this fall

It's ironic that the season that means the world around is dying, that the cold is coming on, that dark days and grey skies will invite themselves to stay could be so beautiful and could ignite such promise of renewal, change, and hope within me. And while I feel such stirrings in spring, autumn seems to speak to my heart in a way those green little buds sprouting up never can.

Maybe fall is made more sweet because there are dark, cold days ahead.

my peace with europe

"Every American who wants to know who he is must make his peace with Europe."

-Crossing to Safety, p254

two weeks. Two weeks left of my internship and three weeks left in Switzerland and I'll be leaving on a jet plane back to America.

This realization has induced a quiet, but steady thump of panic in my heart. Panic because there is still so much I want to do here. Panic because I miss home and wish I was already there. Panic because I'm going to miss here so much. Because I have so much left to learn. Because I can't wait to see or at least be in a more convenient time zone for the people I love lots and lots. Panic because I'll have to go back to eating American chocolate (this, naturally, is the cause of most of my worry).  Panic because life is picking up again and I am having to leave this quiet, safe haven Geneva has been for me to face it.

I read the above quote in my book today. The narrator was referring more to coming to understand that you are a product of so much history and art that has happened in Europe, but for me those words are personal. This time has and continues to be such a mix of emotions, such a time of reflection and realization, of newness and adventure. Here in Europe I am making peace with so many things.

I took a walk tonight around my sleepy little neighborhood, thinking about my life and my time here and my peace-making. Because my time is not yet over, I still have more to do and mull over. Thoughts are only half-formed, my peace not complete, but I am and will continue to be, so grateful for my summer in Europe.

south by southwest

sometimes those graduate school things and work things and study things wear you out so you jump in your car and you drive.

Along the way you think and sing and laugh and talk to your friend for three hours on speaker phone and then you get to the place where the peaches grow and it's like coming home because there are people here that know you.

***

I work with women who have cancer.

I watch these women spend their lives going to doctors appointments for months on end. I watch them lose their hair. Surgery, radiation and chemo take their strength like thieves in the night. Then I watch them pull their lives back together. Wearing wigs, doing yoga, working in between treatments, meeting with each other, breathing in and out.

***

The busier I get, the more tied down I get, the more I need to be here in the present and focused, the more my feet want to move, the more I want to leave all this stuff (this "stuff" being my current life and responsibilities) behind. Is it all worth it? Somehow backpacking in the Grand Canyon or eating Belgian Waffles in Belgium seem like much better uses of my time. I have so far to go before I'm an actual grown up, but I'm not sure I'm a fan of this grown up stuff. The choices I make have much larger consequences. I am becoming the person I'll be for the rest of my life. It's pretty heavy stuff, you know?

So in order to counteract such serious business I hide a large cardboard cutout of this season's The Bachelor in my roommate's closet. I have pizza parties with my roommates that result in our house full of smoke and all of us laughing (and coughing) so hard we can't breathe. I dance it out in my room to "Tainted Love" or pound my feet on the pavement to "I Love You Like a Love Song." I read late into the night when I should go to bed and eat brownies for breakfast as I rush out the door with wet hair. I hope these things never change.

absent

I've been absent around these here parts for quite a while.

I've been getting my feet on the ground, settling in, learning to breathe somewhere new, spending time with roommates, friends, and family, taking finals, finishing internships, working, walking, laughing, crying, and oh yeah, learning.

For a while writing seemed like one step I couldn't take. My journal is despairingly sparse. My agenda has even lagged in the amount of lists and notes.

But over the last few days it just seems like it's time.

So here I am. Starting to write.

please please please

WATCH THIS.

do I want to feel?

I've been thinking a lot about feeling.

Feeling hurts. It digs at our souls and pulls from the depths of our hearts. It leaves us raw, exposed. It causes us to reflect on the nastier moments in our lives, the times we'd rather forget. It can open old wounds. Even feeling deeply happy things can hurt.

So we try not to feel. We pile on distractions and comforts. We plug in to our computers, our TV shows, our movies, our ipods. We hide under books and under covers. We eat through cartons of ice cream and bars of chocolate. We sit in rooms full of people and talk about nothing. We do everything but feel.

And for awhile that feels like the answer. But if we never advance past that stage,  it just leaves us hollow. We become a version of the Grinch, with a heart two sizes too small and eyes that can only see ourselves.

I know that I've posted this quote before, but it's developed a new meaning for me. I feel that Mr. Lewis's words not only apply to love, but to feeling in general. We're human. We were equipped with a whole range of feelings that we were meant to feel. When we don't, those emotions don't go away, they harden us.

