What is Beauty?

When I was a little girl, I believed that long hair was a sign of beauty. Every Disney princess I knew of had long hair. I would read my picture book about the story of Rapunzel. Her long hair won her a guy. I never read stories or watched movies where the heroine had short hair. It was always long, shiny, healthy, and flowing.

I grew my hair out and for a while, it was long, shiny, healthy, and flowing like the hair of the Disney princesses I watched on-screen.

Then it was the summer before I would go to middle school. I was no longer the little girl who wore scrunchies in my hair and jelly shoes on my feet. I now had a mind of my own. At an age when so many are self-conscious . . . .I was strangely confident. I was prepared to enter the world of lockers and gym class with a bold new look. I was ready to get rid of my hair.

I clipped a picture of Halle Berry out of a magazine and told my mom to schedule a haircut appointment.

I remember how light my head felt after cutting off my thick chestnut brown hair. I ran my fingers through the short and spiky tresses and I felt so beautiful. It was my own kind of beautiful. Not the kind of beautiful society had tried forcing me to believe in.

As women, we live in a world where we are constantly told we must meet some certain standard to be beautiful. Skinny is beautiful. Long hair is beautiful. Bronzed skin is beautiful. Straight teeth are beautiful. Dark eyelashes are beautiful. We spend so much time applying makeup over blemishes, eating less and working out more. We all too often look in the mirror and see all the things we wish to change about ourselves in order to fit this definition of beauty.

Well, we are being lied to.

Beauty isn't about looking a certain way or fitting a specific mold.

Beauty is being comfortable in our own skin. Beauty is in speaking kindly. Beauty is living our lives in a way that makes us happy. Beauty is in the way we act and the way we carry ourselves.

I recently cut my hair off again and I keep having moments of doubt. I become conquered by my insecurities. Is my nose too big? Do I look like a boy? Did I make a mistake?

Then I try to remind myself of that preteen who so boldly cut her hair because she wanted to. She deserves some self-love. She is worthy of confidence. She has the right to feel beautiful.

I hope tomorrow you'll look in the mirror and notice all the things you like about yourself. I hope you'll feel beautiful and be slow to judge yourself too harshly. I hope you will speak kindly to yourself. Beauty can be found in all things. You are a beautiful soul.

I have short hair, a flat chest and stretch marks on my legs, and I'm beautiful.   

Remembering Eleanor

When it came time to register for classes for spring semester, I didn't know what I was doing. I only needed to take two more classes. However, people apparently think I need to be a full time student to keep my scholarship and financial aid, thus I began searching the school website for random classes that would make my total credit hours sum up to a total of twelve. My two thoughts while searching for these random classes were 1) sign up for fun and interesting classes, and 2) sign up for classes that will be an easy A. 

So I signed up for billiards because I had always wanted to take it. Then I signed up for intro to religious studies because I heard it was easy and engaging. Then I signed up for social deviance because I am apparently obsessed with criminal behavior and the professor teaching it is one of my favorites. Then I signed up for some English class because English comes to me easier than most subjects. 

But weeks later, flurries of emails made it to my inbox alerting me that I couldn't take that English class because it was only for English majors. They demanded I drop it or they would drop me instead, and while I was made out to be the criminal, I was just wondering why the heck they gave me the go to register for it in the first place. Not my fault. When I pushed that register button, why in the world didn't red lights flash and words come across my screen saying, BOO, SUCKER! YOU AREN'T AN ENGLISH MAJOR! DO NOT PASS GO! DO NOT COLLECT TWO HUNDRED DOLLARS! 

So I obeyed the English masters and dropped the class. Then I worriedly and anxiously searched for another class that could give me my full time student status. All the somewhat easy classes were full and had long waiting lists. I started to panic. Then I cursed the law makers of University rules because all I really wanted was to take another journalism class, but apparently my JCOM classes are maxed out. Okay, yeah, that makes sense. Limit me from learning more about my trade. Ugh.

Then I found a women & leadership class that was only once a week. And I thought to myself, "Hmm, once a week. It can't be too hard. What the heck. Let's light things on fire, twirl our panties around, and bash on men." So I signed up for it.

Now it turns out, I think I was meant to take this class all along. It is nothing like I thought it would be. I am not just sliding by, wanting a grade. It's something I've discovered I am passionate about. And we don't sit in class on Wednesday evenings and act like we are picked on because we are females. We discuss things that are empowering. We talk about problems and how to overcome them. We learn leadership skills and how to use the fact that we are women to our advantage. We talk about how we can better support and embrace the women around us. Turns out, I love this stuff. It's made me take a step back and look into my soul, and then made me take a step forward and look into the souls of my fellow-women.

In class, we recently took a silencing the self test and it turns out, I silence myself a lot more than I thought I did. Sure, I have strong opinions on subjects. And sure, I probably blog about things that make people roll their eyes and shake their heads. But the thing is, I have a bad habit of closing off my innermost feelings. And when I want to express how I feel, I stop myself out of the fear of hurting someone's feelings. I do like this about myself; that I am sentimental toward others. However, I do an unhealthy amount of it. I always worry about others' feelings at the expense of my own. So I am working on it. I am trying to say and do what I feel is best, even if it means I might be judged for it. And on the other hand, I am trying to do a better job of not doing the judging myself. It's quite interesting because the men actually don't hold women back as much as we may think. We as women do the holding back. We hold ourselves back and if we aren't holding ourselves back, we justify belittling and holding back other women.

