Megs: A Wandering Life

Easy to persuade

2012-02-02T09:25:00.001-07:00

Zumba family

2012-02-01T19:21:00.001-07:00

The girl whose hair tie flies out, her hair going everywhere, and she doesn't even care cause she's mid-shimmy.

The young, beautiful mama with the baby bump who keeps looking at herself sideways in the mirror to see what her moves look like in her new body.

The girl who's shakin it like she's home alone in front of her bathroom mirror.

These women are my women.

An awfully big adventure

2012-02-01T07:50:00.001-07:00

Every morning we wake is a little resurrection. There's a reason 'bed' sounds like 'dead'; we rejuvenate and recuperate all night. Then we rise with the knowledge we've gained, perhaps with more gained during the experience of sleep; we have an opportunity again; we do more work.

I love eating breakfast in the dark living room while I watch the sun rise.

The perks of being afar

2012-01-31T13:14:00.001-07:00

Many couples here seem to me as children. Sometimes it makes me feel out of touch with the couples' prerogative, sometimes I just want to go back and play too. Increasingly, though, there's a feeling that there won't be a need to go back, and that these two years have been for a great purpose for us.

Still, there's comfort knowing he'll still place his foot next to mine in the temple as we're silent, or make eyes at me across the way. Those are really the things I long for after two years of talking. It's a marriage of two worlds that keeps a relationship.

The hairness of things

2012-01-27T22:13:00.001-07:00

I love going to the hair salon. Absolutely love it. I love watching the people, eavesdropping, being part of a little world of sisters brought together by the desire for fabulous hair.

My stylist today didn't try as hard as the last to make the smallchat I am so, so bad at. I like to imagine that they keep track of returning customers so they can keep notes on you. I would be ok if mine was something like, 'Friendly but painfully quiet. No inhibition.'

My favorite part of the conversations went like this:
'My boyfriend tells me I have bad breath. I never floss. Can not flossing give you bad breath?'
'Hm. If you leave food on the counter for a week, it will start to smell. I guess it's the same thing, except with food in your teeth.'
'EW. I am so going home and FLOSSING.'

Soundtrack

2012-01-25T21:32:00.001-07:00

His cadence is the most soothing thing in my world. The voice of a singer: crisp, melodious and careful, full of consonants. One of my homes.

And I sleep to it.

To live by

2012-01-19T22:21:00.000-07:00

In the LDS church we study the life and teachings of a different prophet each year. This year we're studying George Albert Smith, and the manual begins with his impressive list of 11 ideals he sought to live by. I was so impressed by his list and by his conviction and insight. In a class I'm taking we're studying a lot about the twentieth century, which is unfortunately the century of the world wars, dictatorships, and broken families, constructs, and people. The traditions, beliefs, and value systems of ever-before were inept when it came to treating the broken of WWII especially, but all the residual wars. We just finished reading The English Patient, which encapsulates all of these issues beautifully and hauntingly. All of the characters are suffering from what would later be identified and treated as post-traumatic stress syndrome. We discussed its treatment, and our teacher explained that the road--presented again in a list like President Smith's--to recovery has been marked by these key aims and eventual characteristics:

-few illusions
-deliberate reattachment
-laughter
-celebrate life
-unaffected generosity
-thanksgiving
-"one day at a time"

I do not pretend to be understanding any victim of PTSD, nor anyone who has suffered incredible, personal trauma. Identifying reading is a great mistake in society today; if the reader cuts out differences between herself and the characters of a narrative, she is simplifying and marginalizing them in order to make them match herself. Imposing herself or cutting in to a narrative does gross violence to it, disfiguring it and leaving the reader having learned nothing. Understanding is not the job, but rather respectful listening is the greatest gift any one can give to the grieving, to the hurt, to the sorrowful.

Tangent.

Still, while we discussed this list, it was profound to me that it could help anyone, with any sorrow, great or small (though perhaps always great to them, in that time), inside or without. We discussed how generosity, especially, levels the field of things we cannot control--it draws people to us, creates a support system, gives us peace. These lists are mini-manifestos; they made me consider what ideals I esteem, respect, and observe in my life.

They make me want to be actively engaged in the creation of my own happiness.

What lies beneath

2012-01-18T21:22:00.001-07:00

Everyone pursues exercise for their own reasons, having their own motivation. For me, it is discovering my body. Discovering the capacities. Feeling things that can't be felt unless I physically work and push myself.

I always feel like I've lost ten pounds after a work out, though a body changes much slower than that. Being in tune with my muscles, listening, stretching, I feel only the strong, essential, core form of myself. After becoming so aware of the lean strength deep within me, it's only upon seeing myself again that I realize there's more there that then doesn't seem to belong, doesn't match how I feel.

I continue every day, working hard, knowing that only diligence will bring forth that strength inside to show on the outside. We act in the manner of what we want to become, and will, I believe, one day be surprised that we have become.

I don't look like it yet, but I-I-I work out. There is no shame or self loathing in that. Only hope, joy, and that amusing feeling of being a dark horse.

That is what it feels like to me, and there is beauty in this journey.

What's going on in my life

2012-01-15T22:03:00.001-07:00

Years of age: 22

Zumba: up to 8 times a week

Yoga: up to 5 times a week

Muscle Milk: in the mail (ordered online for a sweeeet price)

Working: 20 hours a week; still in love with all my co-workers and with Harold

Bedtime: 9:30 pm

Recent guilty pleasure: black currant dark chocolate / Toffifay

Swimming: doggy paddle like a pro, three times as fast (still slow), can't tread water yet (still) (Saunaaa)

Boyf: T - 3.5 months

Last documentary watched: The Philosopher Kings

Been binge eating (ok not really, but kind of): Slab pizza and Jamba

Celebrities I stalk on Youtube in my free time: Ryan Gosling, Ewan McGregor

Weirding me out: Extensive Jung studies for senior seminar is making my dreams crazy vivid and, well, crazy; remembering them a lot more

Currently reading: The English Patient

Big deal of the day: Spoke in church (cried like a baby, like always; worth it)

Birthday gift to myself: Zumba headliner top and a Gaiam gym bag

Birthday gifts from my wonderful family: stovetop teapot, Moleskin notebook, two singings of the birthday song

Excited for: Tax refund

Daily must-haves: ridiculous amounts of water, granola cereal, a really good laugh

Jams: We Found Love, Good Feeling, Mueve Sin Pena, Tree of Life soundtrack, Sexy and I know it

Things I want to do this Christmas break

2011-12-15T15:19:00.000-07:00

Paint
Master the Party Rock shuffle
Spend time with my dad
Beat my brothers at Wii
Read and drink tea before bed
Watch documentaries
Yoga
Sleep by the Christmas tree
Play board games
Play cards

Born this way

2011-12-14T11:16:00.010-07:00

Standardized testing rolled around my fourth grade year; I still distinctly remember taking the writing portion. I wrote a short story about a girl with a poster of a Scottish terrier in her room. She discovered that if she colored his collar blue he would, magically, spring to life and play with her for a time. (My childhood love and longing for a dog had not yet faded away.) A few months later, I remember my teacher, Mrs V, approached me during reading time. "Megan," she said, "I want to show you this book. A ten year old boy wrote it and got it published! People your age can do amazing things." (Try as hard as I might, I have never been able to remember the name of or find this book. Yet.) I don't know if I realized then or if I have the memory of a later realization, but I knew she was encouraging me to write.

In sixth grade, my teacher, Mr T, called me into his office. He is one of my favorite teachers--believed in me, though I was the awkward girl, and insisted that if I arrived in middle school and they gave me trouble about entering at the high level classes he recommended me for that I should have them call him. I sat in his office and he had one of my papers in hand. "Megan," he asked, "this is a great essay but I can't shake the worry that it's not your work." The one time in my life I've been accused of plagiarizing, but I knew he esteemed me and was honestly troubled about it. I insisted I wrote it myself and later laughed with my friends that I should probably dumb it down.

In eighth grade I had a wonderful teacher, Mr M, who allowed us to submit our writing to him, whether for school or not, and he would read it, make notes, and hand it back. I put many a poem in that turn-in manilla folder on his desk. That was just about the entirety of my poetry period, but his notes were always heartfelt, while still helping me to improve. He had me sit down with his TA many times to discuss citation, style, formatting--many things the class wasn't ready for but I was already trying to use (and usually botching pretty bad). (Don't even get me started on the time--third grade--I wanted to learn cursive so badly I made up my own and the teacher had to move cursive up on the curriculum so she would be able to understand my writing again.) I had many important, personal talks with Mr M and while my reach was further than my writing was good, he is where the heart in my writing comes from.

I would go to high school and study many years under Mr W, an incredible teacher who was very fair and very old fashioned. I spent two years as his student and the other two as his TA--I refused to leave his classroom. I'll never forget the day he come back, after starting class, to give me something to do. "Here," he said, "grade these." They were the term papers for a sophomore class--they were a big deal. "Uh... I don't think I should..." "Why not? You would do a great job. You know what you're doing." I insisted he should grade them, but his faith in me is one of the best things that happened to me those years.

Tomorrow I'm headed home and I'll return an English major in the final stretch--my last semester. Words make sense to me. Sentences and organization and style. When I write I have an ability that is not my own. This gift has blessed me beyond my understanding, and has opened the world to me, helped me understand other people, help me grow outside of myself. It is my way into the world.

I am proud to be graduating as that silly kid with horrific cursive, accused of plagiarizing, who couldn't cite a source to save her life or didn't trust herself to grade papers, but longed to grow so much and stretched further than she was supposed to. The writing has always come easily, but the growth never did, and when I cross the stage in April that is what I'm going to be grateful for.

Last week

2011-12-03T21:20:00.001-07:00

before my last single party Christmas
before my last semester of university.

Epic.

Adventures in Boyland (part 3): Trust

2011-11-18T13:29:00.001-07:00

It was vogue in our ward last summer to play Body, Body in the pitch black church house late at night. (The clerk with the keys to the building was one of the most avid players.) It sounded like fun, but the first time I went, it was because I knew he'd be there.

Being brand new to the game means you almost always get yourself killed off early. I even fell to the "Psst, c'here" that got me killed in the Relief Society room. One round we were sitting there, the undead, a small group of us, including him. After a dramatic ninja roll in which he landed right in front of me and asked, "who killed you?" he sat next to me on the opposite couch. Things calmed down and people got chit chatty. All of the sudden, he swatted my knee and said, "how are you??" I told him I was fine. He only held my gaze and after a moment asked, "truly?"

I stared at him. No one had bothered to ask that in a long time. I didn't know if I should tell him the truth, in that quiet foyer, as his face rested on his arm that rested on his knee and he waited--I did trust him, though I barely knew him--or if I should play it off. Moments later, though, there was another shriek, someone newly dead, and I never got the chance. It will always be the moment things could have changed, but didn't.

I didn't play Body, Body much after that.

Adventures in Boyland (part 2): The letter Ex is for Why

2011-11-16T07:30:00.000-07:00

My ex broke up with me. That's not something I'm open enough about. We dated during those crucial teenage years. I always judged him by what I believed, punished him for what I thought he did wrong, and made no real effort to understand or appreciate him. Any real progress or genuine companionship was overshadowed by my totalitarianism.

The morning after he had broken up with me Senior year, I was still reeling. He defined high school for me, and being there for the first time without him wasn't something I could handle. Classes hadn't started for the day, so I was walking around the hallways alone, trying not to lose it. I found my best friend and she hurried me to the only place we knew to go: the classroom of one of our beloved teachers, Ms M. When we got there I sat at a desk and cried. We ate chocolate. Ms M (a wonderful, young, Californian teacher) sat with us. She told me that I had to understand one thing: that, whatever reason he broke up with me, it was about him, it was not about me. I understood what she was saying, and it was such a comfort to me. At the same time, it was very harrowing. Harrowing because I think I knew that they weren't true in this case, but they should have been.

