A Road Less Traveled

Cataracts

2008-04-18T15:43:00.000-07:00

"It has now been a month or so since my whole world has changed due to cataract surgery. I wake up every morning and marvel at things that I can see."

I've been trying to come up with a comparison to illustrate what I've been feeling the last month as my PMDD symptoms (anxiety, depression, etc) have decreased, and my world has become brighter.

At first, when I first started feeling the symptoms, it was frightening and I knew that something was wrong, and I could remember who I really am - not the crying frightened tired mistrusting wreck of a person I was at that moment. I could remember that life hadn't always been the way it felt to me then. I knew that my perspective was distorted (at least, each time I came out of the fog). But the longer I suffered from PMDD, the less I could remember what had been "normal" (normal as in healthy not "status quo"). I could sense "better" or "worse" but "normal" seemed far away and dreamlike. I began to wonder if I had just imagined that I'd been happy and energetic and passionate once - or if I'd always been like this...just hiding it better.

But the cataracts have come off my eyes, and everything is changed...brighter...more vibrant. I marvel everyday at the things I can feel. The love I feel for Dan is practically making me giddy. And I rest content and trusting in Dan's love for me. I enjoy eating again, and cooking, and smelling things. Flowers are more beautiful and goodness more tangible. My love of music has returned, and I sing and dance as I paint. Painting is creation now, not just a burden and a distraction. I laugh frequently and love how it feels in my body, and smiles comes easily and spontaneously to my lips. For so long, I smiled mostly when required by social custom, and it was always forced - even when sincere - and always difficult. I remember seeing a kind old man smile at me, and feeling my heart respond, but my lips were like stone.

The words of this description aren't very poetic, but what I feel today is. Every day I feel full of wonder, joy, and gratitude that today is a good day.

Tribute

2008-01-22T18:34:00.000-08:00

To Lora...

I love and miss you so much already. All day today, I've been walking around like a zombie. I felt you yesterday -- your spirit was all around me. It felt like you were dancing. But today I feel so empty. How am I supposed to speak at your funeral? I don't know what to say.

I've been listening to tapes of your voice. My favorite is when you still had a lot of energy in your voice, and we were singing "Swing Low, Sweet Chariot" and you sounded so happy. A band of angels comin' after me...comin' to carry me home. I believe you are happy, now. Finally out of pain. Clear minded. Mobile. What's it like? What's heaven like? Are you watching us? If you are, can you help me give your talk? Can you help me with Heather? Can you help me not be so mean and angry?

I loved washing your hair that day for you - singing Ol' Man River and Fifteen Tons. I bet most people would be surprised with the gusto with which you can sing. I bet people would be surprised about a lot of things about you. How many people really understood you? Did any of us? I know I was often surprised by you.

I hope you can laugh loudly in heaven. You always did have this great guffaw. Your mouth open so wide -- that huge mouth! You had the biggest smile of anyone in the fam. When you died, your hands became so soft. And then they turned so pale. It was strange to see you so pale. But then, it wasn't really you anymore...by then. It was still your body, though -- your old friend. I like to think of it as your friend. Not the enemy. Not the one that caused you pain. Not the one that killed you in the end. I think it worked as hard as it could...for as long as it could...to keep you doing everything you loved: serving, helping, cleaning, working, writing, recording, singing, talking, praying, thinking, smiling. Always smiling.

Do you know that you nearly died twice before? It was just like the last time...only it didn't last as long. The first time you almost died, I couldn't take my eyes off you. I was the only one there for a long time, and I was kneeling by the side of the bed, holding your hand. I could hardly blink. And only one thought went through my mind: not yet. keep breathing. open your eyes. not yet. not yet. not yet. But a few hours later you were back and recording yourself on tape. It spilled out of you while you were still unconscious. The second time, just before Christmas, you took longer to come back. You were gone for so long, I thought for sure it was your time. I didn't want you to hang on for us. I wanted you to go, then. You'd been in so much pain. I didn't think it could get any worse.

It got worse. For days, you kept talking, but I couldn't understand you. The words wouldn't come out right. When they did, I didn't want to listen anymore. I was afraid of what you were saying. The meds made you hallucinate. You didn't know where you were. You wanted to go home. I was afraid. I couldn't stay by you anymore, I was so afraid. So afraid and so tired. So tired.

I take breaks. I take breaks just like people tell me to. I take a shower. I play racquetball. I go to the movies with Dan. I sleep at home. But it doesn't work. I'm still tired. And I'm still thinking about you, feeling guilty I'm not there because I know how much you need me. Why me? Why am I the name you'd call? Why have you always loved me so much? Even when I was little, you looked up to me. I was your hero. Why me?

Lora, I'm afraid. I'm afraid that I've failed you. I tried so hard to be there, but I couldn't - not all the way. I couldn't follow you when they took you away in the body bag. I stayed on the couch. I can't even remember what came next. Heather followed you. Heather is the one who cried for you. Not me. I didn't cry that whole day. I don't know why. Except that I still felt you there. I almost felt like you were YOU again in a way you hadn't been in a long time. I had a small smile on my face all day. I felt like I could sleep all day long. Sleep like a baby - completely at peace, completely unburdened. You weren't my burden, little one. But you were in so much pain. All kinds of pain. The physical, sharp, demanding pain that everyone knows about. And the dull, aching, tired pain that most try not to think about. I think I carry it with me. I think I felt what it was like to set it down yesterday. Both of us laid your pain at the feet of Jesus, and walked away. You left your body. I stayed with it.

But today, I keep thinking that I'm hearing you calling me. But it's the old you - the you in the bed. Not the you that is now. I wonder if you look the same. For some reason, I feel like if I saw your spirit, you would look older than I am. Like you know something I don't. Now I get to feel like your little sister.

I miss you, Lora.

Love, Marci

Here you Go!

2007-11-14T19:51:00.000-08:00

Thoughts from a New England Cemetery

2007-09-05T10:09:00.001-07:00

Both Dan and I are in love with the forests - Pacific Northwest, New England - both share the lush trees that give clean air and block the noise of the traffic and give a feeling of being "cushioned" from overpopulation of houses and cars and buildings and signs.

People claim that we are overpopulated, but I don't believe that. Not overpopulated with people, anyway. Maybe with material stuff, with greed and selfishness, with garbage. With people who can't live in harmony with others, and with nature. But the earth is there to be populated. Maybe the people who claim overpopulation don't believe in a creation: don't believe that the earth was created for mankind. Maybe they believe we are an accidental animal borrowing time and space from the earth - the earth, which was created...for what?

Tangential.

Anyway, Dan and I went east to New Hampshire to witness the marriage of Dave Dorman and Karissa Stanton. They had a beautiful ceremony. My favorite part was the reading of their vows to one another. It was beautiful, the kind of words that should be recorded in the heart of all married couples. My least favorite part was the photographers: moving in front and around everyone, clicking away at their cameras incessantly, even during the prayer. It felt wrong for them to do that, and I felt the guilt of it -- simply for being a fellow photographer.

The wedding was in a chapel built in 1908. Vaulted arch ceilings, stone walls and floor. Stained glass windows -- simple, not ornate -- letting in a natural light which glowed soft and clean and gave an intimate warmth despite the stark, stone interior.

Behind the church is an old graveyard where a peach-ish light from the setting sun shone through moss-covered headstones. I couldn't help myself: I photographed it.

Am I like the photographers: pursuing an image blindly, heedless of my environment, marring the very event I am there to honor? I am photographing the resting places of the dead, walking upon the grass that covers their heads and feet. Do I walk behind the headstones or in front? I never know where to walk in a cemetery. Do I -like the photographers- also tread into disrespectful territory, unaware or uncaring that I have crossed a line?

It didn't feel so; It felt reverent, holy, surrounded by the beauty of God and of life and light passing into something else. Changing. To be reborn again in another time or place.

Am I doing what life is meant to do: walking upon the dead, admiring and documenting the beauties of life as it continues? As I continue?

Time passes

2007-08-21T15:26:00.001-07:00

Summer soon burns into fall.
The leaves of ochre and crimson await.

Sweater and scarves to keep out the edge of the incoming cold,

but the sun continues - warm and soft on my face.
It used to be my favorite season.

But now that I'm getting older, I hesitate to welcome autumn too soon;

Winter follows it.
I cling to the last few weeks of summer.

Try to get out more. That's my goal. Watch the sun set. See it rise.

Breath the air and work and tan and let myself sweat,

before it's too late.

These are photos from this summer.

They capture the summer I'm trying to hold on to.

Summer when family came home.
L home from Iraq. Perhaps the nightmares will stop.
A, K, and J from Italy, the little ones squealing and glowing
and calling "mushroom!" to D.
Perhaps he is another dad now while L is gone.
E & K4 before they leave to Singapore.
Always going somewhere far away.
When I see K2 will she be grown - solemn and shy and dangerously conscientious?
Will K3 still sparkle while she rebels in her unique way? And K4 - she's so little now. Will she be a stranger one day as new children come?