Because of this class, wheels are turning in my head and ideas are forming. I want to help women come together to celebrate this beautiful thing we have in common, this thing we call womanhood. I don't know how I want to do that, but I know I already have strengthened a part of myself because of this class. I am learning more and more every day how special it is to be a woman and that God loves me and knows I am capable. 

Around the same time we took the silencing the self test, we also watched a PBS documentary on Eleanor Roosevelt. Watch it if you get the chance. No matter your political opinions, you can't deny the fact that Eleanor Roosevelt was an incredible lady. Her life was actually quite dark and depressing. She was shy. But she learned how to speak and instill hope and happiness into others, and I think that's just grand. So if Eleanor did it, then I can too. And so can you, and you, and you! 

My Anchor-Part 2

I check my phone and realize we've spent a ridiculous amount of time trying to pick out our t-shirts. Granted, we have gotten quite distracted in the time that we have been here. I tend to usually get distracted in stores, but not when I am on dates. When I'm on a date, I'm on a mission. It is unusual how normal I seem to feel being with Brian. Like he is just one of my guy friends. But then again, I'm attracted to him. I find myself staring at his perfect white teeth and suddenly I'm in a daydream, wondering how it would feel to kiss him. I want to plant a kiss on those perfect white teeth I'm staring at.

"Kels, will you please help me? Kels?"
I pull myself out of the daydream and back to reality. Brian is going through a rack of men t's and laughing at me. "You okay there?"
"Yeah, I'm good. I was just thinking for a minute is all."
"Hm, thinking about what?"
"Nothing," I quickly reply and start digging through the t-shirts.
I was just thinking about kissing you is all. How pathetic. I start scolding myself at the thought of thinking such things on a first date. I need to up my game here. I can't kiss the guy on his first date. What is my problem?
Confused about what I'm feeling, what I want to feel, what I don't want to feel.
That is my problem.

"How about this one?"
I pull out a navy colored v-neck.
Brian lets out a loud laugh. I like how much he laughs, it's nice. But after he stops laughing he replies, "I don't think so."
"Why not? Are you implying that I don't have good taste in fashion?"
"Oh no. You have very good taste in fashion. Very good. V-necks just aren't really my thing."
"Okay. And why are they not really your thing?"
"Well, I don't want to label people at all. But I just know a lot of guys who are real jerks and they all wear v-necks. I don't want to come across. . .like that."
"Like what," I ask while wrinkling my nose.

My mind wanders to the other boy. The one I kiss sometimes. He wears v-necks. And designer jeans. But he can only afford to buy me a lousy taco at Taco Tuesday. And even then, he was upset when I got rice and beans and he had to pay extra for them.

I put the v-neck back on the rack and keep looking. I find another one I like. This one is red. I like it when guys wear red. And it has a pocket. Pockets on anything are always a bonus.
"I think you should get this one."
Brian again erupts with laughter while shaking his head. "No. No way."
I try to get irritated at how picky this boy is being but I can't help but smile.
"And what's the problem now?"
"It has a pocket," he says, while pointing at it like it's repulsive.
"Yeah? So?"
Brian comes in close to me and laughs in my ear. He gently takes the shirt from my hands. "I know you think I'm a bit of a nerd but I really don't need a shirt with a pocket on it."
I can't help but laugh. "Pockets are very convenient. You can put stuff in it."
"Psh, yeah. Like pens and my calculator?"
"No. . .like other stuff. Spare change," I tear the shirt back from his hands and hold it in my arms. "I think you have some misconceptions about t-shirts with pockets."
"I do not. I just don't want to look like a nerd with a pocket. Or a preppy kid with a v-neck."
I hang the red shirt back on the rack and stare Brian down, "You seem to worry a lot about what other people think of you."
I am surprised when Brian gives me an endearing little smile. He leans back in to me and whispers in my ear, "But you don't worry what people think at all. Do you, Kels?"
I feel my cheeks start to burn and pull away.
"You're like a girl."
Brian chuckles, "What do you mean by that exactly?"
"You are so picky. It wasn't this difficult for me to find a shirt."
I stare down at my teal colored v-neck. I feel I made a good choice.
I look back up to find Brian looking at me. But he isn't just looking at me. I feel like he is trying to look inside of me, read all my thoughts. He is trying to break through the wall I have so carefully constructed.
I suddenly feel strange. Like I am extremely exposed.
"You are hard to read."
"And what exactly do you mean by that?"
"You're hard to read. I have most girls figured out by this point. Not you though. You're confusing."
Very honest of him to admit. I feel a smile creep across my lips. I am starting to like this Brian Weller way too fast for my own good.