There is this moment I think back on. We had been broken up for a while, and were passing in a busy hallway when our eyes met. It was no mistake--he found my gaze and gave me this look. I can still see it, piercing and sad. I've thought a lot about what that look said, something like, "I wish you understood. It's not the same."

I think back to him because, with him, I was one of my worst (albeit earliest) drafts of myself, but one that keeps me humble and reminds me what love should really mean.

Adventures in Boyland (part 1): Don't patronize me with your Clif bars

2011-11-15T09:01:00.001-07:00

When I climbed Timp, my friend David's new roommate went with us. I had never met him before. He told us how he had done wilderness survival with the Army and when we got to the trail head, he took off because he wanted to try to make it to the top "in a few hours."

It wasn't even half an hour before he came back: "I'm going to walk with you guys, if you don't mind." He walked by me and told me about why he had joined the church--because he identified with Porter Rockwell, and if lost, "drunkard" men like that could convert and love the Lord, he knew he could do it, too. He seemed solid enough.

But the higher up we got, the weirder things got. I had packed way too much food and had tons of water, but he would say, "Are you hungry? Have you eaten? Eat this from my pack." I told him thanks, I was fine, and he insisted, "You'll need it." (It was the expensive stuff, too.) Nice enough. We'd be walking and he would turn around and say, "Are you tired? Do you need a rest?" I never did; I'd tell him thanks, I'm fine. Sometimes he'd insist. Nice enough. He offered to carry a lot of our water--nice enough--and bustled that it was one of his heaviest packs but that he could still do it.

At last we came to an ice bridge. The boys had already crossed and were waiting for us. "Alright," he said, standing right up and pumping out his chest, "here's what we're going to do. We're going to come get your packs from you, bring them over, and then lead you over by the hand."

I stared at him. I wasn't tired, I wasn't afraid, I had come to this mountain to show myself I was strong. "I can do it," I said, and I crossed with ease. "Oookay, touché. You sure can," he said.

I don't have any pictures that day from Timp, but if I did--though he was a nice guy--I'd have a picture of the day I decided was my last of being patronized in life.

How soda pop was born

2011-10-19T15:37:00.000-06:00

I've recently become a fan of of herbal tea--oh the good a lemon mint does for a throat and a breath pattern. It's unlike anything else I drink, and the potency was hard to get used to at first. It was a blessed day the day I discovered that adding a little sugar helped. I got home today, was sipping some, thinking about the sugar, and thought, "I bet it would taste like candy with a few more tablespoons of sugar. Then again, I guess anything would taste good with loads of sugar . . . LIKE SODA." Thus, I am convinced it was invented when some weirdy put an obscene amount of sugar in their tea. Too bad it was a coca leaf and kola nut tea they were brewing.

Nice Frame

2011-10-16T22:56:00.000-06:00

The HFAC on Sunday nights is one of my favorite things. Deserted, quiet, calm. Last time I went it was still summer, so since Fall semester is in there is new student art, which I love. The JFSB may be my favorite, but the HFAC is my love and I miss days of rehearsals and concerts there.

Tiana Birrell, "We become what we want to be by consistently being what we want to become. I want to be a missionary." (This one was so awesome, but it was hard to do it justice. Worth clicking on to see original size.)

Cole Walker, "Nice Frame"

"Environmental responsibility"

Robin Clark, "Untitled" (LOVE this one.)

Another one hard to photograph, but it was so gorgeous.

Ellie Hansen, "Line upon line"

I also just love Provo at night...

...and I found this little tree and determined to decorate it when the snow starts fallin. I shall call him my Charlie Brown tree and he shall be mine and he shall be my Charlie Brown tree.

Halloween in Provo

2011-10-16T22:36:00.002-06:00

I've been looking forward to Provo's Halloween decorations on foot for a while. You will see why.

I can't believe I got a blurry picture of the last and best one, but one of the guys came out just as I was creepishly finding a good spot. Couldn't pass it up though, no regrets.

Pumpkin seeds

2011-10-16T01:07:00.002-06:00

Finally, fall is here. Thank you Rochelle for a very fun evening.

I think I will carve a pumpkin every day from now until Halloween.

PS. We put Vaseline all up on our pumpkins (which is why my hand is shiny above). Word on the street is it makes them mold more slowly. We enjoyed it a little too much.

Little things that made me love him

2011-10-15T10:17:00.001-06:00

His cat doesn't like people, but liked me right away because I smelled like him.

The time he wore white pants. It was very Ewan McGregor.

We once went to a party. I refused to dance, despite his coaxing. We did end up playing pool, and I was so unskilled and timid that people actually cheered when I finally sunk one. He teased me all week.

His no-homework-on-Friday-nights rule.

He loves Gilgal Gardens, which we visited for our first date.

Homemade grape juice and cream cheese jalapeño dip.

"EEENGAGE!" (Speer fam, you know what I mean.)

His amazing frog blanket. (Why did I not steal that away for two years.)

The Sundays we would retreat to a room on campus and he would compose at the piano while I read.

He had the old school Lion King and Lemmings games on his computer.

He watches Star Wars Episode I every time he is home sick.

"I kind of feel, in a small way, like Jacob. After working 7 years for Rachel, he got her sister, then had to work another 7 years. I only have to be a missionary for two years, but as for Jacob, the years pass as it were a day because of my love for you.

"We'll fight contention with a thrilling romance. We'll fight the world economy with tithing and faith. We'll fight unhappiness with perfect love, weakness with scripture study, rebelliousness with family home evening, and being lost with prayer. We'll make our house a house of worship, our home a place of counsel." -Boyf

In the last twenty-four hours, I've realized I could be criticized for the same reasons these people were

2011-10-14T19:30:00.001-06:00

Booker T. Washington

Summer Finn

My ex

And I know where they were all coming from.

The Stash

2011-10-14T12:15:00.001-06:00

Yesterday, I got a box in the mail full of chocolate. Now the stash has been gloriously resupplied.

White chocolate with dried raspberries, orange peel, and cocoa nibs

Dark chocolate with roasted pistachios, sea salt, and coconut flakes

White chocolate with crystallized rose petals and lavendar

I'm not posting this to try to win something or enter a contest.. I am seriously just fascinated by this. If you could try anything, what would you get?

How I get things done in my life

2011-10-10T21:05:00.003-06:00

Don't get mad at love, get glad

2011-10-09T15:10:00.000-06:00

I'm reading In the Time of the Butterflies (so fascinating, absolutely gorgeous; everyone should read it), which is about the different experiences, triumphs, and compromises of four sisters under the rule of the dictator Trujillo in the Dominican Republic. I'm reading the portion of Patria, the sister who seemed born to become a nun and a saint, but who marries and has children instead.

She has been struggling with herself and her own natural desires. She wants someone to play with her hair, but instead of finding a boyfriend, she asks her sisters instead. She watches her body change, but she abhors it, almost wishing to remain as a child (or like a man). The pivotal moment comes, though, when she is washing feet of men coming through the line for Holy Week. A certain foot comes into her hands that makes her "legs [go] soft beneath" her and she "could not help looking up." (Of course, "his face" was as "alluring in the same animal way as his feet.") For all her struggle and effort, I thought this was an interesting moment for her--despite it all, there is still something that draws men and women together.

The book is a study of the Patriarchal system in dictatorships (and, by extension, in oppressive church institutions), and the struggle of women within it. Hard, interesting questions, like "Do followers, especially women, chose to be subservient to dictatorships because dictators assume the head of the Patriarchal system, which is a naturally fatherly and even godly position? Don't you love your father even when you know he does wrong?" and "Is gospel or belief inherent in or defined by religious institutions, or is spirituality independent and primordial to churches--what really is 'the pearl of great price'?" and "Can you unsee things you've seen, and how does that complicate growing up and becoming disillusioned?" All of them are complicated questions without real answers (which is really what postmodernism is all about) in the game between femininity and masculinity.

And yet, there's something. Despite all the strife between men and women, and the long and difficult history there, a young woman in the time of rebellion chooses not to become a nun but to become a wife and mother. Churches have long been Patriarchal (which doesn't mean the LDS priesthood in any case in this thought, don't be alarmed you LDS'rs) and therefore gender, sexuality, and the relationship between men and women has often been warped, oppressed, or circumscribed because they bring up such difficult, challenging questions. Religious observance has anciently suppressed sexuality, with the epitome being the nuns and the monks. I had the thought, though, "but isn't that relationship sacred? Part of a higher, true religion or spirituality where femininity and masculinity are whole and complimentary?" It seems like the only way to end the gender war, and the only way religion makes sense, if you think about it.

If you pay attention to postmodern literature, you'll notice it teaches that femininity is broken, but masculinity is just as broken, and everyone should chill out and help deconstruct and reconstruct them in healthy ways. Postmodern also highly emphasizes the difference between church institutions and the gospels themselves, but it made me grateful to believe in a Church and a gospel which agree that the highest relationship and the highest place of glory is one where man and women reside together, fully cooperative, both fulfilled. And not just that it's a good compromise, but it's the best there could be. Many people believe this does not exist, or isn't possible, but I believe it is, in individual relationships, which is why marriage and family are so important--they will heal and save the world, duh. Out of good marriages come good families and the teaching of those same good relationships.

It gives me peace in my relationship and in my identity.

Glad you weren't a fair weather friend

2011-10-09T11:26:00.000-06:00

Hey guys, remember the canvas in this post? It has still been creeping around my house, in the corners of my room, on my bookshelves, in my bed. Since June.

See?

Until yesterday. For a while I was beginning to worry that it was a phase and that I'd never have that feeling like there was nothing more worth doing in the world than skipping class, shutting myself up, putting on some music, and painting. I confided in boyf, who says he sometimes feels that way about composing (which made me feel better), and you know that if the thought had time to get to Mexico and back that it's been a problem for a while. Thankfully, though, I was bit by the love bug again this week and was so looking forward to when I'd have some down time to create.

Five apologies I should have made, but didn't

2011-10-07T19:19:00.003-06:00

1. You gave me a Firby for my birthday. I was ecstatic--I'd been hoping for one and was so grateful. After we opened presents, we went to the park, where my friends teased me for my Firby, which I had brought. Wanting to impress them, I proclaimed a dislike for it and threw it down the slide. I turned around and you were standing right there. I must have been nine or ten. I am so, so sorry if you heard. It wasn't true.

2. You were so tiny and so sweet and when you asked me in the grocery store aisle, "can you help me find my mommy?" I was scared. I don't know why. I ignored you. Thankfully I was with my mom and grandma, and they whisked you right up and we found your mom. Not helping you is my biggest regret.

3. I'm sorry I didn't show I was interested in you. Truthfully, I'd liked you for years when you finally reciprocated, but it wouldn't have been fair to anyone. You couldn't know how much it meant to me that you cared. I'm sorry I ignore you now at church and on the stairs.

4. I was joking and talking while you were bearing your testimony. I really, really hurt you. I have never felt so bad, and I learned a very important lesson that night.

5. You are one of the best friends I've ever had. There was never an ounce of contempt between us, ever. We kept in touch even though I came away to school and last time I was in town I was supposed to get in touch with you so we could hang out for what might be the last time. I didn't. I was mortified of saying goodbye, and refused to let the last time come. I never explained it to you, and I should have gone even though I would've lost it. I hope you now how sorry I am, how much I still care about you, and that I will see you again.