Time passes. Painfully it passes.
I have D to love. To journey with.
Whimsical. Lyrical. Curious.
Where will we be then? Will we also go over the ocean?
Will we still be at war? Hated by many nations?

I miss the America I used to know.
I look but all I see is the top of heads bent over, texting.
I see billboards and cars and exhaust,
I see new subdivisions of huge houses - erected, but no children in the street, playing kick-the-can and freeze tag.
Who are we - as a nation?
It was harder to celebrate the 4th of July this year.

Yesterday I wanted to throw my phone out the window
to declare my independence. I didn't, though.
Would it have been wrong? impractical? illogical? immature?
Or would I have felt lightened? enlightened?

I love to keep my windows down when I'm driving.
Sometimes I can't now: The sound on the convenient, never-high-enough-speed, freeway is deafening.
In India traffic is slower so you can hear those in the car with you.
A few blocks away and it's like there is no road at all.
D and I live further from the freeway than I did in India,
but here it's like I live under it. The constant hum.

In a valley in a canyon, enroute to Logan,
I turned off my headlights, and drove by the light of the stars and the full moon. It was bright, and clear, and safer than it sounds.
Then we got a new car, with built-in light system intelligence.
And I can't override the system. That little joy has passed.
If everything is open 24 hours, when do we rest?

I am mourning the summer passing. And childhood. And the simple pleasures that are being crowded out by this ultra convenient lifestyle. Yesterday I told D I wanted to be a hippy. Really, I just want to feel in tune with nature, and with myself, and with those I love.

Naked

2007-06-04T15:15:00.000-07:00

Speaking of "swimming naked" (see Inertia)...

Dan has taught me to enjoy being naked. Before I got married, I was afraid of it. Seriously. I felt self-conscious getting into the shower -- which was really the only time I allowed myself to be nude. I slept fully clothed, only went skinny-dipping once (only to see what I was missing, and ended up decided it wasn't for me), and dreaded the day when my future husband would have to see me undressed. I hoped that we could keep the lights out whenever possible. Perhaps this was the purpose of lingerie? To be "undressed" without having to be quite so naked? I don't have a perfect body -- quite far from it, in fact. Yet I told myself that women the world over -- the majority anyway -- feel the same about their bodies, and manage to be naked sometimes.

Where is the Marci who as a child could barely keep her clothes on? I was scolded frequently for casting off my clothes willy-nilly and running about the neighborhood. Or streaking through church.

From infancy to when I was about 8 years old, it continued. It doesn't take a lot of effort to find pictures of me partially-clothed. Simply flip through one of our family albums prior to 1984, and before long, you'll stumble upon a tenacious girl clad only in pigtails, tights, and shoes. Turn a few more pages and you might find me in jeans with my hair loose and long in a stream of golden brown hair cascading over my naked back. I felt like a hippie-indian-princess, whatever that is. Something wild and untamed and unconcerned with the "rules for young women".

Where is she? Gone for many years, but now she is blissfully asleep in her turquoise bed, or awake and scrubbing the toilet wrapped in a towel, or perhaps clad in a slip and cooking breakfast. I've spent the last hour lounging around in a swath of orange cloth. The fabric is sheer and soft, but not like silk -- not smooth. It's like old skin and nylon. It tucks and holds easily -- making me feel clothed, but not clothed. Vibrant as a sunset, patterned like the shell of a tortoise or the hide of a giraffe, I feel wild, like Africa.

Is this inappropriate? Is it risque? I hope not - for that is not what I feel. I feel that something has awakened in me -- a freedom that has been dormant in me since childhood. She is not dead, this free little girl. She was hiding, and my husband has found her and through his tenderness and acceptance, has given her life, and it feels like a gift to me. To be at home in my own skin is to be at home in myself. He nurtures this in me, and I feel it will not be long before the fears and insecurities that have dominated my adulthood will fade, like the night to the dawn.

Inertia

2007-05-28T14:02:00.000-07:00

An object in motion tends to stay in motion. An object at rest tends to stay at rest, unless moved upon by an outside force.

I have been an object at rest, blogwise. But I got "Bah! Update" -ed by Chrissa, Dan has started giving me a sarcastic laugh when I tell him he needs to update, and he also warns me that if I don't keep on it, I could become a spamlog like Chrissa. Oh, the horror. So here I am.

It's not that I've been "resting" in my life -- but I guess I've been transitioning and changing and my attention has been focused on a few immeasurably important things, leaving little for the "outside world." But I've been gathering strength, ideas, and a desire to stretch out, and this is a small manifestation of that attempt. My hope is that this attempt, no matter how small, will still represent motion -- one small step further into the stream, where perhaps the current will sweep me to where it becomes easier to write. Where I write simply. Where all that counts is my thoughts, and your thoughts, and I don't have to have a message that will change the world, or a smash hit of humor, or a creative unifying theme to blog about. How I long to just let this be truly an online journal -- for in my journals, when I can truly write unhindered and uninhibited, I feel like I'm swimming in myself, rich in reality. "Swimming in myself" -- sounds vain, perhaps, but for me -- who longs for fearless openness with the universe and all things in it, but because of fear treads carefully -- then an outlet where I can swim naked in my thoughts, and unafraid, is a beautiful thing.

That is all for now. But it is something, and for this, I feel triumphant and happy.

Marci

Life, the Universe, and Everything...

2007-01-20T09:51:00.000-08:00

Sorry I haven't posted in so long. It's been a whirlwind of a year. Looking back, I realize that 2006 was the most trying (& tiring) year of my life, but an important one, and one filled with some of my happiest memories.

The hardest parts of the year: 1) dealing with chemically/hormonally induced depression and anxiety attacks (which made life very confusing) and 2) Lora's onset of cancer - including all her hospital stays, watching her lose motor skills & function, and especially watch her go through so much pain (both physical & emotional), and then basically trying to cover for my mom as she's become Lora's full-time caretaker. (Pic: Lu in rehab after September's surgery)

The best parts of the year: 1) The "best" is reserved for Dan. It was almost one year ago that Dan and I started dating. We had a long, slow start, but it's been a steady climb this year. He grew to be my best friend, and now we're getting married!!! (Pic @ right: our first choice for our wedding announcement...what do you think? Just kidding. Pic below is our real feelings...)

We've been through a lot, and we'll go through a lot more, and there's no one I'd rather have at my side. It's been a gradual, thoughtful, effort & prayer-filled process, and he's been a pillar of strength and comfort to me during some very difficult times.

Through this last year, I came to understand more and more WHY I kept (and keep) choosing Dan over other guys. I love the opportunity to know - deep in my heart - that there is something very unique about
Dan (and our relationship), that I didn't have - and didn't want - with anyone else. So, if all goes well...on March 10th, 2007, I will officially become Marci Dorman. Better start getting used to it.

(If you need help transitioning, you can call me Marci Mc-Dorman between now and the wedding.)

Honorable mentions for the year:

2) Traveling to Panama and Mexico with VIDA humanitarian group (Pic @ left: Panamanian kids looking at themselves on my digital camera) 3) Visiting Jared & Chrissa out east at their new home 4) Shauna moving back to Utah 5) Getting the garage nearly cleaned out 4) Going to Hawaii to photograph a wedding 5) Forming a great new friendship with Kristin Burnett 6) Melanie Andrus returning from her mission 7) Volunteering at the homeless shelter in Salt Lake (I've always wanted to do that) 8) Serving as Relief Society Pres. -- which was FAR out of my comfort zone, but has been a great learning experience.

Sorry it's a little short, and not very well-written, but I didn't have much time, and I just had to tell you the news. I hope you all will be able to be there.

By the way, I'll tell you how Dan proposed to me once I get the pictures. I love visual aids.

Anticipation and Fear

2006-11-15T18:47:00.000-08:00

Early Sunday morning, I will carry my luggage out into the cold, scrape off the car, and head for the airport. There, I will wait in line (having thrown out my hummus and toothpaste at security if I've forgotten and left them in my carry-on) to board a plane for Phoenix, transferring to a tiny plane headed to Hermosillo, Mexico. In Mexico, I will drag my enormous luggage (loaded with donations of school and dental supplies) awkwardly through the unpaved, dusty streets of a town that looks not-so-different from the side streets of LA, Las Vegas, or even parts of Logan. From there, myself and two female traveling companions climb aboard an enormous bus for a 3 hour drive to the headquarters of our Mexican volunteer counterparts, where (finally), I will begin to feel like I'm actually in Mexico.

I know -- and don't know -- what awaits me; I've done this trip before, but there are always surprises. Hence the anticipation. And the fear.

My heart longs for these journeys in a way never imagined (by me, anyway). Others used to tell me that I was a traveler: meant for other places and other things. But I thought that was only because they saw the surface -- the clothes that never quite fit the norm, the foreign films and music, the bohemian way I decorate my spaces -- and failed to see what lay underneath: a timid person afraid of change, afraid of too much possibility, afraid of the unfamiliar and unknown. How could a person like that travel anywhere?