Brian finally decides on a maroon t-shirt. No v-necks and no pockets. But I like maroon, so it works. After the shirts are purchased, we head back to his apartment to do the bleaching. We had already eaten before our trip to the store and I was pleasantly surprised with the mysterious Indian place within the gas station. The walls of the place were painted with different scenes from India. I loved it. As we tore off pieces of flat bread and ate meats full of strange spices, I had rambled on to Brian about how I would love to go to India and how it might just be the next place to go on my list.
"Where was the first place?"
"Huh?" I was confused.
"You said India is the next place on your list. Like you've already been somewhere that was on your list."
Very observant.
I told him about Ethiopia. Reluctantly at first, since I always worry about bothering people with the talk of it all, but he acted sincerely interested. So then I had poured my heart out to him. About all the things I saw in Ethiopia, both good and bad. All the things I had been doing since I got home. And how badly I wanted to go back.

* * * *

Brian brings markers out so we can draw on the shirts before we bleach them. If we so wish. I have no idea what to draw on the shirt. This probably wouldn't be so difficult if it weren't his shirt I was creating.
Brian seems to be a little stuck as well. I look at him and see him focusing very hard.
"What are you thinking about over there?"
Brian picks up a marker and smiles, "I was just wondering what songs you'll be putting on my mix cd."
I am still mad that he fooled me with that card trick from earlier. But I am excited to make him a cd. I have actually already thought of some songs I know I want to put on it.

Brian pulls the lid off the marker and begins drawing. He writes the word JUGADORA in big block letters on the back of the shirt.
"What does that mean? I'm guessing it's Spanish?"
"Yep," Brian says proudly, "it means player."
"Player?"
"Yeah, player. I know how you are. You're a total player. I can tell."
I let out a laugh, "Whatever."
"I bet you kiss guys all the time. Lead them on, kiss them, and break their hearts."
"Brian, I do not!"
He just starts laughing. Then he asks me to tell my most awkward kiss story. I know exactly what story to tell. I don't have very many awkward kiss stories, but this one I have is extremely awkward. I tell the story and get plenty of laughs out of Brian. Basically the boy had tried to plan out a cute way to kiss me and I accidentally sabotaged it. Terribly.

As I end the story, I find myself telling Brian that I don't like it when boys try to plan out how they'll kiss the girl.
"Really? I thought most girls loved that."
"Not me," I reply. "I feel like it ruins it. Half the fun of the kiss is the spontaneity. I want it to be in the moment. If you want to kiss me, then kiss me. But don't try to plan it out."
Oh no. Why am I telling him all this?
But he just smiles that familiar smile and says, "Well, I better call and cancel the band."
"The band? What band?"
"I'd arranged for a band to come as we got to your doorstep tonight. So they could begin playing as we passionately kissed goodnight."
I let out a really loud laugh and almost find myself wishing I could hear the trumpets in the background.


Brian begins writing something else on the front of the shirt down towards the bottom. It is a K2. As in K raised to the second power.
"I think I'll call you K squared. It's your new nickname. I just realized that your initials are K.K."
I rest my chin on my hands. "I like it."
"So are you gonna do anything to my shirt, or what?"
I look down at Brian's blank shirt. I have no idea what to draw on it but I have to put something. Especially after that K2 business.
I pull the lid off the marker and draw what is supposed to look like a pocket on the left side of the chest.

* * * *

  

After we have our shirts bleached, Brian walks me to my apartment building. Which is just the next building over from his. We walk up the steps and I turn to give him a hug. I find myself still wanting that kiss I daydreamed about earlier. But I can't. It's the first date.

Brian starts his walk back down the porch stairs when I hear my voice bring his steps to a stop. I hardly realize I'm talking.

"So where's the band?"

Brian turns and gives me that same endearing smile. "I told them to take a rain check."

Then he walks into the darkness.

I stand there a moment, wondering why my plan didn't work. I basically gave him the open opportunity to kiss me and I have been denied. I don't know how I should feel. I unlock the front door and walk inside. As I shut the door behind me, a light goes on in my head. 

He told them to take a rain check. 

That means Brian Weller wants to take me out again. On a second date. 

 

Because Hard Things Are Worth It

When I was a teenager (which was such a long time ago) I remember if I had to run a mile or more, it seemed like a huge feat. Well, since I am now an adult and I have a fear that my metabolism will suddenly slow down causing me to grow obese from the great amounts of chocolate I consume, I now run many miles.

Last week, I actually ran 10 miles. Now for you marathoners out there, this probably sounds like a warm-up run for you. But for me, it is a very big deal. I woke up that morning, knowing exactly what I was about to do but I tried not to think about it. Me, my mom, and two other lovely ladies started our run out at the reservoir up the canyon. The first half of the run was just peachy. I felt awesome. My body felt strong and the beauty around me of trees, streams of mountain water, and rock formations kept me entertained. Then I made it out of the canyon and past my house a little ways, and everything took a turn.

I found out recently that I have this thing the doctor called trochanteric bursitis. Sounds like a deadly disease, right? Well, it is really not. I guess a lot of runners or people that ride bicycles develop it. I would give you the exact definition of what it is and does, but quite honestly I don't know exactly. And I don't want to bore you. What I do know is that it sends a sharp pain up my thigh and then it makes my hips ache.