"To love at all is to be vulnerable. Love anything, and your heart will certainly be wrung and possibly be broken. If you want to make sure of keeping it intact, you must give your heart to no one, not even to an animal. Wrap it carefully round with hobbies and little luxuries; avoid all entanglements; lock it up safe in the casket or coffin of your selfishness. But in that casket--safe, dark, motionless, airless--it will change. It will not be broken; it will become unbreakable, impenetrable, irredeemable. The alternative to tragedy, or at least to the risk of tragedy, is damnation. The only place outside of Heaven where you can be perfectly safe from all the dangers and perturbations of love is Hell."

-C.S. Lewis, The Four Loves

These past few months as I've tried to cope with the ups and downs of The Big Move, I've begun to relearn how important feeling is.  If I don't feel, I am not really living, but simply passing time. If I don't feel, I can't give and love and grow. Sometimes I'm scared or ashamed of how I feel so I choose to ignore it. But that never solves the problem. It only hardens me.

But I want to testify that there is always a way out of the dark and twisty webs of being past feeling. It is called the Atonement. The Atonement can take our broken, small selves and help us experience what it is to feel again. Sometimes that requires that we feel pain in deeper ways than we thought possible, but I also testify that it allows us to feel joys that are beyond comprehension. The Atonement allows us to become people of feeling. People who are brave enough to face fears and have faith and be strong. People who are capable of looking beyond themselves to see and experience how others feel. In fact, it allows us to get rid of the self altogether. We become new creatures through Christ.

And that knowledge makes me feel light and happy and beautiful.

That's all for now.

love,
M

blogging

has eluded me the last little while. I've composed at least 5 posts in my head, but when I sit down to put them into words I just... can't.

I want to tell you about purpose, worth, and reality. I want to write about how cooking makes me feel. I want to share the fun things I've been doing and want to do in Utah. I want to share thoughts on loneliness, phases of life, sacrifice... the list goes on. I want to open my brain and dump it's contents into blogger, for that would be so much easier than trying to find that place within myself that constructs coherent and meaningful words.

I want to speak, but not quite yet.

when I'm ready.

Until then,
M

rebel

"A rebel she was, but not of the kind he understood--a rebel who desired, not a wider dwelling-room, but equality beside the man she loved. For Italy was offering her the most priceless of all possessions--her own soul"

-A Room with a View, p 118

desert

wholly and deeply dry.

That's how I feel about my creativeness and ability to give lately. I find it ironic considering I just got back from places where the fruits of creativity surrounded me at every turn. I had moment after moment in front of monumental works of art that I've waited my whole life to see. Pieces of art that literally changed the world were right there to touch me.

And they did. Their beauty and power permeated my tough skin and sank into my heart, to be written on its fleshy tables. But the conversation stopped there. Usually I have something to say, to give in return. Usually I'm inspired and thoughts and feelings flow from me instead of just into me.

But here I am, days after my trip and each time I sit down to write or think or give, I come up dry. The answer as to why has come to me in bits and pieces and here it is: I have nothing to give because all I have has been put back into myself.

Over the past six months I've lived a particularly self-centered existence. I had huge decisions to make and in an effort to keep my sanity and pass my classes while making them, I gave myself all that I had. And by doing so, the amount I was able to give slowly diminished until here I am, with a dry soul (and ironically an extremely dry throat). This scripture never rang so true.

As I settle into this summer, which may prove to be my last spent in sleepy little Provo, I find myself beginning to be ready to give. I have the chance to take care of myself and the ones that I love and most importantly: to give even when I don't feel like it. Because as I do, I feel my capacity to give and to create grow hundredfold.

beginning anew,

M

(intro)vert

The other day while I was shelving I got distracted by an article. That's the problem, you see, with working in a library is that you want to read things. I refrained and came back after class to read the article. I was intrigued because it was about the power of being introverted, and I am an introvert.

We live in a society that was made for and rewards extroverts. Don't get me wrong, there is nothing wrong with extroverts (I actually rather like quite a few of them). I even have some extroverted qualities myself. But I do think that we value too little the qualities of introverts. Sounds cheesy, but God made people different for a reason.

The article really didn't have anything profound to say, and I already knew that I had introverted tendencies, but it really it home with me. It reminded me that it's okay that I am the way I am. There is nothing wrong with me. People too often mistake introvertism for being shy, afraid of social situations or complacent. It's none of those things (although they can accompany introverted traits). Introverted people are genuinely content to be on their own. They like to do things one-on-one with people they know well. They don't love small talk. They get over stimulated by big groups, especially big groups of people they don't know.

