit or mind  when I visited my mom. I tried to be present when I went to the San Diego County Fair with my sister. I was, however being present and honest when my dad told me he was marrying a 27 year old. This had crushing results that have brought me to a place of estrangement. I was honest and present when I was her temple escort. I was fully there when I came to knowledge that she and my dad were dating, but not telling anyone at the time. I was there for the full weight of that. The year wasn't a total bust... I was deeply there when my brother returned from his full-time mission to Germany. I was fully there when I talked to my mom on the phone and listened to her tell me about how she was becoming a bigger person. She is becoming a person who stands on her own feet.

And this coming Sunday, the second to last day of the year, I will be present at my sister/best friend's wedding. It is insane and completely hilarious. She and her boyfriend of 5ish years will marry in the Graceland Chapel in Las Vegas, Nevada. I will bring my whole heart to the table and I will begin, on that day, a new chapter in my life. I am ready to stop determining my life by the pain of the past, and in 2k13, I am going to fight to keep my heart open.

The coming year carries a lot of uncertainty with it. I will be graduating from my Masters program and be expected to find a job or something of equal or greater value. Ideally, I would marry. I am declaring right now, though, that I don't care. My circumstances are no longer my master. My heart is freed and deserves to feel love wholly and deeply. I talked about it once before, and I mean it. This heart is strong and is now allowed to feel and know and return love. I pray only that it will be met with kindness and other hearts who are also seeking love and openness. I regret to think that I had shut out these in the past, but I will not be shaken in my resolve.

all time low

Bullet points are the only way to deal with this information:
-I am not certain that I brushed my teeth today or yesterday.
-I weighed myself before and after a bowel movement. I lost 1.5 lbs.
-I can't remember the last time I brushed my hair. Generally, it's clean, but rarely brushed.
-I have worn a pair of pants (GUYS! PANTS!!!) for nine days. In a row. That's correct. Pants. 9 days. NINE. They have not been washed, don't worry.
-I never wash my face at night unless I am sharing a bed with someone.
-I ate ice cream for breakfast this morning.
-That breakfast was eaten at 11:35 am.
-For the past two days, I haven't left my house until , at the earliest, 2pm.
-There was a span of time within the last two weeks wherein I couldn't see my floor in my bedroom.
-I haven't gone to bed earlier than 3 am any of the nights that have been December.

But damnit all! I have got to get an outline, annotated bibliography and draft of my thesis proposal to my adviser tomorrow. I find an insane need to have her validation and approval, and so I am working my ass off tonight to make it happen (don't be fooled, this blog post took three minutes to write and I will be back on my game after this tiny break).

This is my writing song. 

(and some secret information: The janitor who empties the trash in my office, which is where I currently am, smells amazing. He must wear the most delicious cologne... He came and left over a half hour ago, but I can still smell him and, DAMN. I know that is weird but really. REALLY.)

revelation

I have come to a realization.

I have been living my life life it was broken.

Some days, I really feel pretty broken...

I think I have pretty legitimate reasons for some of that business.

But in equal measure, I have legitimate reasons to feel whole.

I am starting to see that I have closed my heart and it has blocked me from a lot of good things.

So I am calling my own bluff.

My life isn't actually broken- it's human. 

And so, I am done with the broken schtick. 

It's pretty boring and like, SUPER draining.

I am done putting conditions on the way that I love and give. I am done demanding the most specific and probably impossible requirements from situations and people. Especially from people.

I'm not making any huge promises, but I am committing to be aware and to at least try. I am going to try to live with an open and full damn heart. I am going to show up and belong and be present and make mistakes and allow myself to feel loved. I block that last one the very most. It's really tiring.

I think this is probably the beginning of a very good season.

Can you help me?

rancid butter

the best class I ever took in college was called "The Cultural History of Medicinal Plants." I learned more in that over-filled auditorium than in any other classroom I have ever been in. Perhaps it was because it was almost entirely NEW information, and in so learning, I was stretched beyond my normal capacities. I remember several times noting to myself that I could actually feel myself learning. Or perhaps it was because I love the earth and things that grow from it (so many garden anecdotes could fit in here, but won't because writing is unnatural to me lately).
Occasionally information which I learned in that class reappears and makes an important streak across the sky, reminding me of what it means to know things and be educated in practical and practicable things. It's like cooking. Do you know how to cook? The question always baffles me, and a person responding "no" to that question is unfathomable to me sometimes. But I know that there are things which I don't yet (or maybe ever will) know. Anyways.
Today, I was brought back to the Widtsoe Building on BYU campus when I stepped onto a group of fruits lying in the grass. If there is one crucial element to this story, it is this: Nebraska is infiltrated by Squirrels. The concept of piles of fruits or nuts just lying around without a horde of squirrels rummaging through them is unheard of in these parts.  I was weirded out, and, retrospectively, I understand why.

These fruits, and now my boots, smelled acutely and precisely of pungent rancid butter. 

As the smell punched me in the nose, the image of my professor telling me about the scent of rancid butter couldn't be ignored. what was it? I remembered the image of a tree on the screen behind him, and I seemed to remember scribbling something down in my notebook about it. A tree... I prided myself on knowing the trees. My parents were "Master Tree Stewards", and the title was one that I decided I wanted to inherit. I had to know!
And then, I looked closer and remembered the bipedal leaves of the ancient Ginko. Ah yes, the oldest deciduous tree in the world. This old friend of mine. The fruit looks like this:

Sincerely, and with all of the pleading in my nostrils, PLEASE, avoid stepping on these babies. Rancid butter boots are not something that I would wish upon anyone, and as soon as I finish this, I will run to my car and take mine off so that they don't contaminate my car, and I will not wear them for a few weeks. So foul. So. So. So. Foul.

I am thankful for memory and the capacities for remembrance of knowledge. Knowing things is a miracle and a blessing.

Along those lines, I presented this today. It's a for chapter of my thesis.

In semi-related news, if you are looking for something to listen to, and you want to think more about memory and the implications of memory and its erasure from popular culture, you should listen to this. It might make you feel bad, as a warning, but I think it's maybe time for us to start being grown-ups about feeling bad.