Well, as I was running up a giant hill, the sharp pain shot up my left thigh, and pretty soon it happened to the right as well. I tried ignoring the pain and I kept running. The pain grew stronger and it became difficult to ignore. I felt myself slowing down, but I forced myself to put one foot in front of the other. There came a point that I almost started crying because it hurt so bad. This was the worst it had ever been. I tried rubbing the pain out while I continued to run down the highway. Then I tried to put my focus on something else besides the pain in my hips. This idea didn't seem to help.

I began to notice instead how hot the rays of sun felt as they beat down on my face.
I noticed how boring the landscape now was.
Just fences and fields of hay. And a highway that seemed to go on forever.
I noticed how dry my mouth felt as I moved my tongue of sandpaper across the insides of my cheeks.
I realized how badly I wanted water.
I wanted to feel it inch down my parched throat.
I wanted a bowl of strawberries.
I wanted to bite into the red fruit and taste the sweet juice explode in my mouth.

 Then I just thought about how I wanted to quit. How I wanted to be done running. I told myself I wasn't a distance runner and wondered what had ever motivated me to try running ten miles.

At this point I probably had only a mile and a half left to run. I really wanted to give up. It was too hard.

But then something really neat happened.

I have said before that I feel like if I had a symbol, it would be a little bird. Hence, the title of my blog. Well, just as I was playing with the idea of walking, a little bird told me to keep going. I kid you not. A precious yellow-bellied songbird landed on a fence post near me and started to sing. Then it playfully flew ahead of me and landed again on the fence. I told myself to just run to where the bird was sitting on the fence. And each time I made it to the bird, it took flight, landed a few fence posts down, and let out a few cheery notes of song. The little bird motivated me to keep going.

By the time I made it past the fence, I was on the home stretch. I felt my legs carry my body a little faster past the row of houses, across the street, and to the finish. Then I was free to collapse on the cool grass and I was given a tall glass of ice water. Also, later that day I had a bowl of strawberries. Wonderful.

Although it was hard to run 10 miles and I was tempted to give up at times, I'm glad I didn't stop. It is so rewarding to know that I accomplished something I probably thought would be impossible a couple years ago. Plus, I burnt over 1,000 calories on that run so I indulged in eating all kinds of foods that night and didn't even have to feel guilty.

Just like my 10 mile run, sometimes life can be hard. But it is always worth it. Hard things only make us stronger, better people. Speaking of hard things, Brian gets home on Saturday. Yes, this Saturday. 6 more days. The finish line is in sight!

 

Finest Hour

Over the weekend, I watched Apollo 13. Great movie.

There was a part in the movie that really jumped out at me.

Back at NASA headquarters, scientists are bustling about preparing for the astronauts to pass back through the earth's atmosphere. They are so close to getting the astronauts back home, but now there is a likely chance that the atmosphere will end up burning the astronauts right up and they'll  hit the ocean going at speeds that no one could survive.

The head honcho of NASA is there and he begins to shake his head and look at the floor. As he is looking down in shame, he says, "This is going to be the biggest disaster ever known to NASA."

Then the director of the mission (and possibly my favorite character) turns around from what he is doing and stares at his boss.
Then he says, "With all due respect sir, I believe this is going to be our finest hour."

He was right. It was their finest hour. All three astronauts lived.

Then I got thinking about how attitude determines all outcomes of any situation. The worst of situations can be turned into the most inspirational if the right attitudes are shown.

Then I asked myself,
What is my perspective? How is my attitude? What do I need to change?

In the face of a trial, I want to be able to say it will be my finest hour, rather than think the trial will result in disaster. I can allow certain things to destroy me, or I can allow them to make me stronger.
I am ready to develop the type of attitude that will allow me to have more fine hours in my life.

Trials make a bird's wings strong, so that they may learn to fly.

What is Smart?

In my sociology class, we were asked to make a list off the top of our heads of ten things describing ourselves.

I started my list out with:

1. I am creative

That was followed by:

2. I am hilarious

I then really wanted to write down

I am smart. . .

But I couldn't do it.

I continued to write down qualities describing myself. They were all nice qualities which I like very much. However, my fingers kept on itching to write down that I am smart.

Finally, I caved and put down "I am smart" at the end of my list.

Our professor then asked us if we had a significant other to have them make a list for us, to see how others saw us.

So I had Brian make a list.

After he created it, I grabbed it and nervously looked to see what ten things he had put down.

I smiled and felt my cheeks flush. . .

1. You are smart

I struggle a large amount of the time with really believing I am smart. I want to believe it, and sometimes I try to believe it. . .but I don't always believe it.

I want people to look at me and see an intelligent person.

However, I am not the best test taker in the world. Tests are a big part of earning grades while at college. I really believe I am an 'A' student. I know I am that smart. However, I don't always get 'A' grades. I probably have more 'B' grades than 'A's. I will study hard for a test, and then choke and miss problems that I understood the concept to. It is very frustrating to me. What is even more frustrating is when I see people around me that maybe have a better GPA than me. I automatically label them as smarter than me and label myself as stupid. I am not being fair to myself.