Yet I did. And through these trips, I tapped into a self I'd never known before - not to mention sights, smells, sounds, tastes, and most of all, people I'd never known before and grew to love.

I miss India the most. But I'm excited to return to Mexico as well. I love the children and the sun and the food and the Spanish language. Strangely, I love the bad night's sleep on the cement floor with the incessant sounds of the chickens and dogs and the blaring of the truck selling food in the morning, the mud and the horrible bathrooms, and even the excruciating pain in my hands after a long day of mixing adobe. I guess I like the fact that I survive it, and survive it well.

So why am I so afraid? I'm terrified to go. It's as if I think that it can't be repeated: the love I feel for the people, for the experience. What if I've become colder and more selfish? What if the people hate me? What if I've become lazier, being at home, and I won't be able to handle the work? What if I'm so homesick for all I've left behind that I won't extend myself to the people I'm with? In the past, I've bonded with the people because I needed them so desperately. But now I'm content. Will that make me distant from them -- because my heart is here instead of there?

I wonder if this will happen every time. Even though the fear is inevitably swallowed up in the work, and forgotten soon after. Yet, every single time I go - always the same fear: will I connect with the people? Will I work hard? Will I give of myself? Will they receive me?

Recent Still Lifes

2006-11-13T22:36:00.000-08:00

Forgive me that I keep posting pictures. I'm recovering from the last few months, which have been tougher than I sometimes let on. However, things are looking up...and by my next real blog, I may actually have some thoughts to share instead of just my photos. For now, let this series speak to you of how I was feeling at the time: terrified - wanting to limit my world to something small and manageable, a microcosm of life that I could study without feeling overwhelmed. And, simultaneously, the frustration of being trapped by my fears - longing to again learn, discover, explore, create... (P.S. the pics enlarge when clicked)

Weddings, Weddings, Weddings

2006-11-13T11:41:00.000-08:00

If you want to know what I've been doing lately, this is one: wedding photography. I've even started traveling this last year: once to South Carolina, and once to Hawaii. Here are a few pics from this last wedding season (June - Dec):

Mural Pics

2006-11-13T10:19:00.000-08:00

Here are the requested pictures of the finished mural. If anyone needs a reminder, it was for LDS Family Services, for their adoption center.

They also asked me to design their new t-shirts (in the same style as the mural).

Be back soon...

2006-11-01T00:44:00.000-08:00

I leave in about 5 hours for Hawaii to photograph a wedding for my neighbor. They're getting married on the beach (actually on Kauai). My "pay" for the wedding is airfare, room & board. I'll share some pictures when I get back.

I love you all -- especially you, Dan -- and I'll write again soon.

P.S. The mural is finished, and it went well.

My Mural

2006-10-12T16:40:00.000-07:00

I've been working this week on a mural for LDS family services (their adoption center). Anyway, I had done something else first, but then they told me they wanted it to look like it had been drawn by little kids. At first, I felt a little bugged that they hadn't told me that up front (before I'd spent time on these other sketches), but in the end, it was a great deal, since I have a very short window of good weather (next week the temps are supposed to drop down again), and this second design will be MUCH easier.

Other news: Lora is home from the hospital; I got hired to photograph a wedding in Hawaii (they're flying me out); I quit my job teaching at the DATC (I loved it, but I couldn't handle it - for now); I have clinical depression/anxiety due to hormone stuff (it's called PMDD - and it is treatable...yay!!!); I'm applying for my first credit card; I'm going to Mexico again in November to building houses with VIDA; and I'm madly in love with Dan. Of course, that last one isn't really "news" -- but I just like saying it anyway. He's the best, and has been an outstanding support and comfort during a really hard time...(thanks, hon).

Also: I've been asked to sing at my friend's baptism this next Sunday. Ahhh!!! I'll ruin it! Alas...

So, in closing, here's my mural sketches and a great random fact:

In his later years Pablo Picasso was not allowed to roam an art gallery unattended, for he had previously been discovered in the act of trying to improve on one of his old masterpieces.

What's your quirk?

2006-09-30T07:08:00.000-07:00

Mine's numbers. I have this thing where I love getting the same number repeated for the time, like 2:22 or 10:10. It makes me feel lucky, somehow: as if there's some special meaning in it. It just feels like a brief second of meditation in which everything is balanced perfectly.

The rules:

1 - It doesn't matter if it's the real time. Even if you look at a clock that's five minutes fast or 2 hours slow. As long as the time on the clock reads the same number, you're set. This is convenient because sometimes I'll get 4:44 on one clock and then 9 minutes later, get it on another clock by accident.

2 - You can't plan it. Can't set your alarm. Can't be looking at it consciously. It has to be an accidental thing. Say, for example, it's 4:42 and I know that if I "casually" look back in about 2 minutes, I'll get my moment...too bad, it doesn't count. The fun's out of it.

3 - Although not worth quite as much, palindromes can also be a nice little moment. 10:01, 12:21, etc.

It really has become almost a big deal. Say I'm having a really discouraging moment; I look at the clock, it reads 10:10; I feel as if some cosmic force is sending me a message: it's going to be okay; I feel a little boost of encouragement and peace. The end.

Weird, huh?

And I don't really do any of that other superstitious stuff: wishing over eyelashes or dandelions; hitting the top of the car under yellow lights; slug bug; etc.

Miscellaneous Whatever

2006-09-20T11:28:00.000-07:00

This is just a bunch of thoughts and feelings from the last few weeks. It's just miscellaneous, but at least it's something new.

2 Weeks Ago:

Took Lora to the emergency room last week. I feel bad because she was with me when her body started convulsing, and I can see the confusion and fear in her eyes, but instead of calling the Dr. or the ER, I just kept trying to calm her down, trying to help her to relax, massaging her legs, telling her that it would pass. Why am I such a megalomaniac? I act as if I know everything. As if I know more than Lora about her own body and why it’s freaking out on her – while meanwhile her spinal chord is being severely pinched by this tumor, which is why she’s in the hospital recovering from emergency surgery. That’s not something that taking a deep breath is going to take care of. Luckily, Lora asked me to call mom, which I did. She called the ER.

Had an odd moment while doing laundry. It’s the first time doing the wash since Lora entered the hospital. She’s having surgery tomorrow, and it could go bad. They’re warning us that there’s a slight possibility she may not live through the surgery, and a larger possibility that she’ll face paralysis of some sort. I’m wondering vaguely as I’m pulling her clothes out of the dryer how much our life is going to change. I’m thinking of people who lose someone all the sudden. Will they face a moment like this? They’re doing something routine…and suddenly they pull out their loved ones clothes from the dryer. Do you fold them? You don’t expect to be doing someone’s laundry that has died…but you didn’t expect them to die, so of course hints of them linger on in normal life. Their voice on the answering machine. A letter for them in the mail. Phone calls that you have to field. Laundry to be sorted, gotten rid of. Their toothbrush. I wasn’t trying to be morbid, or expecting Lora to die. I felt that everything would be okay. I was just wondering how much our life might change in that one day.

1 ½ Weeks Ago:
Have been spending most of my time in the hospital. I’m missing Dan and the rest of my normal life, but know that I belong here, supporting Lora and my Mom. I was home for once, and looking up a song I’d heard while trying to sleep in the Starbucks chair at the ER. In trying to find the song, I found this blog instead, and thought she had a raw, beautiful way of expressing herself: (http://jensworkinprogress.blogs.friendster.com/jens_blog/2006/05/index.html)

Also found this quote there: "To love and be loved is to feel the sun from both sides" ~ David Viscott. That’s the truth. It feels just as good to love as to be loved. Maybe better.

1 Week Ago:
I'm in a strange mood. It's not unfamiliar, though. I've been here plenty of times before. It's strange because I don't know what to do. I feel a "fight or flight" response all the time and nothing seems like the right answer. I'm standing on the edge of a precipice and feeling like some stereotypical 40-year old man ready for a mid-life crisis. I feel like no matter where I look, I see something to be afraid of, and I can't seem to cope. I'm terrified. Nothing seems normal. Everything's distored and hyper-real, like in a fever. Maybe I really do have GAD (generalized anxiety disorder). I’ve wondered that before, but it eventually passes, and I feel better, and I forget about it and move on. I think contributing to the GAD, I also have a hormone imbalance, which leaves my emotions all scrambled. Lot’s of women get loopy from hormone imbalances when they’re pregnant -- which I’m not, by the way. Jen (Lamont’s wife) has been talking for years about the crazy problems due to imbalance – and it wouldn’t be surprising if I had this problem, seeing as how I have endometriosis and I used to have such crazy/bad cramps that I had to be taken to the emergency room every month for almost a year.

I guess I just rebel against the idea that something I’m feeling could be the result of some chemical or hormonal imbalance. I tend to think that feelings are a representation of reality, and it seems strange that my own mind, my own heart could be sending me messages that aren’t true. And yet, then – why do I fail to trust myself so much? Sometimes I act as if I can’t trust any of my feelings. What a bundle of contradictions. I wish I had insurance, so I could see a doctor and get it sorted out.