Mark it up

2011-10-04T23:43:00.000-06:00

Yesterday in one of my classes, my 1600 British literature teacher sat on the table and told us that the reason he went into "this business" was because when he read literature, he felt the same burning of the spirit that he felt on his mission. He talked about scholarship and about how becoming part of a conversation, which can span distance and time, is as simple as reading a text and realizing you have something to say about it. "There's a moment we all have but which none of us will confess. It's that moment when we're reading and a light bulb goes on, and we think, 'that is brilliant, I am a genius in this moment, and the whole world should know about this thing that's got me so excited.'" We talked as a class about how ideas for essays are born in these moments, but that they are fleeting, and we often forget them as we think them.

It's a pretty slim demographic that is worried about coming up with brilliant essay topics, but as I'm coming to the end of my undergrad English career I'm realizing what has been most valuable to me in school and in life. So here's a shameless plug for writing in the margins.

Buy physical books. Write in them. Yes, on the pages. Learn. Any text can expand your mind and cheer you up if you will have a relationship with it.

Below are some pages from my copy of McCarthy's The Crossing, which I'm studying right now and completely enamored with. Everyone should read at least one McCarthy novel. The Road is popular, The Crossing is exceptional, and No Country for Old Men has been turned into a blockbuster. Just find anything you're interested in, feed your brain, and make a record of it that you or someone else might benefit from.

I may write for me, but I write for you too

2011-10-04T17:41:00.000-06:00

Fill out my Wufoo form!

Art, love stories, and other pretty things

2011-10-03T20:45:00.000-06:00

There's a reason they say artists have to be crazy or afflicted. It's the same reason they say there's a little poet in all of us. We go through things, and we find something to say about it, and it in turn touches someone else--that's all art is. My life is peaceful and blessed right now. My love story is told, my problems have been dissolved, I'm at peace with myself and where I'm headed. Anyone who's even acquainted with God in any degree knows this doesn't ever last long, by design. My joys are the little ones--coming home and burning a candle and watching a movie, walking home from the gym in the rain, laughing with someone I'm helping at work. If I had hurdles to jump, you'd see the struggle here on my blog. This time last year my blog was essential to my survival--it was an outlet and place for sorting and exploring thoughts. Now, though, it's hard to know what to say.

Just know that the silence of this blog means that I am happy, and that I'm sure I'll be back soon.

Places I want to visit (so far)

2011-09-29T15:39:00.001-06:00

Oberammergau Passion Play: Not a place, but specific to Oberammergau, Bavaria, Germany. The play is seven hours long and depicts the life of Christ. It was performed first in 1634 when the people promised God that if He saved their village from the ravaging bubonic plague, they would perform it dutifully every ten years. The tradition continues today, and they produce the play during the last year of each decade.

Church of Our Lady (Copenhagen): This is where the original Christus statue, created by Thorvaldsen, is housed, along with his statues of the original twelve apostles.

Hertford College (England): College in England where philosophers and writers such as Swift (the satire guy), Tyndale (one of the first to translate the Bible--often illegally--into English), Hobbes (laid foundation for most modern political theory), and Donne (poet) attended. It houses the only portraits of the last two men, who both attended the college because it didn't have a chapel, and therefore could not be busted for not attending law-bound church services.

Panama Canal: While it's true that its building was one of the most incredible engineering feats, I want to visit mostly out of devotion to Teddy Roosevelt, who saw it as a personal and national accomplishment. His visit to the canal while it was under construction marked the first time a president traveled internationally while in office.

Casa Azul (Coyoacán, México): Where painter Frida Kahlo lived most of her life, and where many of her paintings and personal belongings still are. This is where she and Diego (though they were estranged at the time) hosted exiled Russian philosopher Leon Trotsky and other important figures.

Hampton Court (London): Where James I convened the committees that produced the official English translation of the Bible.

I'm cheating on English with Spanish

2011-09-29T15:01:00.002-06:00

And I like it.

That moment when I think of the phrase in Spanish, but can't remember the English, that moment is the little moment of happiness I love. Or the times when I realize something is said so much better in Spanish, these are the times Spanish makes me love it.

Also, a university Spanish class is like a family. You see them every day. You learn about what their husbands are studying, which jobs they're hoping to get, you see them change and grow. You rely on them for your grade and your progression--you can't learn a language and have both sides of the conversation yourself. It's special and it's important. And I love having that.

(Also, one of my English teachers asked today who in our class spoke Spanish. I raised my hand. It was a great feeling.)

Life after

2011-09-27T13:51:00.000-06:00

It took four years of university, but I know I have finally become a good and honest student because I can't learn without having questions. A thousand questions that class periods never have enough time to answer and that I'm still bothered aren't answered when class is over. I have the strange urge to make lists of burning questions and stalk my professor's offices until I have them all answered.

The beautiful thing is that I've realized I have the skills and resources to answer them myself and to find new ones, and that the work spent doing that is the essence of what I am and the fruit of what I've done here for four years.

This makes it a little okay that someday soon formal classes will end.

Breakfast of my heart

2011-09-23T09:22:00.002-06:00

With a little hot chocolate on the side... mmmm.

Thanks

2011-09-19T20:46:00.003-06:00

Today was disappointing. I was on my way to the gym tonight, where I planned to stay until I felt better, when I found that I didn't have my keys. I returned home and sat outside. I'd been there a few minutes when a guy passed by. "Are you locked out?" He introduced himself and shook my hand. "Come to FHE, it'll be fun" he said. It wasn't a question, but it also wasn't expectant or judgmental. I went with him, and it was so great. I don't even like FHE, and don't usually go, but tonight I was so grateful just that someone noticed. It meant a lot.

Then we fingerpainted. And I really liked it.

Air Conditioning

2011-09-17T10:17:00.001-06:00

In the media center we have small rooms with TVs meant to accommodate about five people who want to watch something.

Guy comes up to me at the desk: "Excuse me, is there air conditioning we can turn on in the room?"

Me: "I honestly don't know; does it have a thermostat?"

Guy: "I don't know, I guess we can check."

We go into the room, which isn't noticeably warm. "Well, I don't see one, sorry about that."

Guy: "Uh.... okay." Stands there.

Me: "...Is the room too warm or..?"

Guy: "I just don't want it to get hot."

Me: "If the room gets too hot, just let us know and we can move you no problem. I don't think any of the rooms have their own thermostats, but the air conditioning should be on so it shouldn't get too warm."

Guy stands on the coffee table and puts his hands up to the vent and dances around it. "I don't feel anything."

Me: "Well it's just the library's air conditioning, so we don't really have any control over it."

Guy: ".....................I guess we'll just bear it."

Whoever sent this guy to troll my tired Saturday morning shift can come out now.

More things I get paid to do

2011-09-10T20:50:00.001-06:00

Something we do every day is change headphone covers, because people apparently have a lot of ear germs.

We've actually switched to disposable and no longer use these, but they still make my day. Seeing this on the computer desktop also makes my day:

Beyond all that

2011-09-10T09:55:00.000-06:00

Where I work

2011-09-06T20:28:00.000-06:00

(These PA scripts are my favorite)

How can one girl

2011-09-05T11:59:00.000-06:00

A friend shared this with me today. Say what you will about poetry, but it comes from all kinds of different people, for all kinds of different reasons, and somehow says what they cannot say. For this reason, I love it.

How can one girl mean so much?
how can one girl have such a huge impact
on someone who lets nothing impact them?
emotionally?
physically?
how can one girl, with three simple words,
utterly destroy somenoes heart?
how can one girl, no, not even a girl,
how can the shortest thought,
the slightest recollection of one girl,
bring a man who has been called stoic,
a man among boys, a rock.
how can it almost bring him to tears?
how can one girl, unknowingly,
change someone who is set in their ways, completely?
how can one girl?

Chirp, chirp

2011-09-02T23:16:00.000-06:00

These days I am either hogging hours and working like a madwoman in the library or taking it easy as the ridiculously laid back English senior.

I promise I'm not dead. I will return.

'Have a good holiday?' 'Awful. Nothing went wrong at all.'

2011-08-30T19:58:00.000-06:00

Last Saturday, I climbed Timpanogos--I hiked more than 14 miles over dirt, water, snow, mud, and rocks.

I was expecting an epiphany. I was expecting to feel beyond incredible. Expecting to reach the top and feel like I could do anything in the world, anything in life, if I only put my mind to it. But I was minimally sore the next day and, except for my beaten up, dirty shoes, there wasn't any suffering or loss.

Instead, I realized that I already knew I can do anything I want. It was the training and not the final, grand event that made me strong. Instead, the moment in the trip that choked me up was the night before we left, 11 pm, when Jessica called to pass on that she felt prompted to bring extra socks, and thought I might want to as well. I had had the same thought a few hours earlier. We were receiving the same help, and it touched me. Instead, it was more important for me to be there for a friend, to just have a new experience, and to find out that I already knew.

'Til we meet again, Timp.

Beside

2011-08-22T17:37:00.000-06:00

Megan: "It'll work out. It might be high stress, but at least we'll be together. I know we'll end up where we're supposed to be. I hope you know how much I support and love what you're going to do. I am fully behind you."

Sam: "I hope you'll be fully at my side. I don't want you behind me. Metaphorically speaking--at my side, but never behind."

How to succeed as an English major without really trying

2011-08-18T17:11:00.000-06:00

Email your professors a couple of weeks before school starts. Ask them to send you a copy of the syllabus because you would like to get a head start on your reading. (Whether you actually do this or not is up to you, but it will put your name in their brain.)
Raise your hand in class. Every teacher I've ever met with one on one has told me they wished I would speak more in class. If you participate you demonstrate your learning and they'll never have to wonder if you deserve a good grade.
Go in and see them in person. It doesn't matter what you say. Ask a question about the course, about your paper, or about experiences they've had. This is probably the most important thing you can do.
Make sure you're an absolute expert on two or three really rich but underused texts that can relate to a wide variety of topics. Inevitably, you will have an open topic paper in which you can choose to relate it to the texts under your belt. You will have to read a lot to find them and it will be a challenge to understand it well enough that it's useful, but using them will earn you an A++. The texts I use are Walter Benjamin's "The Storyteller" and George Orwell's "Politics and the English Language". Gold, both.
Study near where the professors' offices are. You will see them all the time.
Ask your professor if they know of anything in the Special Collections that relates to the topics you're studying. This is a win-win for everyone; your professor gets to tell you about cool stuff almost no students know about, and you get to use it as hands-on enrichment to your learning.

Home

2011-08-17T19:36:00.000-06:00

For the past couple of weeks, I've felt like I could fly. The only thing weighing on me is the realization that I will one day have to leave this campus, and that on that day I will understand what it truly means to be heartbroken. I can't decide if I've realized this eight months too early or forty months too late.

P.S.

2011-08-14T20:07:00.000-06:00

(Dear Sam:)

The problem isn't that I want what I can't have. The problem is that I don't want what I can have right now.

People act like marriage is the pinnacle of love. It isn't. It's the pinnacle of friendship. I miss having my best friend close by.

I feel something marvelous inside me

2011-08-14T19:57:00.001-06:00

I feel something marvelous inside me. It's strong, straight forward, full of life, content, adventurous, and compassionate. I think it's the future me. It wants to take every opportunity and make new ones. It wants a master's degree in literature. It wants to do something beautiful. It wants to see the good in others. It's not satisfied with the way I'm doing things right now. It wants more. It wants to be all it can be. It wants to see everyone as a teacher and give away all it is. It makes me want to sprint, create, reorganize, and reevaluate. I want to see what it is. I hope I don't smother it with worry, circles, or laziness.

(And the first line is printed as the title just like an Emily Dickinson poem, because when she wrote, she didn't write for someone else to see.)

Some things

2011-08-10T23:17:00.001-06:00

-I think I want to run a half marathon. I am in love with running. I never thought I'd be a marathon person. Next summer?