Do grades really say how smart a person is? I would like to believe not. I sure hope the guy that guessed better at filling out the bubbles isn't smarter than me, the girl that knew but psyched herself out. Plus, isn't it more important to apply what I learn rather than be able to test well on it? When I have a job, they aren't going to test me every week. They will expect me to present good, solid work every week. I can do that. I am very capable.

Brian and I have started reading a book together (yes, sometimes we act like an old married couple). It is a very special book. It is called "The Secret". We read chapter one and we have both been inspired by what we read. It is all about the secret to life, which is: YOU control what happens in your own life. Whatever you want, will come, if you really have the right mindset and never question your abilities.

The first chapter dwelled a lot on thinking positive thoughts. Always positive thoughts.

For example, if you are worried about being late for something, do not think over and over again,

"I cannot be late."

The universe only understands positive. . .so hearing I cannot be late means you WILL be late.

Instead you should think,

"I will be ten minutes early."

I know it sounds a little silly, but I completely believe it.

With tests, I have a hard time completely blocking out thoughts like,

"I don't know if I'll do well."

"I hope I pass."

"I don't want to get below a B."

These all have a negative feel to them.

I should say things like,

"I am going to ace this."

"I know all the information needed to get an A."

"I am going to think clearly and answer all the questions correctly."

See the difference?

Brian and I decided after reading chapter one of our book that we wanted to make lists. We both made a list with around five things we want to instill into our minds. Then the deal was, to hang our list somewhere we will look at it often. I decided to put mine on my closet door. I will see it right when I wake up and right before I go to sleep.

We'll see if it works. I can't wait to read chapter two!

I AM SMART.

I will tell myself until I believe it.

Photos from Flickr and Photobucket

My Heart of Jell-O

Some people say I care too much. Sometimes I think I do too. I have this thing that sometimes serves as a gift and other times serves as a curse. This gift/curse is that I hurt for other people. However, I also know how to celebrate with other people. I seem to be able to be in tune with peoples' feelings and almost experience a fragment of what they might be feeling with them. Maybe you think I am lying. But I can't tell you how many times I've stayed up at night worrying about people and wondering how I might be able to help them.

Even people I don't know very well. Or people I don't know at all but just merely observe.

Last year, I started struggling in one of my science classes. I am just not a science/math whiz. At the time, I was on Utah State's track team. My coach pulled me aside and suggested that I get a tutor before my grade was too low. So I gave in and got a tutor, but I was not very happy about it. I hate asking for help. I went into it with a pretty horrible attitude. I remember meeting my tutor for the first time; I was disgusted. He did not have the best hygiene. I did not want him to breathe on me. He wore old polo shirts that were almost completely faded of color. He was also pretty peculiar. I did not look forward to spending two nights a week with this character.

As time passed though, I grew quite fond of him. He was really nice and very patient with me. He also laughed when I did funny stuff, which made me like him a lot too. I found myself getting attached to my tutor, even if he was a little nerd. My grade also improved drastically. I aced the final and ended up getting an A in the class. I owe it all to him. I would have probably earned myself a C without his help.

I decided I wanted to get him a little Christmas/thank you present for our last tutor session together before we would be out for Christmas break. It was nothing big. I bought a Christmas mug and filled it up with assorted chocolates, then wrapped it cute. I will never forget how happy he was though. He was in complete shock over the simple gift I gave him. He wouldn't stop telling me thank you and he had the hugest smile plastered on his face. He wasn't just being polite either. It was one of those things where I could tell he was sincerely excited that I had thought of him.

I thought to myself, "Dude, it's just a mug with candy in it. Settle down."

But I think it was so special to him because some prideful athlete that started out thinking she was too good for him, had actually taken the time to think of him. My heart broke a little. That was the last time I ever saw my tutor. I hope he is happy. I wish I would have been better to him and gotten to know his story better. I feel bad.

I am not supposed to talk about my job a lot, but it tears me apart sometimes, working with these wonderful kids that don't get to experience certain things. Once when I was in the changing room with a boy, I randomly started bawling because I thought about how other boys his age were out chasing girls and doing silly boy things. . .things he would never get to experience. I felt like the biggest idiot, just randomly starting to cry in that room. I forced myself to gain back control, so I could go back out with the rest of the staff.

Today I had one of those bitter moments where I wanted to randomly cry again. I was at the fieldhouse, running on a blasted treadmill, looking out over the indoor track and field. It was early, so there was a 7:30 class just starting on the track. I don't know what the class is exactly, but it basically reminds me of one of my high school track practices. They do different stretches, warm up, and run their guts out, yadda, yadda, yadda. I took interest in a particular guy in the class though. He was actually in my ward last year, and he lived with one of my guy friends. My friend always told me how weird he was. I realized I had never even taken the time to talk to the guy. Maybe said hi when I was over at their apartment, but that was about it. He was trying really hard to do all that was requested of him, but he was really struggling. He just isn't the athletic type. I noticed he wasn't really socializing with anyone either. He looked alone. And at that moment, I felt like the ugliest, most evil person alive. Why did I not ever try making friends with him? How could I be so selfish? I wondered if he had any close friends. I wondered if he loved a girl, or if a girl loved him. I hoped with all my heart at that moment, that he would find a girl to love him.