It's okay that I would often rather do things alone than be in a crowded room with a bunch of strangers. It's okay that I prefer one-on-one conversations or that I would much rather have a small get together with my close family and friends than a huge bash. It reminded me that there is value in those qualities. I'm contemplative and observant. I can focus and work independently. I like to talk about real things and get passed that small talk stuff. I find satisfaction and fulfillment being on my own. I even enjoy it.

Being introverted doesn't mean I hate being with people (I really like people you see), or that I'm shy, or that I'll never do crazy extroverted-like things. It doesn't mean that I shouldn't go out of my comfort zone to get to know people or do things with people even when I'd rather be alone. It's all about balance.

After reading the article I felt empowered. Over the years (and especially the last few weeks) I've come to love and accept the fact that I am an introvert. I don't need to fight against it. I think it's made me realize why I am the way I am and why I react the way I do to things, which in turn helps me to see ways to cope in this extroverted world and push myself.

I am M and I am an introvert.

motion

Life has been set in motion. I feel like all these little moments and pieces of my life have been set in motion to add up to something. I don't know how they all fit together but somehow they do. I've heard several people talk about how 2012 is going to be their year. It holds promise, potential, and life. 2012 is my year too. It began with me starting my lasts at dear old BYU. It will involve several amazing trips, moving away, starting anew, belonging to a new home and (hopefully) a new school. It will mean more fun times with friends, random adventures, time to read, time to live. Each day I wake up with a sense of being on the edge of something great. Guess what? It's a great place to be. But the funny thing is, I'm not anxious for things to change. I'm learning to love this now. And I'm finding reasons to live in this moment instead of longing for the past or future. As the great C.S. Lewis wrote, "this is the eternal now." "This moment contains all moments." The first presidency message this month is about living a full life. As my home teachers taught me this inspired message, I couldn't help but feel the truth of these words:

Don’t limit yourself and don’t let others convince you that you are limited in what you can do. Believe in yourself and then live so as to reach your possibilities.

You can achieve what you believe you can. Trust and believe and have faith.

And this song (as cheesy as it is) keeps coming to mind.


I hope your 2012 holds as much potential.

love love love
M

this thing

I walked in, finding only a smattering of people in the theater, all sitting in pairs. Great. My solitary presence won't be as easy to hide. There is something about going to a movie alone that always invites pity. I was fine with it (I mean who really wants to go to a French documentary about philosophy anyway?) but I felt like daggers of pity were being shot my way. Oh look at that poor girl, she came to international cinema all by herself. She doesn't have a cool, artsy boy with her like I do. Trust me, I don't need your daggers of pity or your artsy boys thankyouverymuch.

I sat with my head tilted to one side resting on my hand, willing myself to make it through all 84 minutes. I looked at the clock: It's only been 32 minutes? No way. I checked the clock again. 37 minutes. Kill. Me. Now. The movie was about Jacques Derrida, a French philosopher. It was weird, intriguing, boring, nauseating (can you say shaky and awkward camera movements?), interesting, thought-provoking, and really lame all rolled into one, 84 "feels like 1,000" minute documentary.

At one point someone asks him what he thinks about love. He gets all bent out of shape because he cannot (ce n'est pas possible!) answer a general, open-ended question like that. She struggles to narrow the question and eventually drags a response out of him. He tells her that when one talks about love, one has to ask who or what. Do you love the "absolute singularity" of the person or do you love that they are this or that, that they do this or that? Are we in love with the person or what they are?

I think when we are learning to love someone (not just romantically, but that too) we love what the person does, what they like, what we see of ourselves in them. But when we truly love someone, we love what Derrida calls the "absolute singularity" of that person. We just love them. period.

It made me think about the thousands of bridal showers I've been to. "So tell us all why you love Tom." "Well, I love Tom because he's so kind, he's funny and smart, and he always does such nice things for me." When we talk of love, we usually talk of what we love about the person, not the person. But as we grow in love, we learn to say in our heart: "I love Tom because he's Tom." He's enough.

I heart reading

"Literary experience heals the wound, without undermining the privilege, of individuality. There are mass emotions which heal the wound; but they destroy the privilege. In them our separate selves are pooled and we sink back into sub-individuality. But in reading great literature I become a thousand men and yet remain myself. Like the night sky in the Greek poem, I see with a myriad eyes, but it is still I who see. Here, as in worship, in love, in moral action, and in knowing, I transcend myself; and am never more myself than when I do."
-C.S. Lewis

"The value of myth is that it takes all the things we know and restores to them the rich significance which has been hidden by 'the veil of familiarity.' The child enjoys his cold meat (otherwise dull to him) by pretending it is buffalo, just killed with his own bow and arrow. And the child is wise. The real meat comes back to him more savoury for having been dipped in a story; you might say that only then is it the real meat. If you are tired of the real landscape, look at it in a mirror. By putting bread, gold, horse, apple, or the very roads into a myth, we do not retreat from reality: we rediscover it. As long as the story lingers in our mind, the real things are more themselves."
-J.R.R. Tolkien

being in the world

Finally. This post has written itself in many forms in my head hundreds of times over the past month but I can never seem to pin down my words until now. More of the pieces needed to come together and I've taken up more truth from others who have much more wisdom than I.