-My best friend of senior year in high school has a brand new baby. A roly poly baby. My coworker is about to get engaged and was talking about how being away for one and a half weeks was "SO LONG" to be away from someone. Try 15 months. I feel like everyone's passing me by. It never bothers me. Today it did.

-Apparently you can get two months free of Real Simple. I'm going to sign up in September so I can get the fall issues. Fall is my favorite.

-A guy who looked exactly like Jim (of Jim and Pam) held open the door for me today.

-Jessica and I are going to see BFish speak at his convocation this Friday. I'm so excited for him!

-My brother is going to be serving a mission to the Nashville, Tennessee mission!

-Tomorrow Marie and I are going to go see if we can volunteer at the Provo Library. I am super excited. I've never done a lot of volunteer work before, and I'm hoping I can have an opportunity to go spend some time in that beautiful place!

-Jessica let me borrow her Russian collection off her bookshelf tonight and I am way more excited than any regular person would be.

-I had to tell a story to someone in Spanish the other day and it made me realize how much I miss it. Sam and I are planning to raise our kids speaking English and Spanish... we'll see how that goes. Univision please.

-Mostly summer just makes me want to lounge in the sun and enjoy the time before parts of our group start splitting up. Let's get tan, laugh a lot, get lost, and fall in love with something.

Not so unusual, definitely delicious

2011-08-06T18:28:00.002-06:00

Part of my weekend staycation had to include a wonderful breakfast. I thought I would take a wild chance and google "oatmeal pancakes". It's not as far-fetched as I thought--I found this recipe. I couldn't believe how good they smelled while they were cooking. They tasted just as good. I actually used one cup of plain yogurt (plain, not vanilla) instead of buttermilk and I think it added a little something that I just loved. I've never had a pancake like it. I had them with strawberry jam and dried mangoes on the side. If you're an oatmeal person, you should definitely try them!

Hungry

2011-08-06T01:10:00.002-06:00

I have really been feeling it the last two days. You know, it. It comes in the quiet moments. That inexplicable desire to assess who I am, sober up about life, and tap in to that groundedness that lets you fly highest. I think it has a lot to do with starting my senior and final year in a few weeks.

Here are some of the things I really need as a person, for myself, and to move forward in my life:

-I want to truly invest myself in my schoolwork this semester. I'll be a senior, I'll graduate, and I don't know when I'll be back for more formal education. I want to savor it, strengthen my strengths, and build good relationships. I want to talk about those abstract, highbrow, proverbial things that seem silly but that have always lit up my soul. I want to raise my hand in class and ask a good question.

-I want to be able to tell Sam things aren't okay when they aren't; in general, I want to communicate openly, fairly, and be able to separate my emotions from what I can do about them. I want to have something to say, plan surprises, initiate those intellectual conversations we feed on, and develop that maturity about life that is necessary for successful companionships.

-I want to decide now that I will never have a bad day at work. I want to go in ready to learn names, honestly connect with people, soak in information, and make sure my supervisor never regrets hiring me. I want it to be a haven, a home, and to always keep open opportunities to excel.

-I would like to be vulnerable enough and work hard enough that I can believe in things I don't believe in anymore, but want to believe in.

I was feeling such a good spirit about every thing I put on this list until this point, which I guess makes it a complete list. This past year I've been inspired, blessed, and nurtured by friends, family, and strangers--mostly in ways they will never know. I want to give back and be a strength in who I am and what I can offer, and I want to widen the boundaries of what my best is.

Me and Matt Damon

2011-08-05T18:53:00.003-06:00

It took me a while to get back to the gym after this happened. Actually.. I hadn't been since the day I posted that. As The Bourne Identity played sweetly on cardio cinema yesterday, I started thinking about what I do to motivate myself. I think getting there is half the battle, and I realized these are the things I say to myself while I'm running:

I'm flying.
I can make it to my next time mark.
Mind over matter.
I am in the fat burning zone; just knowing that is power.
I am strong.
Good form equals great exercise.
I have never been unable to keep going, I just choose to stop. I can do more.

Embarrassing? Maybe. True story? Yes. Also, my favorite thing about exercising regularly is that it helps me think twice about what food I put into my body. Not a guilt trip, not self-punishment, no dieting, just that it helps me realize that my little choices matter--a lot. That's what makes exercise real and possible for me.

And now you know--it's Megan's super short post.

This picture has nothing to do with the post. I know you like it.

Floor slippery when wet

2011-08-03T16:43:00.000-06:00

My first job, when I get to work, is the change out the toilet paper and brown bags in my bathrooms. I was in one of the bathrooms when a girl in a bathrobe came in. "Are you cleaning, or should I wait?" she asked. I wouldn't clean the showers until later, so I said, "I haven't started yet, so you can go ahead." It came out sounding completely dejected and a little defeated (yes, I was a little burnt out) but I hadn't meant it to. The girl stood there and stared at me and had this look on her face like she was wondering if I was going to burst into tears or something. I knew she was confused but I didn't bother for a "No really, go ahead" and a smile.

Several hours later I was in the process of cleaning out a closet. "Wow," this girl said when she walked by, "still working hard in there?" I stared at her for a moment before I realized it was the same girl and I was working on the same bathroom as earlier. "No," I laughed, "I only did the toilet paper earlier. "Wow," she said again, "thank you for all the work you do."

"No prob!" I replied brightly. When I went back into the bathroom, though, I choked up. Partly because people's gratitude is always humbling to me--I could tell she meant it--but mostly because I wished I'd been nicer to her earlier that morning.

Not too long later, I hit myself in the head with a bathroom stall door and got a goose egg.

And that's about how my day went.

Oops

2011-08-02T18:42:00.000-06:00

Tan line fail

Sunshine in a plastic box

2011-08-01T21:57:00.000-06:00

Sometimes, trepidation and exhaustion hit at the same time. All the options are out of your control, though you're still doing all you can. Today I was on campus when it hit, and I made my way to the JFSB and grabbed a BYU Humanities magazine, plopped down, and simplified my life to reading a little article and munching dried mangos.

I spent this weekend in Vegas. I wanted to leave all my worries in Provo, and with the exception of a couple of especially grungy late night hours on the Strip, it worked. Maybe that's what being young is for. You have the freedom, stamina, and desire to step outside of yourself and play for a while, easing into the weight of adulthood so you don't join a convent, go Walden, or straight up return to the jungle to live with the wolves.

Amidst it all, there are miracles. For some reason, god won't give up on me. When I think I'm reaching a plateau, a safehold, or a breather, something new comes in. Something wonderful and humbling and challenging.

Today, one of those things is my new job. I wrote this post the day of my interview. I finally have a job I feel I'll love, a job that fits me, and it fell into my lap. The thought of wading through the snow all winter to the little desk where I'll help people find resources, help them write papers, help them ask the right questions--it makes me smile and feel hope.

It's things like that that you come back from Vegas for.

A good day

2011-07-21T16:37:00.001-06:00

Blessings are slight. They are sneaky. We're naturally slow to see them, sometimes confuse them with coincidence, and even if we're in practice we're still blind to them because they can come from nowhere. We rarely--if ever--realize that one by one they're adding up to a miracle. I think that's kind of the point.

Sometimes, I have nothing. No emotional tenacity. No money. No gumption. No one around. No hopes and therefore no progression. Suddenly I'm MacGyver and I have to hold together or fix my impossible life with only a ballpoint pen and a rubber band. Except there's no cool 80s music and I'm not a hero for succeeding, I'm just lucky to be getting by.

Then at some point the hard episode ends and you see the blessings. This week, I'm seeing the miracles. In life we have to pay a lot of dues. It's impossible to earn anything without that. But I'd be ungrateful if I didn't pass it on that whoever you are and whatever you're in the middle of, it gets better--uncommonly better--if you work hard--especially when you don't want to--and keep smiling.

Mi tristeza favorita

2011-07-11T20:55:00.004-06:00

Lo triste es que cuando tengo razón
no cambia que tienes mi corazón,
y esta es la tristeza que se amor.
De los dos hay un brecha bastante
que a veces pensé en dañarte
antes de me doy cuenta de ataco lo que amo.
A veces volvemos a este espacio,
la casita donde vive amor completo,
y recordamos por qué amamos a pesar de dolores.

My favorite sadness

The sad thing is that even when I think I'm right
it doesn't change that you have my heart,
and this is the sadness of love.
Between the two there's a gap big enough

that sometimes I think of hurting you

before I realize I'm attacking the very thing I hold dear.

Sometimes we return to this space,

the place of unconditional love,

and remember why we love even when it hurts.

Galleries

2011-07-10T21:32:00.004-06:00

Haters gon' hate.

If you were looking for boyf and I back in the day, we were probably in the fine arts building. We went to his rehearsals there every day; went to his concerts; attended all kinds of student performances, plays, and exhibits there. It was always, "you have to see this exhibit" or "this one piece was so cool and I thought you'd love it." Rather than lying in my sick bed all night, I thought I'd troll up there. It was deserted and quiet and perfect.

I asked boyf if it was alright that I became a painter in his absence. He said, "Yes I love it." I also asked if, when he takes me back to Mexico, we can go to La Casa Azul, which was Frida Kahlo's home and is now a museum dedicated to her life and works. He said, "Who is he? I feel like I've heard of him." But we will work on that. He taught me Whitacre and I can trade him Kahlo.

Loved this one.

And this one. It was only attached with these little magnets, but I decided my world-class art thieving career was still premature.

Inside Joke World

2011-07-04T17:13:00.001-06:00

"Want to know a secret?"

"Yes, I would love to know a secret."

My skin is full of sunshine and it's a weekend of fireworks

2011-07-03T15:02:00.002-06:00

bake at 95° for two and a half hours, or until golden brown

Last night we watched the largest stadium firework show in the world. The brilliance left me thinking again of the irony of it all. It was booms and flashes like these that sent soldiers into fox holes, to cower, to suffer the paralyzing numbness of fear. In contrast, there we were: stretched out on blankets, surrounded by rootbeer bottles and cupcake wrappers, "ooh"ing and "ahh"ing.

Earlier in the day yesterday we climbed Bridal Veil Falls. The waterfall slopes down the side of the mountain and we literally climbed up its rocky runoff until we were standing directly underneath it. I immediately fell in love with the entire experience, but only part of it had to do with the view and location. I felt strong. I could move and bend and stretch and I did not run out of breath. I couldn't have done that a year ago. I couldn't have done that without the resolve to get into shape. I was free from worry, from aching, and from inability, and it came of hard work and sacrifice.

As I watched the fireworks fizzle, I realized that same reason is why we set them off in similitude of war. To celebrate that we are free of fear. So we can not run or cower. We are free of bonds. Free of bomb shelters. Free to believe, to gather, to meet, to run, to exercise our bodies and--more importantly--our minds and our wills.

We may not have to fight for our freedom, but if we don't use it, making something of it, making something more of ourselves, we might as well not have it.

I'm pretty sad this happened,

2011-07-01T17:17:00.000-06:00

but a little proud.

And happy I can justify buying an expensive pair of running shoes.

Off day

2011-06-30T17:33:00.000-06:00

I have been in a low-key bad mood all day. The kind where I'm irritated by messes but won't clean them up, upset with my boyfriend for no reason, and wish I was living in a perfect, quiet bubble by myself.

This morning I woke up at 6:40 am. I had that rest-of-the-angels feeling. The only light in the apartment was that morning light creeping through the windows, all soft and magical. Thunder clouds were still rumbling. I stayed in bed and listened to the quiet. I think the real problem is that none of the other hours in this day could ever top a waking hour like that. I've been feeling so sick--my body feels warm, and like it was giving in on itself. Like a building burning to the ground. I'm confident that the only thing that could cheer me up right now is Christmas music. The jazzy, instrumental, cozy kind my mom always played. I also don't remember the last time I ate chocolate. No wonder I am grumpy.