Am I ridiculous or what guys?

But I thought about how it wasn't fair. No one should be alone. No one should single someone out for being "weird" or "not cool". And everyone should have the right to be loved. I felt a bit depressed the rest of the morning. . . .until. . . .

something wonderful happened.

I was walking to Old Main, and snow was softly falling off the trees and glittering down around me. It was a beautiful scene, but what I saw happening within the scene was even more beautiful. My Math 1010 teacher was walking along, holding hands with a woman. Then he stopped and gave her a hug and softly touched her face. My broken heart from earlier was instantly mended. Let me tell you why.

My math teacher was, well, an odd duck. But so nice. The nicest guy ever. He was just kind of a slob. Overweight, unkept gray hair, thick glasses, and he always seemed so nervous. Kids in my class were kind of mean to him too. Just because they could be, because he is the type of person that just gets pushed around a lot. I always felt so bad. I would always smile and tell him thank you after class, hoping maybe that made him feel special. I also hoped he had a lady. I prayed he had a lady. If he had someone to love him, then everything would be fine, and my mind could be at peace. He is an older guy and he never had a wedding band on his finger. I began to have my doubts and figured he was just a lonely, old man whose only joy was teaching math. Sad, I know.

So seeing him with a lady seriously made my day!! Especially after the gym incident. My old math teacher has given me hope that the guy at the gym has a lady, and that maybe my tutor has picked up a girl as well.

Like the Beatles say, "All you need is love."

Speaking of the Beatles, my dad and brother went to the Beatles Love show in Vegas. I was jealous. . .but they did bring me back a pretty sweet Beatles shirt.

And on the note of love, this Friday the 28th will mark one year that I've been crushin on this boy. . .

Missing Piece

I don't want to sound depressing, because I am not depressed.

And I don't want to sound ungrateful, because I am very grateful.

I am just a happy camper of a girl. I love life.

However, I wouldn't say I am exactly. . . .content.

You know those times when you can't remember someone's name for the life of you, and it is on the edge of your tongue? And you go through the alphabet three or four times just trying to remember the letter that the name starts with?

I am having one of those moments in my life right now.

I know there is something I should be embracing and doing that would begin to. . .well. . .define my life. The problem is, I don't know what that thing is.

A new semester has started this week. I didn't even feel like I was going back to school. I didn't get those back-to-school-butterflies in my tummy the night before. I just woke up like it was a regular day and carried out my planned schedule. This is the first time this has EVER happened to me. I always get excited for my first day of school. Maybe I feel this way because I have no journalism classes this semester. Or maybe it's this freezing, cold weather. I don't know. But it irritates me. Still, school is good. I love USU. I love the people I am surrounded by when I am here.

I have been trying really hard the past few days to figure out what it is I should be doing. However, I still have not figured it out. Something is missing, and I don't want to miss it anymore. I know I should stop forcing myself to somehow fill this empty space, but I am getting obsessed.

It's like when you are doing a puzzle and you keep trying to put in a piece that doesn't fit. You know it doesn't go in that place where you keep pressuring it to go, it isn't the right shape at all, yet you keep rotating it around, hoping it will decide to fit.

Boo, Kelsey. Put the pieces down and just take a deep breath. Maybe I'll spot out that magical piece on the table with all the other puzzle pieces. Then it will no longer be just another puzzle piece. It will be the one that fits.

I am going to try to not force anything and just keep my eyes open for opportunity. Good things are coming my way. I am sure of that.

Maybe I should start writing a book. . .or try writing for the school paper. . .or volunteer somewhere. Hmmm.

Two more months until spring break. Mexican Riviera cruise, here I come!

Green Beans

You know when you have one of those days that it seems like the whole world hates you? Like every possible thing that could go wrong. . .goes wrong. And all day you just pray for the day to go by fast so it can end? Like you wanna go crawl in your bed and hide? Or throw dishes at the wall so you can break something, just to feel it break? Yeah, we've all had a day like that. And to put it plainly, those days just suck. I had a bad day like that, but it didn't end. One bad day turned into about four bad days. So I've basically had a bad week. As if bad days aren't bad enough.

My stress level has been through the roof this week. I am the kind of person who has a high tolerance for stress might I add. Things can go wrong for me that would freak other people out, but things don't really get to me that easily. I feel like I'm pretty good about shaking things off. I know how to roll with whatever happens and make the best of it. Sometimes this probably isn't good, because things that should worry me, don't. I also like being busy, so I take on tons of tasks all at once, and I actually like it. But I guess this week, my pile of tasks got too high and too many things that didn't go my way knocked my pile of tasks to the floor (that sentence sounds awkward, but I don't care. We accept awkward people so we should accept awkward sentences sometimes).

I could make a mega long list of everything that lashed out on me this week, but I won't. I don't want to bore you and I really hate complainers, and I would not want to have to hate myself. So just be creative and think of a zombie Kelsey with no sleep walking about, and you can create for yourself bad things that happened to me. That will be much more fun for everyone. So if you secretly don't like me and you're reading this, feel free to drop a piano on me if you will.