This Week:
I’ve decided the answer to everything is love. I know it sounds cheesy, but I really believe it. You know how they say, “Love isn’t enough”? Well, they’re wrong. Romance isn’t enough. Attraction isn’t enough. But Love is. Real love means loving. It means work, and hope, and faith, and charity, and forgiveness, and patience, and acceptance, and time. It means overcoming selfishness and extending yourself for the benefit of others. And it’s always enough. Every problem I have in a relationship has been resolved by love. Real love gives you what you need to have happiness and inner peace regardless of whether the problem is removed or not.

I heard a quote that I liked about perspective and dealing with problems: “Reverse Your Buts” (No, that is not misspelled). It means, instead of saying/thinking, “I love you, but you’re driving me crazy”… you say/think: “You’re driving me crazy, but I love you.” or “I have a great job, but its really stressing me out”, becomes “It’s really stressful, but I have a great job.” Not a big change, semantically, but it creates a different outlook. I like the optimism of it.

Language Barriers

2006-08-31T11:38:00.000-07:00

Have you ever watched some doggedgly determined to speak English to someone who doesn't speak English, or verbally address someone who is deaf...and just get louder? And you think, "Moron. That tool is obviously not working. Try something else."

I’ve been that person. I am that person. I know it isn’t working, but I keep using it anyway in the vain hope that something will magically transform them or me so that this tool – English – will suddenly work. Sometimes I have completely given up on it working: I know they don’t understand me, but I keep speaking to them in English anyway because that’s the only language I know.

I'm trying to learn a whole new way language, and I'm not very good at it. My current language – for thinking, for learning, for connecting with people, for expressing myself, and most of all, for problem solving – is talking. This is a curse that most of the McPherson clan share, and I have a sneaking suspicion that it drives our in-laws crazy. The real secret is: it drives us crazy, too – but, like the person in the example, sometimes it’s the only language we know.

I seem to have this compulsive need to try and solve every problem by talking about it. Discussion is not the only, and often not the best way to work through differences. But that's a new idea for me; after all, it's a tool that has served me pretty well all these years (probably because I have usually been surrounded by other extroverts). Even my mom and Jared – who are more introverted – have learned to adapt to us "talkers".

But I really want to try and change. Not because I think that good communication can't solve problems – because it can be very helpful at times – but because I’ve come to learn (mostly through Dan) that there are other ways to work through problems besides communication, and that there are other ways to communicate besides talking.

I fall prey to the false notion that if something is good, more is better. I know it’s wrong. I know it goes against logic and experience. However, I have seen by my behavior that I must believe it. For example, if SOME communication can solve some problems, then more communication can solve EVERY problem. But it doesn’t work that way, of course, and anyone who’s ever been locked into a never-ending discussion with a McPherson (especially me) can tell you how frustrating it can be. And meanwhile, I’m trying to be rational, and honest, and brave – to face up to and talk about the conflict, find a resolution, compromise, sacrifice, etc., etc. Often, I try so hard to do everything just right, that I do it all wrong. Irony sucks.

I’ve seen how sometimes I try to push through to a verbal resolution – come hell or high water. I think: You may feel miserable, I may feel miserable, but DANGIT, we’re talking this out until we’re both happy. I feel like I’m beating my head against a wall and other person looks like they’re getting beaten, and we're both exhausted and unhappy, and I can see that talking about it isn’t helping. Sometimes it’s making it worse. But I don’t know what else to do. I know there are other tools, but talking is the only tool I know how to use.

Jared’s always been pretty good at it. I remember as a young teenager, I would get upset at something, and storm to my room, angry and hurt and embarrassed and stubborn. And I’d hope that the person I’d been fighting with would feel bad, come apologize, and I could be “right.” But then Jared (who was never the one I was fighting with) would come to my room. And he wouldn’t really talk. Not about what had just happened, anyway. He would just hang out in my room, sometimes asking me about some object I had on a shelf, or telling me about a movie he’d seen or recounting a funny Calvin & Hobbes he’d read that day. And pretty soon, the anger and stubbornness and hurt had left, and all that I felt was some shame over losing my temper, humility to accept my part in the conflict, and the feeling that – despite my weaknesses – I was loved, and always would be. And he did it all without hardly saying anything.

Dan’s good at it, too. Maybe that’s one of their qualities that make them such good friends. They say a lot without needing to say much. I think of how often Dan has soothed my fears, hurt, or anger - not by what he said, but by the look he gave me, or just when he just pulls me tight to hug me and holds me there for a while as I cry and catch my breath, and listen to all he’s communicating silently. It feels like he reaches past my mind, past my logic, past my words – and he addresses my heart directly. Kind of like music does. A truth that I think these men have always known -- and that I'm trying to learn -- is that maybe problems can be solved as much in silence, or with a look, or a touch, or just a "feeling" that you radiate to the other person. Or just with patience, and time, and your presence – letting the person know through your actions they are loved - despite your weakness, despite their weakness - and always will be.

My life

2006-08-16T10:15:00.000-07:00

Updating has been tough lately. I've been super busy...but that's not the real reason why. Sometimes you just get "writer's block" I guess. Maybe I also fall prey to the idea that I have to try and have some real "point" to writing instead of just babbling on about my life.

So here's my latest "babble":

Dan & Marci: Okay, I know you all must be getting sick of us by now, but don't you just LOVE that "Dan & Marci" finally hooked up? I'd been flirting with him for years, adored him for even more years, and always felt somehow drawn to him...though I needed a little convincing that it actually could work out as a "real" relationship. Although any relationship needs work, and this one requires its own share of compromise, patience, forgiveness, practice, etc. (on both our sides) -- overall, I just continue to fall more & more in love with Dan all the time, recognizing how incredibly lucky I feel to be with someone so loyal, deep-thinking, compassionate, creative, intelligent, selfless, and loving.

Panama & other humanitarian efforts: Although I was supposed to be departing for India any day now, it will probably be delayed until a later time. There's a lot of reasons going into it, but primarily it was conflicting with school, work, and my church calling. I'm torn between various things that are all important, yet I'm beginning to feel that maybe the humanitarian work has to be put on the back burner for a bit while I concentrate on other (just as important -- and some that are more important) things. I'm still hoping to go, but I may go in late September or October instead.

The project in Panama went very well, and was once again a lesson to me of the devastating poverty that exists throughout the world. Ever since I started going on these trips, I've felt an enormous appreciation for the vast amount of effort that the Church does worldwide, and I've made more of an effort to donate to fast offerings, humanitarian efforts, and the perpetual education fund when I pay my tithing. Sometimes when I'm confronted by such wide-spread poverty & other problems, and I feel so helpless, it is always comforting to know that the leaders of the church run an organized, honest, long-term method of helping people rise out of poverty - and helping is as easy as "rounding up" my tithing donation with just a little more in some of the other categories.

Lately, I put a lot of effort into making a DVD about the Panama trip - much thanks to Dan for loaning me his computer, his DVD's, his time, and his support (you're amazing, hon) and also thanks to Zane for helping get my video footage into a usable format. The DVD turned out great. Chris MacPherson (our project leader) said it's the best DVD of its kind he's ever seen. I really enjoy the editing, and adding quotes and music, etc. It's probably some of the most fun I've had with photography stuff. I'd like to get more into video in the future (and get a camera of course).

Visiting Jared/Chrissa: I was hired to photograph a wedding on the east coast, and decided to go ahead and visit Jared & Chrissa's (as I'd been promising to do). Dan also decided to go, so he visited his brother Dave in Boston while I was doing the wedding, and then we met up in Ohio for a few days with J & Ch & Champ (and with Shauna who flew out from DC). We had a great time watching old episodes of friends, eating good food, playing darts and other games (like pictionary on the living room windows), lazying around outside playing guitar and talking, taking a trip up to some beautiful mountains -- wandering around some wicked-cool caves in the process, and just generally enjoying each other's company.

Helping Rob & Julare Move: Dan and I got to spend quite a bit of time lately with Rob & Julare - playing frisbee golf, going to the drive-in, mini-golfing,and eating out at various restaurants. I had a great time re-kindling a friendship with Rob, starting a new one with Julare, and watching Dan interact with two people who have been his loyal, constant friends for quite some time. Unfortunately, I got to be friends with them right as they were moving away. Dan & I butted our way in, though, and spend most of the week before with them - talking, playing games, going to the waterpark, packing, and just generally enjoying our last bit of time together. Julare and I endured a baby shower together - and we both agreed that the next baby shower she has (or when I have my first) - we're going to have a real "party" - like a bbq in the back yard with loud music and lawn darts, where the men will be invited as well (don't worry, guys, there will be NO stupid/gross baby games).

Rob & Julare are trying to convince us to move out there to be by them, (as are J & Chrissa, and Dave & Karissa). Who knows what will happen - but the invitation is appreciated anyway. We will definitely visit.

(Meanwhile, Jeff moved back to Utah, and he's been hanging out with us quite a bit, too. Again, its been nice re-kindling the old friendships).