As of late I have begun to be intimately acquainted with one Mr C. S. Lewis. Over the next 3 1/2 months my life will be essentially and almost entirely consumed with his words. My baptism into his wisdom has been The Screwtape Letters. Screwtape explains to young, naive Wormwood, that one of the worst things that can happen is for humans to learn to live in the present for that is where the Enemy (God) would have us live. The demons would have us live perpetually looking toward the future. In order to do so, they try to blind us to the divine rhythm of regular life and "twist it into a demand for absolute novelty" (p136, Letter 25).

It is easy to yearn for the new, to push on to the next thing, to demand excitement and indeed novelty. We can waste our lives in it. So often, especially during my intense college years, I am guilty of bowing my head and plowing through to survival, only to take one breath and realize the semester is gone.

Life is like an old-time rail journey--delays, sidetracks, smoke, dust, cinders, and jolts, interspersed only occasionally by beautiful vistas and thrilling bursts of speed. The trick is to thank the Lord for letting you have the ride.

This quote, which is often mistakenly attributed to President Hinckley (although he did quote someone else who said it, source here) has always been slightly unsettling to me. What it says of our expectation of life (to be exciting at every turn) adn the work that it requires to thankful is absolutely true. But what I learn each day on this earth is that the these delays, sidetracks, smoke, dust, cinders, and jolts (the mundane or disappointing moments in life) are filled with infinite beauty. No they are not the beautiful vistas or the bursts of speed, and those moments of awe on a grand scale are precious an important. But the beauty in the small moments is what defines the everyday of your life. And the everyday of your life is what you are made of.

Look at the sky. The clouds have seemed more picturesque and the expansive blue more telling and true. Practice opening your eyes wider to take more of it in. Simplify your life and surround yourself with only that which is necessary or that which brings you happiness (like black cropped pants and owl piggy banks). Abandon homework to bake brownies. Eat cheesecake on the floor in the middle of the night. Read your textbook outside in a sundress. When you walk out of the temple, notices the flowers as you slowly re-enter the world. Write down delightful phases uttered by wacky professors. Count your steps. Dance in your room to that song that makes you smile as you put away your laundry. Look the person you are listening to in the eye and see what God sees as they speak. Notice their funny quirks and notice your own. Look up from your lunch just to people watch. Devour the words that you read. Make connections between each little piece of your life and laugh at how interconnected all the superfluous stuff really is. Write a note to that friend, but write it an unexpected way just to see them smile. Label your food in fridge with things like "M is for magical" or put a pirate patch on the man on the label of your pasta sauce. Live with your heart open. But most of all tell God that you love this everyday. Tell Him you love walking up that steep hill and making a fool of yourself in French class. Take notice of each moment and be thankful. There is joy to be found here. Wonder at your everyday world and it will whisper it's secrets to you.


trying, oh trying to wonder.

M

new

last night, after doing my nightly rituals, I felt it creep up into my room. Please no! But it came. Like a deep, dense fog around my heart. Heavy, unsettling, overwhelming, new.

new apartment, new roommates, new(ish) ward, new calling, new classes, new status as a senior (yay!), new homework expectations (what, I have to 300 books for one class? okay, not 300, but it feels like it), new(ish) language, new stresses, new worries, new fears, new possibilities, new dreams, new failures, new friends, new beginning, new end.

language

Some people are born with the first word of a language resting on their tongue though it may take some time before they can taste it.

-The Goose Girl, p5

In my opinion, we are all born with an innate language. Some form of communication that is our native tongue; it speaks to our immortal souls and touches our heart strings in a profound way. For some it is art, others music, dance, sports, numbers, nature, etc. For me it is the written word. 

I am a perpetual writer. At any given time I have four or five "journals" going, all serving different purposes. I write down funny things in my notes in class--things I notice about people, funny things that happened throughout my day, great quotes my professors say. I keep an agenda and tons of to-do lists. When I want to say something important, I write it. When I want to tell someone I love how much they mean to me, it comes in the form of a note or card. I fall in love with books not just because of the stories or meaning that they have, but because of the beautiful language they use. I remember walking into my roommate's room last summer just to read her a passage from a book because I thought the way in which what was said was so beautiful. Songs that mean the most to me often do because of the lyrics of the songs. I find joy in the world around me by writing about it. I cannot get enough of words.