However, Wednesday night, as I was feeling bad for myself and wondering what could go wrong next, I started doing some serious thinking. Maybe everything bad was happening to me because I was looking for the bad. Instead of looking for any good, I was putting all my focus on the horrible. Instead of trying to be happy, I was choosing to drown in a bathtub of my self-pity.

Happiness really is a choice, my friends.

Just as I was thinking this, I watched as a shooting star shot across the sky. Look at that, a wish for me! At this time, I was driving home to Weston, so I could go to my 7:30 am hair appointment (who needs sleep, right?). When I turned on our lane to drive up the hill, I felt a huge smile creep onto my sleepy face. My dog, Ringo was greeting me. Ringo loves me, I won't even try and deny it. Every time, without fail, that I come home, he runs to the bottom of the hill and then runs back up alongside my van. He did this like he does every other time. When I threw the van in park after I pulled into our driveway, I saw Ringo sitting patiently by my door, just like always. I smiled because I knew what would happen next. I threw the door open and Ringo jumped inside, onto my lap. I felt important having someone so excited to see me, even if it was just a dog. My other dog, with only three legs, greeted me shortly after. I love my puppies.

The next morning, I found some more happy things waiting for me to find them. Before I stepped inside my van, I looked at the mountain right behind our house, and my jaw dropped. The mountain is covered with trees, and the leaves are all changing colors. The mountain was illuminated with oranges, reds, and yellows. Then I remembered a time when I was younger, and that mountain was bare of all trees, due to a horrible fire caused by a summer lightening storm. That mountain has came a long way since then.

Then, I drove down the road a ways to find another pleasant surprise. The sun hadn't been up long, so everything was bright. I looked past the rays of sun to see two baby deer in the road. They were quite young, and so adorable. I scared them pretty bad, and they didn't know what to do. They ran one direction, then the other, then the other. I looked around and saw no mommy. Mommy deer are always close to their babies. Then I noticed lying in the weeds, a dead deer. Probably the mommy. That made me sad. "At least when I feel lost, I have a mommy," I thought.

The rest of the day, I tried looking for more good things, and I found quite a few:

1. I got my hair colored, and it feels nice.






2. I think I did well on my video editing quiz. I think.






3. Shayla let me have a yummy muffin she made.






4. I wore my new shirt which was only $7 and is super cute. I got several compliments on it as well.






5. My mom bought me owl earrings.






6. I felt the warm sun on my shoulders.






7. I played volleyball.






8. My boss gave me a rootbeer float AND a doughnut.






9. Brian made me dinner.






10. Brian took me to a movie.






11. Brian bought me a Mountain Dew and TWO candy bars for the movie.






12. Brian didn't dump me after I randomly started crying at the end of the night.
    

So this week was a little rough, but things are getting better. They always do. I decided it's kind of like green beans. I hate green beans. I think they are disgusting. And I am not picky when it comes to food. I will eat them, but I don't particularly love them.

But I remember when I was little, and I never wanted to finish my green beans. My dad would always say,

"You can't have dessert until you finish ALL your green beans."

ALL of them? Seriously? And taking dessert away from me was like the worst thing possible. So I'd gag those green beans down so I could have whatever dessert my mom had made. Every time the green beans started to taste real bad, I would think about the taste of chocolate I could soon have in my mouth. It always helped. Always.

My week has been a plate full of green beans, but it sure is easier when I think of the chocolate I'll eat when the beans are all gone. And I'll be having that chocolate soon.

DATE NIGHT

I Can't Quite Reach

I would like to think that I'm not very girly or dramatic. I keep things pretty simple most of the time. No matter how not girly I am though, I'm still a girl. And on occasion I act like a girly-girly-girl. Last night was one of those occasions. My life is great. I'm having such a blast and I'm excited for what is to come. But out of nowhere last night, I began feeling overwhelmed with all the tough choices I have to make in life.

Yesterday, I went out and bought myself a new camera. My old one finally broke down and died on me, so I made an emergency trip to Best Buy and Staples the next day to check out their cameras. Just a couple things about me, so you'll realize how hard this shopping trip was for me. . . .

1. I'm the most indecisive person you will ever meet. I can never make up my mind about big decisions. And little ones too.

2. I am cheap. I hate spending money. It makes me want to hyperventilate when I spend in big amounts. The benefit is that I am not broke. I actually have a good amount of money for myself stored away. I'll probably be that old lady that dies one day and they find millions of dollars stored under the baseboards of her house.

Ok, now two things to know about camera shopping. . . .

1. There are so many different types of cameras, it's not even funny. Different brands. Different types of the brands. Different versions of the types. Different versions also have different features. And of course, there are many different colors to choose from when buying a camera. Yes, the color of the camera plays into this as well.

2. Cameras are not cheap.

I was in awe when looking through the selection of cameras. My jaw dropped and eyes widened, first of all, when I saw the selection and wondered how I would just choose one. My jaw dropped even more and my eyes somehow got wider when I noticed some of the prices. Oh baby, oh baby. It took me a long time, but I finally chose a good camera. And I'm happy with my choice. It wasn't ridiculously expensive, but not the cheapest one there. It has some neat features, but mostly just ones that I will use. It fits my needs. That was what was important to me when buying my camera: I just wanted to buy one that would fit my needs for now. It's also cute and blue might I add. . .and I really wanted a cute one.