ESL Job & Going Back to School: I finished up teaching my ESL classes from this summer, and felt really good about the progress my students made. My boss loved me and asked me to stay on as a full time teacher (as full time as they get around here, which is only about 20 hours a week) - which is a huge deal, since they only have a few teachers and don't really take in new ones very often. I was really flattered (and excited, since I love the work) and it served as a kick in the pants to go back to school and get my certificate to teach ESL. (So far, I've been uncertified). Unfortunately, I discovered how much tuition has gone up, and I'm shocked and appalled. And there goes the last of my savings. But I love teaching ESL and it's time I got certified to do it.

That's about it. Sorry it's not all that interesting. But it's an update, nevertheless.

Bad Day

2006-08-10T22:08:00.000-07:00

Is it because I stayed up late? Or was it the news of the planned terrorist attacks and the probable results of such plan? Was it the recent murder-by-beating of the little girl in Utah by her parents?

Was it because of that fight with my mom? Or the judgments of others I've been fighting off lately? Or maybe it's all the fighting in the middle east.

Maybe it's the crap on TV at the gym. Maybe it's the pain that friends & siblings are going through that I'm taking on? Or is it the job stress & worrying about my humanitarian work? Is it because I've been slipping health-wise & financial-wise?

Was it the massive splash of blood down 50 yards of the highway? Or was it the terrible conversation with one of the girls from my branch? Is it because I'm alone while Dan's taking a (much-needed) day off, which just so happens to horribly coordinate with a really bad day?

Regardless of why I'm having one...can I just say: I'm glad they're not all like this.

As I sang my heart out to a mildly sad song driving through the night, windows down, head high (maybe I was protesting...or maybe embracing the bad day)...either way, I sang loud and strong, and my heart was in it and it pushed the darkness away, just a little bit. What a solace music can be. I was remembering a quote -- I only remember the first part: "Music, friend that it is..." That was enough, though.

I'll have a cheerier outlook tomorrow.

Apologies

2006-06-16T11:38:00.000-07:00

Sorry I haven't been updating much on my blogs. I'm not even going to write much now, which is why I stuck in the picture. It's from Panama, and one of my favorites.

I've been spending a lot of time focusing on my humanitarian work, my new job (teaching ESL), church responsibilities, and especially on Dan. It's all worth it:

I'm madly in love with Dan, and enjoying every moment we spend together (thinking and analyzing books and life and relationships and God, forgiving and being forgiven, learning about new things, appreciating music and nature, playing games and sports, etc.) I love how supportive he is, and diverse our relationship is, and how we can talk about everything. He's an incredible person, and I think it's amazing that it took me so long to recognize what was already in my heart and to follow it. I feel lucky that he was still around, though it took me so long. And I feel really lucky that he loves me despite my quirks and things.

In addition to that, I love teaching ESL. It's such an exciting environment to teach in, and I find myself really feeling inspired in adapting to the needs of the students. I love being fluid in my teaching, and finding ideas and breakthroughs come to me in the very moment that I need them (or the student's need them, I guess). Anyway, I've enjoyed seeing the light of understanding come into their eyes, and to help them in this montrously overwhelming task of learning a new language and adapting to a new culture. It's a big responsibility sometimes, because it has such a direct impact on their quality of life, social interactions, family interactions, and employment.

The humanitarian work is going well. I returned from Panama in relatively good health, and once again, felt enriched for being able to be a part of another culture for a short time. I loved seeing the beautiful (though difficult) island life on Nargana in the Kuna Yala islands of Panama. One of my favorite occurances was making friends with some of the hospital staff and the prison inmates who were helping on the project. Alfredo de Mayo was my favorite of the workers (besides Jiovanni - a church volunteer), when he started showing me all his tattoos, including one that had his mother's name, and another that was a skull with a snake crawling through it. He'd come to watch me paint and smile shyly and try to communicate (with my terrible Spanish). His friendly tenderness was endearing, after judging him by his tough looking exterior.

Being RS president is so out of my comfort zone, but the best part is getting to know everyone individually and feeling like I'm able to help them as I get into one-on-one conversations or as I see their faces respond to some testimony I'm sharing in class. The hardest part is always feeling like I'm not doing enough.

Anyway, I just wanted to apologize and say that I'll get better in the future, and I love keeping up on all your blogs, even if I haven't done much writing on my own.

Play, Exercise, and Doing Nothing...

2006-06-08T18:27:00.000-07:00

So, Dan and I have developed our own versions of sports. We have now created “basket-nis” and “soggis”, two very different games both originating from our frustrating efforts to play tennis against a distinct lack of cooperation from the outside world. (Once due to no courts being available and so we found ourselves on the elementary school basketball courts instead…the other when the courts were wet from a rainstorm. We also attempted to play a form of racquetball-tennis against the side of the elem. school building, but quit when I hit the ball onto the roof).

Anyway, these games became a bit like Calvinball, where we get to make up the rules as we go along. (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Calvin_and_Hobbes#Calvinball) The best part of Soggis was by far the Scottish accents that we were required to converse in (Dan’s much better at this than I), and the way the “sogging” ball would spiral out water when you’d hit it. I also enjoyed the lightning rule, and the way we could throw the word “sogging” in front of everything. The most defining moment of the game had to be when the bagpipers kicked in with the background “theme music”, really bringing the game home to its Scottish roots. (With a name like “soggis” what did you expect?)

I was, once again, reminded of the importance of play. Sometimes I think I take myself far too seriously and Dan helps me with that. I can be so relaxed with him that I can have a fantastic time playing around like a “sogging” kid. (side note: What a blast it is to date a friend! I highly recommend it.)

So, the other reminder I had last night, which relates to this idea of “play” is how critical exercise can be…not just physically, but spiritually, mentally, and emotionally. I hadn’t realized that I was carrying around so much pain, until I got to the gym and started running and sweating and stretching and straining…and feeling the tension and the stress (mental and emotional as well as physical) ease out of me. It seemed to bring everything into clearer perspective. More in balance.

I remember when I was at school in Logan, and I started getting into the habit to take a few minutes a day to just lie down on the ground and do nothing but look up at the sky and breathe, (and maybe think). It would only be a few moments, but I could feel the tension ease away. How often we rush from activity to activity…with the next thing to do lined up, and as soon as we’re finished with one thing, we’re off to another. Even when that thing is supposed to be “sleeping” or going to the movies – there’s something different about taking a few moments to just sit. Breathe. Think. Do Nothing.

I’ve gotten out of the habit lately, but I want to start again. Maybe I’ll try to get back to watching the sunset again.

Leaving soon...

2006-05-26T03:40:00.000-07:00

I leave in a day and a half for Panama with the VIDA group. I look forward to these trips the way I always used to look forward to going to North Carolina -- and for the same reason: I always have felt that my life - my real life - was there. I felt like my real self there. Being at the beach, feeling the sand beneath my feet: cool and hard by the water's edge, hot and falling on the shore, grainy on the wooden stairs, ticklish in my sheets. And the shower...outside...shielded by glistening soft dark wood walls, but not cocooned. Air and sand at my feet. Open sky above my head. Diving into the ocean at night, its dark, frightening waves making love to me before bed...the roar and lapping in my head all night long, its caressing sounds in my ears as I wake, and slip out to meet it, to wait by its edge in the morning and be alive as the sun rises.

In India, I wear flowers in my hair, and loose clothing that's light as the wind. And I walk gently, demurely, my back straight but not proud, and I put my hands together and bow and smile gently in greeting. I feel safe there. I feel like a woman there. Like no woman I've ever been here. Just soft. Every woman should feel what it's like to be that soft. And I wake to the sound of turkeys and roosters and the humming of the people and the bugs and the water in the air. The air has weight there. It's smell and texture wake me up, and I follow it outside to the veranda where I find my way through a labyrinth of brightly colored clothes that hang in the still air of the morning.

And in Mexico, I awake on a hard cement floor, cold and stiff, to the sound of chickens pecking and dogs barking and shouted calls for "plantanos y tortillas!" over the loudspeaker of the van that drives the dusty streets every morning at 5 am. And it was hard to get started in the mornings in Mexico: stiff from the cold and the work of the day before, but you keep moving, and the sun heats up, and the dust begins to rise, and work begins again. And soon, I'm dressed in a mud-splattered t-shirt and work pants, surround by children and mud and straw, and though it hurts, my hands keep working the adobe. Working the adobe. Arriba...abajo... up... down. The straw stabs at open wounds, but then one batch is done and the next is started and the dry airy dirt is shoveled into the barrel, and then the cool water pours over your aching hands, and then as you mix it, the heavy wetness eases the cuts and scrapes and and the soreness, and the work continues...you sing and you talk and laugh with the kids and each other, and you keep working. It goes on.

It's the children, more than anything else. I love the children. And then it's the waking up early. Waking up unafraid. Knowing that I'm alive. That I'm doing work I love. That I have people to love, and that will love me. People who don't even know me as well as people I've known for years back home...they will look at me, and they will see something that few people at home seem to see. And I can love without fear and without reservation.