I wonder how much it frustrates the angels when we tell someone we're fine and we're not. They carefully take time and energy to send people our way; someone who can understand, sympathize, help, listen. And when it comes time for us to open up, we say we're "fine".

What do you tell someone, though, when you're feeling awful but there's nothing actually wrong?

Life outside here

2011-06-29T14:40:00.000-06:00

The world through the peephole in my door

Stamina and gusto. I'm discovering that these are the most important things to have in a chill summer life. I work in the mornings and return home every day tired, hungry, and happy to have put in a good day's work. I always think, "I deserve a break." Except that break usually ends up stretching from 2pm to 8 pm.

Why is it so hard to grab something to eat, freshen up, and walk back out the front door? I have no ongoing plans, no obligations, nowhere to be; I'd be headed nowhere in particular. It should be a dream, but instead I just sit here and watch Grey's Anatomy and play online pool. I'm not a perfectionist, but I am someone who won't start unless I know it will be productive, enriching, and that I will make good.

Why can't I just wander? Why can't I get lost?

If you don't see some reports of wanderings here soon, please start sending me hate mail, or rallying pep notes, switching off as needed.

Soy y siempre será

2011-06-26T12:39:00.001-06:00

Learning how to be what it is we want to become is the hardest thing we do in life. Human kind has this great need to be something better than it is now, so we teach healthy decision making processes in public schools, we publish and read self-help books, we rehabilitate criminals, we love that moment when a book or song or stranger inspires us.

All we want is to live so we're fulfilled, but the act of living is frustrating. It's monotonous, it's cyclic, our state is degenerative. A person couldn't run a marathon, for example, without weeks or months of grueling physical training, and--at an even more fundamental level--spending time every day grooming, feeding, and maintaining her body. We're easy to see the glittering lights of the end goal, and we're susceptible to feelings of hope and promise. Time and human capacity don't allow us, though, to make the decision to be exceptional and jump right to the point of exception.

There's no greater betrayer than a fake. "Esse quam videri" is the BYU Men's Chorus motto: "To be rather than to seem." If we try to cheat the human process, or if we lie to ourselves about the progress we've made, we've profited ourselves nothing and even become a hazard to the bright eyed wanderers around us. For all our "to be" lists, there are "to do" lists, and negotiating and balancing the two without taking short cuts or becoming illusional or bogged down is a feat in itself.

Albert Einstein said that if you can't teach something simply, you don't understand it well enough. There is no simpler or purer student than a child. There is perhaps no better judge or test of who you are as a person, in the process of who you want to become, or as the person you've already felt triumphed to become, than a child. To teach a child you must accomplish the "to do" lists and the "to be" lists, because you don't sit down with a child and teach him one time. You make the journey of life together, going through the monotonous, cyclic motions. A child will learn daily how you tackle your "to do" lists, but only over time is it embedded in him what you've taught him "to be."

When I think of all the things I'd like to be--a college graduate, a thoughtful friend, a loyal spouse, a painter, a writer, a professional, an entrepreneur, an adventurer, someone who has sought what she believes in and lived a rich life and didn't hold back--I'm reminded that I have to struggle, fail and succeed, study and practice, all in order to teach my child at the right moment he's ready, in a way he will understand, how to turn around and do that thing.

This was the mini lesson in motherhood the spirit gave me today.

Bits

2011-06-23T19:46:00.004-06:00

Everyone is born with different gifts. We usually count gifts as abilities, but I think they can be more than that.

I sound like my mom. So much like her that I'd answer the phone at home and have to frantically stop the bishop from spouting sensitive information because he thought I was her and Relief Society president. I write like my mom. She writes when she feels and now that's one of the biggest parts of me. She reads book after book and absorbs information, recalling it when she needs it. That may be the only reason research papers give me such a high. I'm like her and it's made me strong.

Once my dad stopped at a rest stop and the spirit told him to push the button on a vending machine and that a pop would come out. He did, and the pop came. Any time I move something by faith, I'm like him. My dad would run to his mom's side if she needed any assistance at all, and I would do the same for my mom. I eat like him. In little moments I realize it and it makes me smile. I'm like him and it's made me strong.

On Sunday, it was Father's Day. It was the first day my family was in one place they all called home and my dad had a job. Today, it's 94 degrees outside. I put in a good, full day's work today. I'm getting a tan. The bills are paid and tomorrow's Friday. I'm happy. But I just wish it was the holidays and that I was sitting around a table with my family, playing games and eating, +1s included. I wish there was Christmas music playing in the background, and it was warm and smelled good and that we were smiling. I am never happier than in that moment. That is heaven to me.

Until that moment comes, it's enough that I carry bits of them with me. It's a gift.

Blanking out (Meanwhile, some paintings need a home)

2011-06-21T11:40:00.000-06:00

I am never more stupid than when I stare into a blank canvas. I white canvas can become anything. The possibilities are endless, without even bringing in mixed media. The pressure to choose one and create it without rushing it is paralyzing. Hopefully this one will become something before the end of this my sick day.

During my morning reading, I found this blog post about Rothko from a Yale painting major. He talks about how he does not understand abstract expressionism or its value, but that

"standing in front of a Rothko, one finds all arguments of aesthetics inconsequential. I’ll post a useless image here just to reiterate my definition of sublime:

Seriously? Yeah, again it’s a real-life experience, not a series of pixels on a blog. This is fluff. Go to a museum. Ask the security guard where the Rothko’s are. Stand in front of one."

It got me thinking about how paintings are about a thousand times better in person, but that I have a stack of them just sitting in my apartment. They're early and experimental, but I'd love to give them away for free if anyone wants them (even if you're not in Provo). (Mom, your picks override all, of course.)

"Woman's Affliction", oil on canvas board, 8" x 10"

"Megan and Rothko's Friday Night" (bad photograph), oil on stretched and mounted canvas, 12" x 12"

"The Art of Great Hair", oil on stretched and mounted canvas, 12" x 12"

"He will never suspect this is him", oil on stretched and mounted canvas, 8" x 10"

"Early Snow and Her Friends", oil and paper on canvas board, 8" x 10"

"Girl in the scarf", oil on canvas board, 8" x 10"

"Eve", oil on canvas board, 8" x 10"

"And He Still Thinks of Us", oil on stretched and mounted canvas, 9" x 12"

If you want any of them, email me (meganalisan@gmail.com) or leave a comment.

Cut off at the arms

2011-06-20T21:56:00.005-06:00

I am broke. Pretty much always. A paycheck comes, I pay the bills and stock up food, and find ways to live my life. This is what it means to be an adult.

I am so freaking happy.

While my mom and I were going through her old photo books, we came across this photo she took in the 80s of an artist without arms doing a chalk drawing with his feet in NY.

I brought it home and have it hanging by my bed to remind me to think about limits. Everyone has limits. In the LDS culture, there is a popular scripture that says that if we come unto God, He will show us our weaknesses, and that if we are humble, He will make those weak things become strengths to us. Someone recently pointed out in church that it doesn't say He will make us strong by taking away our weakness; rather, it seems that we become stronger by learning to live with and work with our weaknesses. The ability to do that is what marks a smart, down to earth, inventive, useful, interesting, strong, blessed human being.

Sometimes it's awful. Sometimes I think I can't do it anymore. Sometimes I screw it up really bad. Coming out on the other end, though, makes me feel so alive, so accomplished, and so happy. I'm not happy my bank account is zero; I'm happy because I was blessed that one more paycheck somehow covered everything, because stuff is expensive but happiness is free, and because I'm learning lessons I couldn't learn any other way.

If you can learn, accept and master yourself, you have the best thing there is. The only thing that will ever make you happy.

A beautiful place to live, friends who make me laugh, how good it feels to dance and run, the quiet confirmation that I'm doing okay, and fabulous hair days are all just added bonuses.

Monday munchies

2011-06-20T19:43:00.000-06:00

One Year, Then One Day, Part II

2011-06-16T23:13:00.015-06:00

(Finally ready to write it.)

When it happens that you wake up one day, ready to look people in the eyes, ready to stop making excuses, ready to make a life instead of watch it go by, you realize you can do things. You can do anything. You realize that in almost every case, the only person stopping you from doing something is you.

Including doing things like liking a guy who isn't your missionary boyfriend. One year I was so broken up about boyf's departure that making it to class was the victory for the day, every day. Then one day I was on the verge of standing outside some other boy's window and waiting until he came down and took that pain and struggle away.

He was wonderful and things were moving along, but I knew I had a choice to make.

I wish I could remember now the moment I chose boyf, but I can't. Burned into me, though, is the letter boyf sent in reply. I'd told him what had happened, and boyf opened with, "I know, I've been waiting for you to tell me." (If you ever meet someone who can read your soul like that from tiny details across weeks or months, you know you've found your best friend.)

He said this:

"It's one of the last things I asked you to do before I left--find out if you want me or if you want someone else. I don't question that you love me. Whenever something similar to this topic comes up, you automatically relate it with our love, but sometimes love doesn't play the largest role. Sometimes we have to look at the big picture, and the big picture is, maybe you don't want to wait, even though you love me. Or maybe the big picture is you like another guy and you should be with him, or you should be with him right now. Maybe you're hiding that from the world, because you don't want them to say you didn't really (or don't really) love me. This is all a bunch of bullcrap, but I love you, and I don't want you to be crazy just because you're in love."

Someday he'll be home from his mission, and I will have to stop passing on his beautiful speeches to you, but this one seeps in beyond him and me. Dancing through life, never loitering, will lead you on a wild ride to many experiences and also many mistakes. Keeping in view the big picture, however, is what allows you to learn from both. And I believe that someday, if we can do both, we'll find that all of the triumphs and mistakes we thought were ours were about something bigger than us all along.

(Also, if you ever find someone whose patience, groundedness, and compassion never cease to surprise you, you should probably marry him.)

We've run for a train together before, and I find that a little romantic

2011-06-13T10:21:00.026-06:00

The only thing that comforted me while I was in my hometown with my entire family for possibly the last time was knowing I'll bring boyf back some day. As we made the drive into Portland I took in the lush, rainy, green, breathtaking beauty that is the Columbia Gorge, and all I could think was that I would give anything if boyf could only see it. If he could just be there. That if we could pull off to a scenic overview and look out together, we'd be closer. I want it to move him like it moves me, because somehow it's a bit of my soul. Eventually it did dawn on me how silly it might be to drag him over 700 miles to see some trees.

When I got back in Provo last night, there were new tapes from boyf. He started talking about southern Utah, about the trips we'll take there and that he wants me to see all the beautiful things he saw there as a teenager. I could tell he meant it and that I'll be going someday, whether I want to or not.

Then I realized he wants me to see some rocks just as badly as I want him to see some trees, and somehow it means we're perfect for each other.

Family Bonding

2011-06-12T21:38:00.006-06:00

When you come to college, you're told that your ward is a family, your major is a family, your school is a family, your friends can be your family. That's important and powerful, but returning home these past few weeks made me realize no psuedo family will ever have an inch, an up, or a red M&M on my real family. My youngest brother used to be an infant who slept in a crib in my room. Now he's taller than me. What the?

They change every time I see them, but it's good to know some things won't ever change. They love you for no reason, and you do stupid things for no reason, and you laugh and hurt each other and do weird things, and it's the time of your life. Maybe not because they're actually that clever or that funny, but because you know and love them beyond what you can even understand.

Worth It

2011-05-28T09:51:00.000-06:00

Thanks to the EFY girl who somehow knew I needed this today.

Take a breath and count to ten

2011-05-27T16:39:00.001-06:00

The lesson I'm learning today is: don't do things you will regret, because you will regret them. It seems like a simple enough thought, but apparently I'm still fourteen years old deep down.