Last night, I suddenly felt like I was in a Best Buy on steroids, one with millions of shelves of cameras. One that it would take days to look through all the cameras you might want to purchase. But I'm not really talking about cameras here. . .I'm talking about life. And all my options. Sometimes I wish I could fill my arms up with many different options and just run out of the store with them. But no, that would be called stealing. And I don't have the kind of money to afford all those different options. No one has that kind of money when it comes to life. So there I was last night, when it struck me,

"Do I want to purchase what I'm thinking of putting in my shopping cart?"

Do I want a life with so many features, I don't even know what to do with them all? Or do I want a life that will fit my needs? Do I want to sacrifice much so I can have something that is really nice and not many people have it? Or do I want to sacrifice a decent amount and have something I will be able to enjoy?

Oh yeah, and does life come in different colors too?

It's all a bit overwhelming.

When I was in Best Buy, I had to use the restroom. When I went over to wash my hands, there was a little girl at the other sink. Attempting to wash her hands. She was pretty little. Probably five or so. She was lifting herself onto the counter in order to reach the soap dispenser. Her arm was stretched as far as it could go and then some. She had a strained look on her face. Me, being the evil person I am sometimes, stood and watched her with an amused look on my face. I started wondering how long she'd been trying to get some soap on her hand. She finally reached the soap dispenser and succeeded in getting soap on her hand. . .and all over the counter as well. Now the next task, turning on the sink. She had a sad/angry look on her face when she realized she now had to reach the sink handle and twist it to the on position. I felt like laughing, but I was sad for her at the same time. So I finally quit being evil.

"Do you need some help?"

She looked at my reflection in the mirror, scrunched her nose up, and nodded yes. I turned the sink on for her and made sure the water was a nice temperature. Then I asked,

"Can you turn it off by yourself?"

She gave me the head nod once again.

So I departed from the bathroom, laughing just a little bit.

I'm like that little girl lots of times in my life. I want to act bigger than I really am sometimes. And I hate asking for help when it comes to my weaknesses. Over and over again, I will be reaching for the sink and soap to wash my hands for several minutes (not literally, but you know what I mean) while many people pass that would more than likely help me. All I have to do is ask.

Last night, in all my anguish before I crawled in my bed, I asked. I asked Him for help, and it felt real nice after. I know if I keep asking and just keep my cool, everything will work out. I'll get my hands clean eventually and I'll make up this darn mind of mine.

Can't Seem to Find that Place Called Neverland

"Every time a child says, 'I don't believe in fairies,' there is a fairy somewhere that falls down dead."

-Peter Pan



I really like the story of Peter Pan. I saw the musical once, and seeing it live was absolutely wonderful. I'll admit, I can be quite the nerd when it comes to literature/history/art. I'm not ashamed. But seriously, I think I was happy for days after I saw the live performance. There's just something about going to a world where you can stay young and innocent forever and fly about with fairy dust that gets me.



As wonderful a story as Peter Pan is, I'm afraid there is no Neverland. Some people seem to search for that forever youth and never find it. No, botox and plastic surgery are not the least bit close to finding Neverland. Michael Jackson's amusement park doesn't count either. Sometimes I think going to Neverland would be a nice thing. Let me tell you why. . .



I am not the least bit afraid of growing old. I loved being a child. But I also love where I'm at right now. I have no doubt that I will also love being 50 when I'm at that point in my life. But there is just something about the innocence of children that gets me. When you are a kid, you have dreams bigger than life itself and nothing can stop you. And kids never really get sad. They don't have a worry in the world. The biggest worry a kid might have is if they fall down and scrape a knee.



As I get older, I realize there is more to worry about. I've especially been worrying about others lately. There are many people in my life that I grew up with, who are struggling with different things. These are people I scraped knees with as a kid. But these people are scraping up a lot more than just knees nowadays. I am the kind of person that thinks I need to do something to save people. But I am learning that saving others is not my job. They can make their own choices. It's not up to me. After all, I have my own choices to worry about making. But I'm always here if anyone comes to me, needing me.



I was having a discussion with one of my very good friends and she said,



"Kels, we can worry all we want and it might not change anything. Except make us do a lot of worrying. You can't change what a person is doing. It's up to them to choose to change. They have to decide for themselves."



She's a wise friend, and I knew she was right. I cannot make another person's choices for them. That might be pretty dangerous, actually. But what I can do. . . .is clap.



In the live performance of Peter Pan, there is a scene that is my absolute favorite. This is when Tink is dying and Peter turns to the crowd, desperately trying to save her. He speaks to the audience, saying,



"Do you believe in fairies? If you believe, clap your hands; don't let Tink die."



The audience then begins clapping, softly at first, until it grows to an overwhelming applaud.



I believe. I still believe in my friends that are messing up. And I'll keep believing and clapping for them until they, in a sense, come alive again.



"When the first baby laughed for the first time, its laugh broke into a thousand pieces, and they all went skipping about, and that was the beginning of fairies."

-Peter Pan