I'm afraid to go to Panama. I'm always afraid before one of these trips. What if it's different this time? What if the magic fails? What if I feel like a foreigner? A stranger? Will I know who I am then? When I'm in India or Mexico...like at the beach...I feel the self I never could be back home. I'm afraid: what if I go...and I'm not there? Will I ever feel at home then?

I sat out in the hammock tonight for a while, just staring at the stars...listening to the leaves shiver in the breeze. It was a nice night. I should have been in bed. There's so much to do tomorrow before I go. But I just couldn't. And there's so much I'm not saying. This work/these places/these people are close to my heart, but there are other things closer. And in these areas, it's not so clear what I'm doing, whereas on these trips I know what I'm doing. Maybe that's why I love humanitarian work so much. It's not so full of questions.

As I lay there...my heart aching for who knows what reason...the sky spoke to me. Peace covered me like a blanket, settling on me from somewhere outside myself, interrupting my thoughts and objections and cries like a gentle hand to my lips. It was a peace I couldn't deny...couldn't ignore, and my soul was quieted.

I kept thinking: "Whom do men say that I am...?" "But whom say ye that I am?" (Matt 16: 13-16)

“I will, then, be a toad…”

2006-05-25T00:43:00.000-07:00

When Dan told me tonight that he almost gave me a “bah! update, update!” comment, I knew it was time to dig in and get it done. Besides, I’m leaving town soon and I didn’t want y’all to have to stare at the trains poem for too much longer. Really, I was just leaving it up to give you a chance to get it memorized. Anyone succeed?

Memorization is such a lost art. I used to memorize a lot. I was pretty good at it. It’s crazy how fast I can memorize…and how fast I lose it if I don’t keep up.

I memorized hundreds of scriptures on my mission, and a few since that time. I started doing it because my mission president asked us to. But then, I began to understand and appreciate having the scriptures more accessible to my memory. I can’t remember how many times, but I know it was many, that I had scriptures come to my mind when I really, really, needed them. And there was comfort in “hearing” the words in my head – not just a vague idea of what they said, but word-for-word.

I memorized poems before, too. I haven’t done it in a while, though. Some of those I memorized (at least in part): “The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock” (T.S. Eliot); “plato told them” and “thank you, god” (e.e. Cummings); “The Road Not Taken”, “Nothing Gold Can Stay”, and “Home Burial” (Robert Frost); portions of “Leaves of Grass” and “O Captain! My Captain!” (Walt Whitman); “Think as I think” and “In the Desert” (Stephen Crane); “I Like to Think of Harriet Tubman” (Susan Griffin) – I did a dramatic reading of this, once – and though I’m a really terrible actress, this is one performance that seriously left them shaken – I blew my professor away, too – and as self-critical as I can be, even I had to admit it was good. That’s all I can think of. I’m sure there were more, but alas, I’ve forgotten them.

I found a new Stephen Crane today: “I Saw a Man”

I saw a man pursuing the horizon;
Round and round they sped.
I was disturbed at this;
I accosted the man.
"It is futile," I said,
"You can never--"
"You lie," he cried,
And ran on.

Gotta love that Stephen Crane.

Everything Looks Perfect, Part Two

2006-05-01T10:41:00.000-07:00

In a poem, one line may hide another line,
As at a crossing, one train may hide another train.
That is, if you are waiting to cross
The tracks, wait to do it for one moment at
Least after the first train is gone. And so when you read
Wait until you have read the next line--
Then it is safe to go on reading.
In a family one sister may conceal another,
So, when you are courting, it's best to have them all in view
Otherwise in coming to find one you may love another.
One father or one brother may hide the man,
If you are a woman, whom you have been waiting to love.
So always standing in front of something the other
As words stand in front of objects, feelings, and ideas.
One wish may hide another. And one person's reputation may hide
The reputation of another. One dog may conceal another
On a lawn, so if you escape the first one you're not necessarily safe;
One lilac may hide another and then a lot of lilacs and on the Appia
Antica one tomb
May hide a number of other tombs. In love, one reproach may hide another,
One small complaint may hide a great one.
One injustice may hide another--one colonial may hide another,
One blaring red uniform another, and another, a whole column.
One bath may hide another bath
As when, after bathing, one walks out into the rain.
One idea may hide another: Life is simple
Hide Life is incredibly complex, as in the prose of Gertrude Stein
One sentence hides another and is another as well. And in the laboratory
One invention may hide another invention,
One evening may hide another, one shadow, a nest of shadows.
One dark red, or one blue, or one purple--this is a painting
By someone after Matisse. One waits at the tracks until they pass,
These hidden doubles or, sometimes, likenesses. One identical twin
May hide the other. And there may be even more in there! The obstetrician
Gazes at the Valley of the Var. We used to live there, my wife and I, but
One life hid another life. And now she is gone and I am here.
A vivacious mother hides a gawky daughter. The daughter hides
Her own vivacious daughter in turn. They are in
A railway station and the daughter is holding a bag
Bigger than her mother's bag and successfully hides it.
In offering to pick up the daughter's bag one finds oneself confronted by
the mother's
And has to carry that one, too. So one hitchhiker
May deliberately hide another and one cup of coffee
Another, too, until one is over-excited. One love may hide another love
or the same love
As when "I love you" suddenly rings false and one discovers
The better love lingering behind, as when "I'm full of doubts"
Hides "I'm certain about something and it is that"
And one dream may hide another as is well known, always, too. In the
Garden of Eden
Adam and Eve may hide the real Adam and Eve.
Jerusalem may hide another Jerusalem.
When you come to something, stop to let it pass
So you can see what else is there. At home, no matter where,
Internal tracks pose dangers, too: one memory
Certainly hides another, that being what memory is all about,
The eternal reverse succession of contemplated entities. Reading
A Sentimental Journey look aroundWhen you have finished, for Tristram Shandy, to see
If it is standing there, it should be, stronger
And more profound and theretofore hidden as Santa Maria Maggiore
May be hidden by similar churches inside Rome. One sidewalk
May hide another, as when you're asleep there, and
One song hide another song; a pounding upstairs
Hide the beating of drums. One friend may hide another, you sit at the
foot of a tree
With one and when you get up to leave there is another
Whom you'd have preferred to talk to all along. One teacher,
One doctor, one ecstasy, one illness, one woman, one man
May hide another. Pause to let the first one pass.
You think, Now it is safe to cross and you are hit by the next one. It
can be important
To have waited at least a moment to see what was already there.

One Train May Hide Another
Kenneth Koch

Everything looks perfect from far away...Part One

2006-04-30T07:42:00.000-07:00

About six years ago, I was walking down a little side street in Logan, during the scorching heat of the summer -- a street that I'd walked many times before on my way to and from work, when I once again looked upon a large tree in the distance, surrounded by lush, soft-looking grass...shade...wildflowers. It beckoned to me this day as it had everyday -- to leave my hurried, sweaty, asphalt-paved path behind me and "go the distance" to reach something better. It seemed the perfect place to rest from the hot summer sun, write in my journal, eat an apple, break away from the street and cars and houses and take the world in a breath. Everyday, it became more romantic and idyllic -- the little world that awaited me across the field, if I'd only take the time.

Finally, I did it. I pushed my way through knee-high wild grasses and crept ever closer, but on arrival found that the wildflowers had a strong (not really pleasant) smell, the grass was more spiky weeds than the soft lush greenery I thought awaited me, and the ground was bumpy and uncomfortable. In addition, there were bits of cinderblock disrupting the scene (hidden by the knee-high scrub-brush), and a decent helping of gnats and other bugs enjoying the shade with me. Disappointed that the reality was far less perfect than I had anticipated, I almost turned back to my walk home, back onto the street in the hot sun, the cars rushing past. But the walk back was long, and something small inside of me said "You made it here. Just do what you came to do."

The spiky weeds and bumpy ground made it so uncomfortable that I finally found a more comfortable "chair" in one of the broken pieces of cinderblock, rested my head against the tree, brushed the bugs from my face, and pulled out my journal. The disappointment faded gradually as I slowly began shifting from the dream I'd imagined to the the reality I was being offered.

With this shift in the tide, new things to appreciate began to float up to the surface: a cool, sweet breeze would occassionally burst from the north -- taking away the bugs, the strange smell of the flowers (which I was gradually growing accustomed to), and bringing the tantalizing whisper of change and motion. The most pleasant surprise came as the winds released tiny delicate white flowers from some nearby tree which swirled around me, settled into my hair, brushed across my shoulders, a few of them resting on my bent knees and the lined pages of the journal in my lap, the rest dancing in the swirling breeze in front of me, and skipping off across the field.

I found something beautiful and mysterious -- something worth being there for. Not what I expected, but worth the journey, nevertheless.