This is a Smith's "gourmet" cookie. It's probably actually a cookie they put together with extra dough and frosting, but I am absolutely addicted to them. I've been eating junk food all day and not drinking any water, and I feel like total crap. After how well I've been treating my body, I think it's weeping because of the sludge and the sugar. Life is like that. When we get to a good place, we become complacent or even lenient and then when the good chain snaps, we really, really feel it.

As you can guess, this post isn't actually about cookies. The point, though, is that you can't buy karma points and that there is no advantage or temporary fix worth floating the risk when something inside you tells you you could do better.

One Year, Then One Day, Part I

2011-05-26T23:07:00.005-06:00

I like blogging this time of year. The blogs are quiet. Do you remember in the most recent Freaky Friday when the daughter-inhabited Jamie Lee Curtis frustratedly tells a worried mother who reads her daughter's diary that if there was anything worth finding out about, her daughter would be out doing it instead of writing in her diary? That's how I feel about bloggers this time of year. Busy easing into summer, finding a non-schedule, not writing anything till things settle.

Tonight as I walked to the gym I saw this beautiful graffiti.

Here's the thing. I own a yoga mat--my favorite instructor's last class was tonight and I'm devastated. I know the name of everyone in the ward--three months ago people were still asking me if I'd just moved in. I'm a painter--I once thought I would never be anything but a writer.

How does that happen? I wouldn't know who this girl is if I hadn't spent a painful, numb year becoming her. I never intended to head here; I wasn't aiming. It was literally as if I woke up one day in April and started doing things I always wanted to do as if they were long-made habits. I don't know if it's God who made it happen while I was lost, or if I was subconsciously wandering toward my future self beginning the moment I wished her into existence.

All I know is that something sparked inside of me, and everything in my life from now on--every relationship, every attitude, every task--is no more loitering. Dancing only.

Getting

2011-05-23T22:01:00.000-06:00

"I want to go to the mountains with you. Drive with the music up loud. Park with the music down low. Take off. Disappear. Stay at home, go to church, play board games, a walk by the river, a night at the movies. Spell out love in your hair when it's long. Pull you in for a kiss when it's short. I want nothing more than to be with you. It's a foolish, young feeling, but I don't really care about anything right now besides getting you. When that feeling goes away, I'm going to want to fix my past mistakes, get on my head, and do things right so that I can have an eternity with you. I'm not going to stop loving you. I'm going to stop being foolish about it." -Boyf

The end of the rope

2011-05-22T13:18:00.002-06:00

I can pinpoint the moments when friendships became the major relationships in my life.

With Ernest it was the first of many instant message conversations in which he talked sense into me. With my ex, it was the 8th grade dance when I convinced him to take off and stow in his locker the sweatshirt he never took off. With Jenny it was a day I sat in the high school library and answered an email in which she asked a simple, trusting question about relationships. With Sydney it was the winter night I stayed really, really late at her place and we looked at pictures of Robert Pattinson. With Annette it was the night we watched Moulin Rouge. With Jessica it was the night we were supposed to meet friends at Sammy's but everyone bailed and it ended up being just the two of us.

With Sam it was a night in the library. We were studying, and people were supposed to have met us there, but no one ended up coming. We talked. We'd had important conversations before--I knew that he didn't want his future kids to have laptops until college before I knew his favorite food--but that night, somehow, we talked about the right things and asked the right questions--the kinds without communicable answers.

I think getting to know someone is like inching along a rope. You work your way along the rope asking the obligatory questions and the closer to the end you get, the more personal the questions are. If you get to the end of the rope, you're all caught up on them and you can only discover more of that person's life as they live it, in the same moment that they do. The important things to discover, after that, are those which they haven't even worked out for themselves. I think it was that moment for us. We both choked up. Not in a pansy or mushy way, but in the way that comes with bearing burdens and earnest selflessness. The kind of cry you cry when you can do nothing but would do anything. I remember clearer than anything the way that he looked at me and the spirit that was in the room.

Last night I remembered how it felt and couldn't sleep, but in a way I'm glad.

Honestly

2011-05-19T23:30:00.001-06:00

Day three of gym exploration. We may have run from the abs class with our tails between our legs (all those guys? and that much equipment??)(we'll work up to it), but we did go to yoga. At times I was grunting instead of breathing therapeutically, and let me tell you--my legs do not stretch that far (yet). When I calmed down and focused though, I could listen to my body, and a stretch was something to ease into and feel rather than accomplish.

For a moment at the end of the class, we relaxed into a meditation pose. Our instructor suggested something that echoed Eat Pray Love: to focus on a word, our breathing, or to dedicate our session to someone in gratitude.

So there's this new guy. You can imagine how the rest of that explanation goes, along with why that's complicated, so I'll save the time. I wanted to dedicate to him this moment that I was most relaxed and ready to draw in something good. We're only friends, but I spend time around him often, and I wanted to think about what makes him so lovely and imagine how I can become some of that. As soon as his face came to mind, though, there was a definite no.

Writers like Elizabeth Gilbert and Henry Eyring alike have emphasized that we should accept everyone we come across as a teacher. There's no reason I couldn't have been uplifted by this guy. The face that came to mind, though, was boyf's. This won't surprise you, because I haven't been talking about how rough it's been. Things have been tense--at least, as tense as a long-distance non-relationship can be. More than a year in and we both still have panics of fear. You can surround yourself with memorabilia, but there comes the moment when you realize your memory is fuel burning low and the future you're counting on is one you can't plan. The gap between the two is paralyzing.

So tonight, when I saw and felt his smile the way I used to, nothing could have meant more to me in that moment. A quiet, affirming moment that told me to keep moving toward the good in my life, including yoga, including him.

Megan 2.0

2011-05-17T23:16:00.002-06:00

My body is a factory, just like yours, just like anyone's. What we put in is literally all that goes in. It's amazing that we don't think more about this as we're downing cheeseburgers and soda pop and lying around.

Muscles tear and grow back stronger. Why wouldn't I take advantage of that? The body heals itself, and this isn't even a sci-fi movie. Why wouldn't I work harder and push my limits? Brains are astoundingly more active at night than they are during the day. Why wouldn't I get plenty of sleep to recharge and wake up to do it all again the next day?

Last night I went to bed feeling guilty, thinking about this. I had spent the day watching an unspeakable amount of Grey's episodes. The human body can do incredible things, there's fresh air outside, I'm young and have no health problems, and I choose to sit on my bed all day and stare at my computer screen?

The other day a co-worker and friend who also happens to be in my Ward was talking about her intramural and co-ed sports experiences. She asked if I played anything and I told her I've never been a sports person, but (for the first time in my life) I (truly) wish that I was. "I wish I hadn't missed that boat," I told her.

I can't pretend that I stared at the dark ceiling last night and valiantly resolved to spend 24 hours at the gym. I honestly didn't know that before I went to bed the next night--tonight--I'd have a gym membership and be (contractually)(but also extremely personally) committed to doing better.

Our last supper before we go healthy, including the celebratory "Gym Membership Cake"

This week we're trying All Abs, yoga, and probably some other unplanned things. We're gearing up and excited. With all the promise and the endorphins, it's an addiction I'm looking forward to.

"There's a snake in my boot!"

2011-05-15T16:38:00.000-06:00

Life's weird, a little stop and go, and I don't know what I want and don't want to write about. So for now here's a picture of my cupcake bling that I got off a Smith's bakery cookie. It's like those little spider rings that come on Halloween cupcakes, except I think someone put this there just to make me smile.

Things My Mama Taught Me

2011-05-10T14:24:00.002-06:00

Do your best job; do a job you're proud of.

If a boy can't take me to the temple, he isn't worth it.

It isn't good to spend too much time on the computer.

Your calling should be a top priority.

How to travel in a big city (keep your money and the spirit close).

How to shop (pick up and try on everything; you never know).

The real singers are on Broadway.

I am beautiful.

I am worth it.

Music is the best way to get housekeeping done.

How to sacrifice and what's worth sacrificing.

Family comes first, then church, then school.

Family takes care of each other.

Don't belittle anyone else's things, loves, or dreams.

All roses have thorns (and all thorns have roses).

Don't wrinkle your papers, keep your binders organized, and never think you have too many pens.

Never ignore your heart.

When you need a day's vacation, you should take it.

Read, and love books. Always learn new things.

Never burn bridges; you will regret it.

Going to the temple is important.

Being willing is important.

It doesn't matter what everyone else is doing.

You never know when you're answering a prayer.

Dont' lay on/sleep at/sing at the dinner table, and pass to the left.

Rock out; you will feel better.

Punch something; you will feel better.

Do it yourself projects can be the best.

Not everyone will understand; that is okay.

Godiva. Savor it.

Modesty is non-negotiable, and immodesty isn't worth it.

Home is where you come to yell, scream, and cry if you need to.

You are never alone.

Don't squander away your money.

Know your way around the kitchen.

Plan ahead.

Hug people.

Be there on time.

Tell your best friend how much you love and appreciate her.

Sing the hymns in church.

Cancel a meeting once in a while; stay home with your family.

Clean up a mess after you make it.

Try your best, and don't be stupid about what your best is.

Counsel with people you love and trust most.

Have a chocolate stash.

Do it the first time you're asked.

Listen to clean music, and listen to a wide variety.

She will always be there. No matter what.

We have undertaken a formidable task

2011-05-10T13:54:00.000-06:00

1000 pieces baby. Puzzles as a lazy summer project, yes. Can you just see me chillin at my kitchen table in work out clothes with a popsicle in hand?

Don't I know you?

2011-05-09T13:37:00.001-06:00

Once upon a time, it was Sister Appreciation week in the Ward. It was around 11pm and Sydney knocked at the door, but I was just out of a post-Zumba shower, and couldn't really get the door. My roommate was on the couch but didn't move, and she knocked again. A little upset, I came out to answer the door really quick. I flung it open and it was not Sydney. It was three guys from our Ward. "Hi, we were wondering if we could read you a poem," they said. I was missing some essential co-ed pieces of clothing, but was thankfully wearing a shirt and some shorts. I paused and said sure that'd be great and sat down awkwardly. My hair was uncombed, wet, and a bit of a hair monster. They read the poem, which really was sweet, and written by a guy in our Ward (anonymously, of course).

Last night, I made awkward eye contact with one of them across the Ward Prayer circle.

It made me think of this. That is all.

Two failed attempts to kill a spider

2011-05-09T07:40:00.001-06:00

Finger painting

2011-05-07T15:40:00.000-06:00

"He dips his paintbrush in his heart"

2011-05-07T12:38:00.000-06:00

I walked through the Carl Bloch exhibit with my arms folded, perhaps because that's what I learned to do as a kid in church when something quiet and sweet burns inside you. The exhibit was full of the spirit of the Man Bloch loch painted, but also of the spirit of what Bloch studied and painted: humanity, individuals, interest in the one. Really, the two spirits are the same.

One of my favorites, of his parents. His mother looks up at her husband, momentarily pausing her knitting. He painted it when he was twenty-one.

There's a Bloch quote I really love: "God helps me—that's what I think, and then I am calm." Many artists, especially in the Church, seek to find meaning in their art through God, or imagine that their work is His work. That can be an important journey, but I think art is about God simply because it's about the artist. God may or may not care what we paint, draw, etch, sing, dance, or sculpt, but He cares about what we care about, sees what we see, and values the growth we make.

I connected to the exhibit on a viewer level, but also as a painter. One thing I appreciated about the exhibit was that it included so many study pieces. They showed earlier versions or specific object paintings that were done in preparation for larger paintings later in his career. There were also three versions of Bloch's Gethsemane: an etching, a small painting, and the altarpiece. I've been disappointed with a lot of my paintings lately, and seeing Bloch's progression helped me to learn that it's about the journey, it's about learning, and it's about the process.