Accepting the whole reality (that is in everyone and everything in this earth) opens a door which welcomes the unanticipated flaws as well as the unexpected beauties -- the "secret garden", if you will. This lesson repeats itself in man and nature...

random thoughts from a wedding

2006-04-14T22:43:00.000-07:00

I heard this advice today: "People give advice to married couples: 'Don't go to bed angry'...but I think that's crap. Are you kidding me? Go to bed angry! It'll look better in the morning. You'll have a better perspective."

I had a great time tonight. There was great company there -- funny and friendly and intelligent and interesting...and this family (the Grooms family was huge!) they really loved each other, you could tell, and I saw a couple of good friends from Logan I hadn't seen in a while, and both families were so nice to me / complimented me a lot / sent me home with some great food and a gorgeous flower centerpiece, and I even danced for a bit. But I feel sad anyway. All day I had to try and explain to people why I was single, and tell them about my life, and it was nice because what they were saying was, "I think you're nice and smart and pretty and I can't understand why you're not married, so let's get you married, etc, etc" but it was also painful, too.

I played games with a little girl. She was a sweetie: she followed me to the elevators...giving me all her special powers along the way. I almost started crying. It's so lame, but the friendship of a 6 year old was affecting me pretty hard(a special needs 6 year old) -- I guess I just feel so incredibly alone - and she didn't need anything from me except my love and attention, and I didn't have to be careful about anything, or hold back anything -- I could just be her friend, and it was so nice.

And she's saying as she follows me out: "I'll give you all my powers...because I want you to have all the special powers...I give you everything you need...you have the diamond powers and the water powers and the fire powers and the straw powers...everything!" They aren't even real, these powers...but I felt so grateful anyway. She was giving me everything she had to give. I barely made it to the elevator: I felt like a jerk for leaving her standing in the hall calling after me.

Why am I crying? Everything, though...it's all too much. Maybe I'm just tired.

2006-04-01T12:31:00.000-08:00

"I never said it wouldn't hurt you. I said it wouldn't kill you." The Great Divorce, C.S. Lewis

I entitled my blog "A Road Less Traveled" after one of my favorite poems, and one that had become a bitter-sweet part of my life. The words of Robert Frost are a great comfort and a voice of warning. I love that he does not tell us which path to take; nor which is the "right" path -- just that the choices he made have made all the difference. Some choices are bigger than others, and you feel as if your life hangs in the balance of that choice. To quote a favorite movie, Spanglish: “I’m sorry. If you feel you’re at a crossroads…you are.”

I have recently passed through many heart-wrenching crossroads, and in desperation, I have wanted to cry out to God or someone else to take this choice away from me – either to choose for me or to make the problem just go away. But that didn’t happen. Maybe it cannot happen: God's work is our growth and agency is central to that. That is one of his greatest gifts to us, and is the only thing we can give back. To relinquish it is to become less than human.

Making choices. I have made so many lately. I have made heart-breaking choices to follow God, and heart-breaking choices that have lead me away from him. I have made choices to help, to be kind and loving, to be strong…and I have made choices that have hurt those I love, including myself.

I have been helped, though. Despite feeling very much alone, and feeling the burdens of all my choices crashing down upon me, I know that God is there…knowing, watching, understanding, holding me up.

I watched General Conference today and yesterday. Yesterday, all of the talks seemed to be gearing me up to make what was perhaps the hardest choice yet in my life. Today, feeling broken, alone, scared, feeling the terrible consequences of the choices that were right, though hard…and the terrible consequences of the choices that were so easy, but wrong, these were the words that came to me out of the darkness, spoken by Elder Holland of the Quorum of the twelve apostles:

(this is not an exact quote, but the best I could do, taking notes as faithfully as I could)

“I speak to those facing personal trials, to those trying to hold back the floodwaters of sorrow like a tsunami of the soul, to you who feel your lives are broken, seemingly beyond repair. The Savior said to those who believe and to those who are not so sure alike: ‘Come unto me, all ye that labor and are heavy laden and you shall find rest to your souls. For my yoke is easy and my burden is light.’ He is saying: trust me, learn of me, do what I am doing…if you will follow me, I will lead you out of darkness. I know of no other way for us to carry our burdens or to find happiness.”

“Whatever else you need to do, come first to the feet of Christ. He lifts us from the burden of our sin, our heartache, and our despair. Christ is the reason and the means to improve. You will find strength beyond your own. He has ‘graven [us] upon the palms of [his] hands.’ I promise you, after the price he had already paid – he will not turn his back on you now.”

“Please don’t give up. Please don’t give in to fear. Mark 5: 36 ‘Be not afraid, only believe.’ When the apostles found themselves in the midst of great tempests at sea, Peter called out to the Savior, whom they saw approaching the boat: “Bid me come unto thee…” He then, by the power of God, was able to walk on water. (My insert: Look at what was overcome through the power of Jesus Christ and faith on his name. What gulf lies between you and the savior that you must cross to come to him? Does it seem as impossible as walking on water?) However, when he began to look at the waves and the gulf beneath him, instead of looking at the savior…he began to sink, and called out to God: ‘save me’.”

There are times when we ask for miracles, assert our faith, and do our part in coming to him (though he makes it possible), and there are times when we are sinking, and we can do nothing, not even walk to him, except to plead, “save me”. I think that’s where I am.

2006-03-21T18:59:00.000-08:00

Bleak. It's a bleak winter, and it's getting to me. Badly. But, I find little pieces to hang on to. One of the houses on my block still has it's Christmas lights up, and I just want to shout "Hallelujah, God bless 'em!" I think it's one of the harshest aspects of January -- no more Christmas lights. December's full of berries and greenery and lights and food and family and all the cozy warmth associated with winter...but then comes January. Cold, grey, merciless. Everyone goes back home or back to work, the lights come down, the tree and garlands are gone. Everything looks dull, colorless, cold.

I was describing to Dan the other day how the North Carolina beach cottage was the only place I felt like me. That was beginning to change, but this winter's making me wonder. I don't feel like myself lately. It's like I'm hibernating, and it's affecting my mood. Heg suggested the other day that I start going outside to watch the sunrise and the sunset. She said that despite the cold, just being outside and watching something beautiful unfold will rejuvinate me. Maybe she's right.

I tried it tonight. Although I missed the actual sun setting, I caught the last few vestiges of light before it was night. It was only for 15 mintues, but just taking the time to really look at something worth looking at...I started crying. I couldn't help it. I felt naked in front of the sky. Like it had the power to look back at me. And I was afraid. I was afraid.

Looking into the sky sometimes...it's like the feeling when you look into the mirror --not to admire or criticize -- just to look at yourself. In the eye, nakedly...and hold it. What do you feel?

Do you feel fear? Do you feel love? Do you feel disappointment? Do you feel peace? I feel everything. I felt the same as I looked at the sky tonight. It's like I'm facing the judgement seat of God - my life lying nakedly before me, and I can't alter a thing. I can't influence the way it sounds or looks, or choose what I reveal or what I hold back. It's all there. And on that table, cut with a scalpel of honesty so sharp that I've never truly dared to use it, I'm open.

...and I find truth. An in that truth I find myself. And it's not so bad.

I found mercy and understanding and appreciation where in my life I had only impatience and demands for perfection and taking the good for granted.

And I found condemnation where in my life I only had excuses -- but now they are cut aside, and I discover that I don't mind it, and I can bear it. Because there is a mercy and a love so profound that I'd never imagined it like this (and I'm only feeling a piece of it -- just a sliver that has filtered through all the barriers between me and God), and I never dared to look it in the eye.

It burns. It burns. But it's the very heat and warmth that I've longed for all my life. And I feel to say: let it burn. Let it burn away all that never belonged there in the first place, and if I'm left with little more than nothing, then that little will be more than I had my whole life. Because it will be me. The only pure me that there is. And for once, it will be on the surface, not hidden under layers of selfishness and insecurity and doubt and materialism and mindless distractions that don't...mean...anything...to me.

on a corner, and cold

2006-03-13T18:41:00.000-08:00

When I was a child, I got sick. I waited on the corner of our cul-de-sac, wrapped in a blanket; waiting for my dad to come home (wanting to be the first to show him my swollen tonsils, to be taken care of, protected). I knew he'd come home, I knew the path he'd take.

I was barefoot, waiting on a corner on a chilly autumn night, wrapped in a blanket. I was sick. I was cold, but I knew that I was secure, protected. The world was my father. Nothing felt threatening. It was the neighborhood, the street, the house I was born into. Everything enveloped my in a protective light. (I fell asleep waiting for him there).

Later, when I was older, he dropped me off to wait on another corner, wrapped in a blanket. It was winter now, and he sent me out to be a sign for my brothers and my sister, who were following behind, to keep them from making a wrong turn at a difficult intersection.

I don't remember why, but again, I am barefoot. I'm older now, and I'm in a strange neighborhood. I'm more afraid than I was then. Sickness isn't so charming, the cold more biting. I clench my fists into the folds of the blanket, and shrink into it, pulling it tight across my shoulder to keep out the wind snaking down the nape of my neck. My father's gone on ahead and out of necessity, I am alone now. Alone and cold.

There are people on the streets, but they are strangers to me. Rushing by, just lights and metal and lines on the pavement. And the others, fumbling for gas money for a brief moment before they disappear back into the ebb and flow of traffic. Or the homeless ones, tattered and dirty and huddled together for conversation and warmth. I feel closest to them. How soon I feel alone, permanently, because now I feel like I'm one of them -- homeless, cold, barefoot in a blanket. I want to huddle with them -- but I can't.

I can't because I'm waiting. I need to stand alone so they'll see me. I watch for them, but I don't know if I'll see them -- there's so many strangers, so many passing cars.

"What if I don't see them?" I cried, before he drove away in the twilight, "I'll be all alone."

"Wait on the corner," he calls to me. "It will be alright. They will find you."

And then he was gone.

This world is a stranger to me, and I wonder if I've been left behind. The only thing that envelops me now is this blanket, the words "they'll find you", and the knowledge that I have a purpose.

he who falls

2006-03-13T16:25:00.000-08:00

I read a book called "Esperanza Rising" wherein I found this quote: "Aquel que hoy se cae, se levantara manana" (He who falls today may rise tomorrow).

The other night I had the humbling experience of (again) finding myself grateful for the miracle and mercy of human and divine compassion, and the healing that comes from such. I read somewhere: "most of us look for a cure, when what we really need is healing". Many people think, when I talk about grace and mercy, that I'm talking about a cure -- requiring little effort, little pain -- just say you're sorry and everything's better. God erasing your mistakes. I don't believe that's possible. That's cheap grace. There's a world of difference between grace that we cannot "earn" (in the way that we do not have the power to do what God will do -- for it goes beyond the price that we can pay), and "cheap grace" -- grace that is easy, without cost, without effort. True healing is different. It may take an instant or a lifetime -- it seems to transcend time, for it is not "quick"; nor is it easy. It is both simple/pure and deep beyond comprehension. It is incredibly costly (the price that God and Christ paid, and also what it requires of us), and yet it is incomprehensibly free.

I've been telling Dan that he needs to see "The Mission", which contains one of the most heart-wrenching scenes of someone trying to scratch out the mistakes of the past in a raw and desperate attempt to find redemption. I can't completely agree with the way redemption is portrayed in the film, but I identify deeply with the emotions at play in those haunting moments as DeNiro's character seeks to find release from something that he cannot take back.

There is danger in trying to "earn" redemption by punishing ourselves (as Robert DeNiro's character seems to be attempting), though it does take effort -- and this effort is portrayed clearly, I feel. Sometimes the spiritual effort it takes to believe, risk, trust, be vulnerable, humbly acknowledge guilt (without excuse/justification or the opposite, being unnecessarily masochistic and/or guilt-ridden) is immense.

If anyone has ever exercised faith in another person to the point where you lay yourself open before them, trusting that person with your heart, your failings -- with all you want to be and fail to be -- feeling that you can't possibly deserve to be loved and yet asking for it anyway...in these moments, when you find compassion...you have felt a little of what it feels like to find redemption. You have found a moment of holiness, a moment wherein man becomes like God. The love you feel for that person is almost holy. Full of humility, gratitude, light. Grace.

There's an added element in my pleadings with God for forgiveness, though; more than mercy or grace, more than love/acceptance, I'm asking for change. I'm asking for a power beyond my own. A power that exceeds all my best intentions, all my strenghth, all my reasoning, all my effort up to now, a power that I keep feeling that I should possess, but in these moments I know deep in me that I don't. (As much as I want to...as much as I think I ought to, logically...I don't even know that I can't -- I only know that I don't.) In my heart, I feel, like Peter when he basically said: To whom else can I go? John 6:68

Finding compassion in another person is divine. It's what we are meant to be for one another. I guess I'm just so humbled when I find that in someone, or when I'm able to be that for someone else. I'm even more humbled when I find an experience of profound pain, of shame and weakness one day evolve (through the mercy and example of God), into a well of understanding, compassion, knowledge, and faith that can be used as a tool for something profoundly good.

verbal snapshot

2006-03-12T17:20:00.000-08:00

I wrote this for my “About me” section, but I hated it showing up in full form on the front page. But, I still felt like it summarized me in a snapshot sort of way. So it’s here instead.

I love sharing food; wiping up the counters in public restrooms; talking to kids as equals; and putting an insane amount of effort into learning to play the guitar. I’m also trying to learn Spanish. I want to live where I’ve got an outdoor shower (inspired by the North Carolina beach cottage). It's too cool for words and if you haven't experienced it, I don't know if you can understand. I both run away from and long for change. I hope to always love life as I do now. Someone said to me: "you must know yourself, to be so happy. Only those who know themselves well make choices that lead to happiness." Maybe that's all there is to it: making choices you can live with.

I teach ESL to adults; volunteer at a homeless shelter; do freelance art & photography; and recently got involved in humanitarian work, whereupon I began falling in love w/ the music, food, culture, and people of Mexico and the land, color, and people of India – a place where you wear flowers in your hair on a daily basis.

Future dreams: to have a family; serve a mission for the LDS church w/ my currently non-existent husband; and photograph & write about my travels and life in general. Could be a pipe dream, but I thought the same about humanitarian work -- and I'm living the dream now, so I guess anything can happen. I'm turning into an optimist. Scott L. says I need an idealist. Maybe he's right.

picture of me in mexico

2006-03-11T10:37:00.000-08:00

Me in Guadelupe Guayparin, Mexico with my neighbor kids. They were hanging out watching me paint the FAI building sign for over an hour. I guess I was the most entertaining thing around.

strength and weakness

2005-07-31T21:15:00.000-07:00

I wonder if all our strengths are tied to our weaknesses - and vice versa? Each strength, each weakness, having a yin/yang kind of relationship -- each an extension of the same quality -- just positively or negatively finding form in action. (By positive or negative form I don't mean what is socially acceptable/rewardable as "positive" - because there are times when our "positive" choices are at odds with the socially accepted /rewarded behavior. I could go off on this idea -- but I'll restrain myself).

I'm pretty self-aware -- identifying my feelings and understanding why I feel them is pretty easy. When I eat for comfort or watch TV to avoid reality, out of feelings of anxiety or fear, I know I'm doing it and why. When I pull away from someone that I like because I'm afraid I'm going to get hurt -- I'm aware of that.

I guess I appreciate this -- I think it gives me a depth and height of awareness, comprehension, and appreciation that I wouldn't normally have. For example (a small silly one), it helps me to appreciate the little things -- like how when I'm feeling panicked with my anxiety stuff -- even something as small as making my bed gives me a feeling of hope and strength for the next task (even when I don't make my bed until 2:30 in the afternoon. It still works). I can use this to get through what would otherwise be an impossible day.

But this self-awareness also means that I'm calculated and careful, and I hate that. I try to be honest and straightforward in my relationships with others -- but since it's a deliberate effort then it's somewhat calculated as well. It makes me wonder what the "real" me is. I often wonder who I would be if my memory were erased. Would my personality change? Would I become the sum total of my habits -- a scary thought since most of my natural "habits" are bad while my conscious choices (which come from my experience and my memories rather than my "character") are the only ones that give me hope for a better tomorrow. When it comes down to it, I think that my natural "character" is pretty bad. I don't feel naturally kind or sympathetic or honest or virtuous or anything -- all of these come with some kind of spiritual/emotional/mental effort. If left to my own nature, I think I'd be selfish, lazy, and fearful. I'm shy by nature. I hate leaving my comfort zone - physically, emotionally, spiritually, socially. Its when I'm forced from my comfort zone, however, that I actually begin to feel alive -- that's when I am happiest.

This self-consiousness is also why I can't dance, and I very rarely let go, and I don't know if I've ever been uninhibited. It's not a wild lack of inhibitions that I long for -- being hypnotized or using alcohol or drugs so that I can act out normally repressed impulses has never appealed to me. I just wish I could experience total honesty. I wish I could feel what it's like to be me -- without making the decision of who that should be. I wish that I could know what it's like to "dance like no one's watching". As cheesy as that phrase might be, I've never known that feeling. And I want to.

pain is a good teacher

2005-01-28T19:55:00.001-08:00

I write because I'm afraid that my life will be meaningless if all that I've learned is forgotten. I write because I want to change myself. Sometimes I share my "lessons" -- the things that life and experience teach me (a reward for paying attention, I guess) -- with others. Things like "Pain is a good teacher." And yet, I don't love pain - nor feel the need to wallow in it in order to learn -- I just love the lessons that come on the other side: Like that I'll survive it. Pain, while recurring, isn't permanent. Great lesson, often forgotten and relearned -- just as valuable every time. But the lesson becomes lost if you don't find the peace, too.

"Fling yourself straight into life, without deliberation. The floods will bear you to the banks and set you safe on your feet again." Dostoevsky.

That's enough to start.

01/28/05

The Beginning

2005-01-28T19:55:00.000-08:00

I get lost in my own thoughts.