I love art because it teaches that if it's important to you, it's important. Art comes and is seen as a revelation, as inspiration, as an opportunity for the spirit or life or good or whatever you believe in to teach you something in that moment.

Rooftop Concert

2011-05-07T00:29:00.002-06:00

If you are ever in Provo in the first week of a summer month, you HAVE to go to a Rooftop Concert. It is seriously one of our favorite things. They host it on the top floor of the parking garage across from Sammy's. Last summer we saw The Lower Lights (love), and tonight we saw Fictionist.

The big red bag makes a cameo appearance (I still have not found another bag to replace it, and tonight we had a lot of stuff):

We also saw THE Sammy (of Sammy's Cafe, home of the famous and delicious pie shakes across the street) creepin on the concert before it started, so we creeped on him:

We ran over to Sammy's because Sydney had never been before. Every inch of the walls is covered in polaroids of guests:

It's seriously so fun to just be there with everyone. Usually the entire roof is covered with people, and even if you can't see the stage, it's fun to watch the people or stare at the stars or dance. Jessica and I:

This guy climbed on to the lamppost for a better view.

Rooftop equivalent of standing room only.

Can't wait til the next one. Carl Bloch exhibit tomorrow with Marie and Jessica--last day it'll be in town. So excited!

DJ

2011-05-06T15:18:00.000-06:00

I'm back from techcation early, as per my usual MO. Life's gotten complicated, but more wonderful. I'll write about it soon, but in the meantime here's a playlist I made you because, well, I love you. Plus, every girl needs a soundtrack.

Here's to a great Friday night.

Sad Face

2011-05-02T21:14:00.000-06:00

I hate it when the day ends and I realize I don't know how long I've been staring at my computer screen. It's seriously an awful feeling. It's kind of gross. It's kind of been like that since school let out.

Technology fast? Yep.

Some things I hope to do this week:
Read Full Woman, Fleshly Apple, Hot Moon; Angel of the Danube; and Excellent Women.
Paint something I'm proud of. (Finished one called "Megan and Rothko's Friday Night" a few hours ago.. not sure how I feel about it yet.)
Walk around Provo; find something new, photograph something beautiful.
Get in touch with my chick flick roots.
Start running again. No longer sick, no longer finals week, no more excuses.
Start brushing up on some Spanish.
Visit the MOA.
Do something anonymous and lovely.

See you next Sunday!

Fun Size Joy

2011-05-01T20:29:00.003-06:00

Typing, typing, typing (with Corny editing)

"The last thing I will always ask you during our one-on-ones is whether or not you're finding joy in the journey. When you're a new mom and you're dog-tired and you get up in the middle of the night to feed your baby, you'll think that you can't do it. Then you'll think, 'Yes! I can! I cleaned showers!' If you can find joy in this journey, you can find joy in any journey."

This is what my supervisor said to us on Friday during staff meeting. She is lovely. Other than talking about finding joy in the journey, she also likes to talk about giving people the benefit of the doubt and emphasizing that where we work is the residents' home, and we should act like it.

I remember as a freshman I felt so spoiled. I knew they cleaned the bathrooms daily, and (though I wasn't paying the amount) I knew how much it was to live there. I could confidently tell inquirers at the desk that the price was worth it, and that housing really did make the dorms a home. Since I lived in the dorms, I've done just about everything kind of service except for dining. I've helped residents, I've helped RAs, I've helped HAs, I've helped with Stadium of Fire, Sports Camps, EFY, Women's Conference, Education Week, and anyone else who has wandered in there. Now I get the chance to be the one who spoils those residents.

I think my college career has actually been in Pay it Forward.

I'm grateful for where I'm at right now, and grateful for my supervisor. She's "more of a mom than a supervisor" (as she said) and is already someone I look up to. I'm grateful for little things that make me smile at work, and also at home:

Water and rice sitting overnight for breakfast horchata

Garlic naan, and everyone who encouraged me to go for it

Springtime from my bedroom window

"I feel like men are more romantic than women."

2011-05-01T16:23:00.000-06:00

-Dean

Weekend

2011-04-30T22:56:00.000-06:00

Water for Elephants at Provo Towne Center (our favorite theater)

In N Out (even better when that one server we have a running-joke/semi-stalkish relationship with is working)

King's Speech Redbox
Talking about all those things you would never talk about with someone else

Not setting the alarm (12 hours of sleep? Seriously?)

IHOP breakfast at 2 pm
Our playlist, complete with dance moves (we do a killer "Don't you want me" duet)

South Towne Center window shopping (best mall we've found)
Forever 21

(Including that Bath & Body Works where I think we had an involved, actually enjoyable conversation with every single employee)
"Look, booooooys."
Pretzel Maker, Chipotle chips and guac, Slurpees
Herbert
2.. or 3... or 4 more Redbox movies
Falling asleep to Christmas lights or conversations in the dark

Razzle Me This

2011-04-26T19:49:00.002-06:00

Sydney is all moved in, and summer is HERE! I haven't moved, but it was the best feeling in the world to move everything, reorganize, and deep clean.

We hopefully won't be needing the blanket trunk too often this summer, but we're all set if we ever do:

You can also apparently count on us to fit five bookcases into one apartment:

We fully intend on covering this little wall and cork board with pictures of beautiful ~~men~~ people and other lovely things:

And. We even ate Razzles while we cleaned.

AND. Syndey bought me the Tron Soundtrack! She's a total babe. If you see me mopping and cleaning vacuums for my custodial job (which I'm completely loving), I may be listening to this. (You can't tell from this picture, but a hologram effect on the case creates a Megan within a Megan.)

So shameless.

Eggs

2011-04-24T23:34:00.008-06:00

Those little stickers that come with the dye kits are good for something.

Still thinking a little about Easter. One year ago, I was spending Easter and General Conference weekend with my boyfriend and his family. It was the best weekend I've ever had. In the year that's passed, my testimony has been all but uprooted. I had to face things I had no idea were coming, and things I knew were coming and thought I was ready for.

At some point in life, you will have to decide what you really believe in. Maybe at several points, but at least once. I know how I was raised and I know what I've experienced, what I've been given. This morning I asked to feel something, anything. To feel Him there. There was no epiphany, but there was peace.

One of the speakers in church talked about his mission; he'd spent his whole life believing what he believed, and suddenly he faced people every day who told him he was wrong. He said he was in crisis, wondering if he should seriously look into other churches. His decision was, though, to continue doing what he had believed was right. To re-evaluate and recommit. "I slowly became more marginally happy," he said. He didn't receive a companion who spiritually kung-fu'ed bad guys. He didn't receive a booming, "Hello, son!! Thanks for asking! Yep, you're on the right path." And he didn't catch a break.

It reminded me of a conversation we had in Relief Society a few weeks ago. We were talking about Job, and how his blessings were wonderfully multiplied after he proved true. The usual conversation was taking place, about how Job proved faithful and was therefore blessed, about how he knew the Lord wouldn't abandon him, about how he received even more than he had, in the end. That's when it hit me that Job didn't earn those blessings. Job wasn't sacrificing in order to receive ten times the blessings in the end. The Lord didn't owe him for being righteous, or for what He had taken away. The Lord blessed Job with more than he had had because he was a good steward, and because the Lord knew He could trust Job. That's when I realized you can sacrifice and suffer for the Lord and be nothing like Job, doing it not at all for the right reasons.

My favorite line from this entire day came from another speaker: "Salvation doesn't come only in the end." Salvation can come every day. We won't stand at the judgement bar and be surprised at the verdict. We're living with it, crafting it, every single day. And I'm grateful that today was Easter.

My egg that I dyed. Yes, single egg. When I commit to dye an egg, it's the only egg for me.

It's one of those nights where you put your laundry back in the dryer instead of folding it. One where you know you'll sleep well. I fully intended on making you a goodnight playlist, but I couldn't find these songs anywhere! Maybe you'll look them up and think of me. (They're good ones. Ones that make you feel like you're on the beach with your eyes closed, feeling the sun.)

The Night Has a Thousand Eyes, Earl Klugh

Detalhe, Rosa Passos

Cada Um, Celso Fonseca E Ronaldo Bastos

Choice

2011-04-24T15:57:00.008-06:00

I find it a little funny that we pray to God and tell Him our problems.

A girl I was in class with at church today told us she took a psychophysiology class and, being BYU, they talked about the Savior and that night in the Garden. Her teacher recounted that there are only two other people ever recorded as having bled from their pores: two women, in the 15th and 17th centuries. In order for this to happen, a person has to be in incredible emotional distress. These women both bled from their palms for whatever unbelievable sorrow it was that they had.

Christ, who had never sinned, took upon Him every sorrow, every guilt, every heartsickness. He had never been without the spirit of His Father, but at this moment became--not because He sinned, but because we did--the great sinner, as my bishop termed it. It was also mentioned that some believe that each of us faced the Savior individually, which is why the process continued over several days.

If that's true, and I faced Him and put my bundle of burdens on Him as I--wept? wished there was another way? lingered a moment past my turn, in soul-numbing grief? knew then that I would give anything to remember that instant when I passed through the veil into mortality?--as I added upon His sorrow, I find it funny that I would ever kneel and petition, explain, or tell to Him my problems.

Because He already knows.

When Jesus left His disciples (who surely had been watching Him fall into depression as the days and hours wore on) before going a little further into the garden, He entreated them: "watch and pray, that ye enter not into temptation." He worried for them. If there was any place on earth that the Author of all Sin would be on that evening, it was right there in that garden, undoubtedly preying on the worried disciples.

His concern and compassion did not falter that week. He knew that Judas was, like all Jews, looking for the great Messiah, Whom they believed would be a political leader, and that maybe (if he was a Zealot), Judas submitted Him to the soldiers in order to catalyse that political uprising. The Savior suffered for him in the same moment he betrayed Him, and was perhaps filled with love and compassion for the misunderstandings of His friend. Still further, He spent three days in Spirit Prison organizing the missionary work and preaching. He returned to the Jews, then to the Nephites, and almost certainly to other peoples whose records we don't know of. Now He works and watches, ever patient.

I do wish I could remember how I felt that night as He suffered. I wish I could access that memory in my soul, and feel that sorrow if only to understand. As Eugene England wrote,

It hurts very much to think of thee. . . Did you actually become sick and infirm? . . . And if you did literally experience our infirmities, did you know our greatest one, sin? I don't want you to hurt like this, like I do now, to be ashamed, to hate the detailed, quotidian past. Yet I want you to know the worst of me, the worst of me possible, and still love me, still accept me. It's true, I feel your condescension in [your willingness to know the actual pain and confusion and despair of sin]; I feel you coming down from your formidable separate height as my Judge and Conscience. I feel you next to me as my friend. Did it happen in Gethsemane, when you turned away from your father and your mission for just a moment? I think so.

I wish I could remember that moment. Maybe it's a blessing for our own good that we more fully see His love than His suffering here, that we can't remember now, and that we have the gift of choosing--not by fear or by soul-rending sorrow or a memory, but by love--faith in Him.

Charlotte England, Jer3miah: the final final

2011-04-21T22:51:00.000-06:00

Today was my last final of my junior year--LDS lit. Possibly the best final ever. After we wrote short essay responses, Jeff Parkin and Jared Cardon, creators and makers of Jer3miah, the first Mormon-centered web series, came and visited our class. They were asked to come onto the project when BYU Broadcasting was looking for a way to reach a younger demographic. Jeff and Jared researched what young adults were watching and loving, including shows like 24 and Lost (heavy influencers), and decided to create this web series, which was even nominated for a Webby.

Yep, here they are

And again

Jeff said they got tired of people "saying that you can't tell an engaging story about Mormons." The NY Times review of the series coins the phrase "celestial smackdown" for the way LDS members approach everything in life as though it "impacts forward and backward forever," as Jeff put it. That is what the Jeremiah's adventure, and the series, is all about: coming to terms with your beliefs and telling your story. The series is popular, even with critics, not only for its good quality on a low budget, but because of how pioneering it was. Jeff and Jared are now working on BYUTV's first scripted comedy, which they called "their Modern Family." Hopefully there will be a Jer3miah season two; it was fun to have the guys in class and ask them our questions.

Dr. Burton also brought us copies of one of Eugene England's book that his wife, Charlotte, got for us and wrote personalized messages in. So cool!! Our class used her late husband's biographical website as an example of what changes could be made to digitize the biography. We presented the project at the Mormon Letters and Arts Conference at UVU about a month ago, and then met again at the end of March in Charlotte and Gene's home to recap our suggestions to their daughter, Becky, who has been instrumental in envisioning and running the site. It was a great hands-on project, and I look forward to seeing how the site will change as per our ideas or improvements on them.

Comfortable Fizzle

2011-04-20T13:33:00.006-06:00

On the menu today is daydreaming. The best place to daydream is on your bedroom floor. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise.

I once told boyf that if I wasn't LDS, I would be one of those career-driven, successful NYC women who worked out on their lunch breaks. On the first day of freshman English in high school, Mr Wunder had us write on a 3x5 what our goals were. I wrote that I wanted "to be a reporter in New York City and will do whatever it takes to get there." Flipping through the cards, Mr Wunder pulled mine out and said, "who wrote this?" I raised my hand and he told me it was "very impressive."

Boyf's response to my proclamation was, "I know. It's so you." It wasn't the answer I expected from him, but it made me realize that there are a lot of versions of us rattling around in there. I'm not much one for the alternate universe scenario, but it's strange that that girl is still somewhere in me.

(I then asked him what tattoo he would get if we weren't members. I won't tell you his also unexpected and hilarious answer, but he did suggest warmly that we "keep our conversations gospel-centered." I miss that boy.)

If I'm being completely honest, I've fizzled out of my major. It's a wonderful major, and I'm in love with it, but it's not going anywhere and I know it. I feel like this is a conversation my friends and I have as we get older and closer to graduation. You pick your major before you have any clue what you're doing and you only realize what's going on fairly well along the path. I don't regret it. I would never give up majoring in English, being a member of the Church, staying with boyf, any of it. It's just strange to stop and smile one day, and realize you've picked your lot, that you're on a definite path. That things could be different, even if you don't want them to be. I don't think you think about that when you're a kid--at least not with the sense that any of the other possibilities could be real.

I don't think the "what if" question has to be a regretful one. I think asking it and finding the answers can tell us about ourselves. And when you realize how right for you the path you chose is, no matter how it compares to whatever else you could have had, the fizzle is content, just another step to another stage of things you didn't know would make you this happy.

And that's what I'm thinking about today.

Anti-Itinerary

2011-04-19T18:38:00.004-06:00

I am not one to get bored. I appreciate people who can savor a silence. Spontaneity, Colin-Firth-as-Harry style, is stupidly underrated. I know la dolcezza di non fare niente--the sweetness of doing nothing--a little too well. This morning, though, I was hopeless. The rest of the week, I have no engagements except for 9 - 10 am on Thursday, and the beginning of the week wasn't much different. I had one of those moments where you think, "Wow, is this apartment really that small?"

In a get away vacation, I have no problem relaxing. Even if it's just a spare room at grandma's house, the space's set aside, purposeful existence is that it's a place to vacate. My mind compartmentalizes very well that way. But I've never stayed-in at home before. All summer, I'll be getting off at lunchtime with no other ongoing plans to speak of, so I got a little panicky when I realized I might not know how to fill time.

I think it's the little things that make the difference. When I was a teenager, my mom once told me that a vacation is a time to do all the things you wouldn't normally do (and to stop doing the things you do normally do). I'm repainting my nails every day and listening to too much Lily Allen. I'm not setting my alarm. I'm reading magazines and chicky books with movies coming out. Do you know how refreshing watching a movie at 8:30 am is? I think one of the reasons it's hard to stay in at home is because your regular life is right there, and you feel like you have to do everything right at once, like a regular to do list. I'm learning that you still have to give yourself things to look forward to, even if it's still un-really-scheduled and still at home.

Right now, I'm looking forward to breakfast tomorrow: another scone, some home-made horchata that's sitting overnight, and probably some more Julia Roberts.

Also, I found this today and it made me smile:

Scones

2011-04-19T13:09:00.001-06:00

I don't even remember the last time I baked. But this was an excellent choice today.

Just Us

2011-04-18T13:37:00.000-06:00

Megan
4 December 2008 at 12:26pm
December 12th there are no classes. What do you think about spending the day in Salt Lake? Do you have choir stuff going on that day?

Sam
4 December 2008 at 1:24pm
Let me think... yeah, pretty sure I would love that :) Is there anything you know you would like to see, or should I just get some surprises together?

Megan
4 December 2008 at 1:41pm
hm. definately the joseph smith building of course. the conference center. temple square. all the usual stuff. im so excited!! plus, we'll have to eat somewhere delicious. thats important.

Sam
4 December 2008 at 1:43pm
wow... I'm already having a lot of fun making a list... do you have any idea how long you want to be down there? and... if I'm not too naive in asking... is it just us?

The walk home never needs to be boring

2011-04-17T22:13:00.000-06:00

Some photos I took on campus tonight. It started raining and there were couples creeping everywhere, so I eventually just came home. It was fun, though!

So One Time, I Had This Job

2011-04-17T18:26:00.003-06:00

An obviously stellar camera phone picture of our bell at the desk. He's saying, "It would be my pleasure!"

Right now I am working my last ever shift at the Helaman Halls front desk. Generally, I don't blog about work because I think it's unprofessional. Today, though, I feel like I owe it something.

I started working at the desk as a freshman days before I even began classes. I had phone interviewed for the job a few months before, and remember answering one of the questions with something about being a good helper to my mom. I'd babysat and worked part-time for a lady in the Stake, but this answer epitomizes the type of potential employee I really was. The longer I've stayed with this job, the more valuable the self reminder is that I shouldn't be too annoyed with speedily-hired freshmen; of anyone, I should know it's a blessing that probably means the world to them.

At the time, I never would have said being a freshman was hard, except for my job. It wasn't a difficult job, but I was nervous and, as my mom always tells me, I like to do things perfectly or not at all. My supervisor was diligent in training me, but I was terrified that I'd forget the information or mess up. Those first few weeks of college were probably a high point on my relationship with God, not because I was doing great but because I was truly, humbly, completely relying and communicating with Him. Saying goodbye to my mom, meeting about two hundred jubilant freshmen-strangers, finding my way to class, finding my way any where--I know now that these all helped to tenderize me, but work was what I prayed about. It was what I worked on. I saw my learning and success as a wonderful and great blessing from the Lord.

About a year later, I had interviews lined up for both the RA and the CA jobs. I had worked for Housing for less than a year, but felt that it still gave me a better chance. It probably did, but most of my illusory confidence came because I really felt impressed to apply. To both. So I did, quickly and confidently. I did the absolute best that I could have done then in those interviews--looking back, I know I probably tanked them both. I didn't get either job, and was miffed a few weeks later when I was at the desk training a new CA. I didn't see why I was qualified to train a new CA, but not to be one. I didn't, however, question why I had felt prompted to apply even though it didn't pan out. I know now, and maybe knew then, that it was for the experience. I had no real interview experience (and Housing interviews can be brutal), and I now had a lot of interview experience with the people I planned to stay with.

Another year later, I was again applying to be a CA. As you know, I got the job that time--last summer. I don't believe I would have been hired without that experience, without the face-to-face time I'd gained by working closely to the managers in the new Cannon Center, and without the help of Jessica. I remember one night we were baking and discussing the interviews--she was also applying. She would ask me the questions she knew were coming (she's a Housing pro), and I would answer. She would say, "No, don't say that," or "Yes, talk about that more if you can." She coached me patiently and so, so generously. This was right at the time that we were becoming friends outside of work, and her friendship is one of the most valued of my life. I'll never know why she was so helpful or open, or why she reached out to me, but I owe her more than she knows.

Besides all that, I really wanted that freaking job. Like, I really wanted it. I have rarely wanted something so badly. I don't put that under the "helped me get the job" section because I don't think it necessarily helped, except that I worked harder at the desk and went out of my way to be helpful and to keep the office fine tuned. The reason really wanting it is important is because it made getting the CA job one of the biggest victories of my life. The job was an incredible job--free housing, free food, 40 hours a week, a new task every single day, ten out of who knows how many people hired--but that's not why it was a triumph. Things have always come easily to me in the areas of my life that matter, but I knew I'd have to work to get that job. And I did it. I can't pretend it wasn't a blessing, and I know Housing managers hire as much by the Spirit as they do by resumes, so it may truly have been God-given. But whether it was or not, I worked my tail off. I did everything in my power to show everyone, and myself, that I wanted and deserved it. It's one of the most important experiences I've ever had.

I was elated. The summer was difficult but beautiful and very rewarding. I met some people who are very important to me. I grew more as a person that summer than I ever have.

In fall it was back to the desk, and now I'm leaving. Jessica and I have, for months, made soon-foiled plans to branch out and work other jobs. For all that we talked about it, I'm a little surprised it's here. She's off to her wonderful (and deserved) Campus Accommodations job, and I'll be working custodial for the summer. I know I should be off to a wonderful editing job or something similar that I worked hard for. I really need to refocus, work on my resume, and think seriously about what I'm going to do senior year and after. Working customer service gave me wonderful experience, though. It's almost impossible to ruffle me, there aren't many Housing questions I can't answer, and three years at the same place as a college student feels good.

I'm looking forward to working for the summer. The custodial managers are incredible, and I've known them for years already. I've loved customer service--it really is rewarding when you can help that one person whose day you saved--but am ready for a lone summer and a toilet wand.

Bring it on.

How do you do. Very well thank you.

2011-04-15T15:20:00.008-06:00

Yesterday I found my summer shoes. It's tradition every summer that I buy a pair of shoes that will be pretty much the only shoes I'll wear. Usually I buy flipflops, but I went for an upgrade this year.

These past few days have been an insane mixture of incredibly fun and gruelling. It started on Wednesday night when we had our traditional end-of-semester Denny's 2 am co-worker breakfast. I had to work at 6 am (and actually felt pretty good), and then at 11 am we had our official staff meeting pizza party. After that I met up with Sydney and Becca, and we hit up Chipotle and did some spontaneous shopping. We all found something wonderful and hit Paradise Bakery right before heading home. Inside Becca ordered a cookie, to which the guy replied, "how about one or two more on me?" She laughed, but he said, "no I'm serious." We got free cookies, and it turned out he wanted us to call in and give him a good customer service response. Fair trade, my friend, fair trade.

After all that fun was over, I needed to magically turn my outline for a final paper into ten pages, and was up most of the night doing it. We met this morning at Dr. Cronin's lovely home for breakfast and to share our projects. It was painless and fun. I came home, gave myself a pedi, decided to relax. I figured it was time for a facial, too; the honey facial is my favorite. Mix a T. of honey, a t. of olive oil, and egg whites (for normal to great skin) or an egg yolk (for dry skin).

Open yours pores (I use a warm washcloth), apply, and enjoy (for 20 mins).

Also, you should probably smile at yourself.

The only things I have to do in the next week are take two finals and work my last ever desk shift on Sunday. I'm just a little bit excited for some down time.

Viva la Joao Gilberto.