We are often conversant in multiple languages. While I feel the written word is my mother tongue, there are times when music, art, or dance express something that speaks to me in a deep and lasting way. We bridge the gaps of humanity through all of these different types of language. The ability to communicate through so many forms is what makes life beautiful.

And like me, you were born with a word on your tongue. I don't know what word it was. You will grow older and discover it one day without my help.

-The Goose Girl, p6

Running is an amazingly cathartic experience for me. Side note: I realize that it is not for everyone, but I do think that everyone has something that makes them feel this way and if you don't please (I beg of you!) find something that does. I have had some of my most profound, spiritual, "ah-ha", thought-provoking experiences while running. At any given time I have felt heartache, triumph, pain, exhilaration, joy, freedom and despair while running. I have learned so much about myself, humanity, God, and nature because of running. It clears my head, relieves stress, empowers, calms, enlightens and frees me. I feel more alive when I run.

A few years ago I ran the Wasatch Back with my sister and some of her friends. As I neared the end of my first, longest and hottest, run I reached a hill that I had not been anticipating. My heart dropped as I reached the bottom and looked up. I cannot do this. One of the women on my team jumped out of the car as I approached, no doubt with my heartache etched all over my face, and without a moment's hesitation said, "hey, I'll run it with you." My first response was to decline her offer. I had to run this hill, only me. But she insisted. I don't think I would have made it up without her. 

After that run, I sat in the back of the truck with another teammate as we cheered on our next runner. We talked about how running is so much like life. We can cheer each other on, we can lift and help, but ultimately each one of us must take those steps on our own. One of my favorite songs from one of my favorite bands has one of my favorite lines, "but in the end the only steps that matter are the ones you take all by yourself." When we run we push ourselves beyond what we think we can do (think this quote). It takes bravery and strength and it is something that you must do alone. What I realized those two crazy days of running in the heat, middle of the night, on no sleep, after sitting in a car for hours on end, was the power of those steps we all took alone to bind us together. I felt such a bond to those people around me. Everyone was cheering other runners on. Yelling words of encouragement, offering snacks and water. We were all apart of this race whether on the same team or not. We all had to run those steps, we understood what it felt like, and we were all bound because of it. Yes, I had to take those steps and in order to finish my run, only I could take them. But I then, as I often do now, I underestimated the power of people standing by my side, telling me that I could do it.

As I think about my life, I see those people that are watching out for me, praying for me, encouraging me, loving me. Yes we all must take steps in life alone, but without others (including and most especially the Lord) we would often fall short of finding the courage, heart and strength to carry on. There is power in relationships, in love and in people that transcends despair, doubt, and fear.

****

Yesterday I went for a short run before it was back to homework, homework, homework. I ran up to the bell tower. Side note: it's the perfect short run. You have two hills, a great view of campus, and stairs to do when you get to the top, then it's all down hill on the way back. When I reached the tower the sun was setting and everything was lit in the illumination of twilight. I looked over campus and thought, and so it begins, my last year at BYU. I thought about how much I have grown and changed, the experiences I've had, the people that I've met-oh the people that I've met! I would not trade in my BYU experience for anything, every joyous and heart-wrenching moment. I thought about how in a year I will know where I'll be going to graduate school. I'll have a new home and a new place to find joy in. This is the beginning of the end. Really I started doing my lasts this spring when I got my last ecclesiastical endorsement, but now, with my final year drawing closer, it is beginning to feel real. I have loved where I've been but now it is time to turn my head and my heart to a new time and a new place.

****

I have spent essentially my entire life in school. So much of what we term the "formative years" are spent in practice for real life (hence why we call them the formative years). We spend what seems like eternity becoming, learning, practicing, theorizing to then spend the rest of our lives doing and being (not that you do not or cannot learn or become later in life). So often I am so anxious to free myself from the bonds of school. The work it requires is never done. I itch to be doing something, not just talking about, learning or practicing it. 

Several weeks ago an excellent talk on freedom was given in sacrament meeting. The topic was given in light of the patriotic holiday, but rather than speak on "freedom from" as the speaker termed it, he chose to speak on the "freedom to." When we do not have capabilities or skills we are in bondage. We do not have the choice to give of time or talents or skills or heart that we do not have. But, when we learn and grow and practice, we are then free to choose to share of the things in which we have learned and grown in and perfected. Often, as we all are, I am anxious to get out there and make a difference, change the world, and help people. There are often small (but desperately important) things that we already have the freedom to do to help those around us. But when that help requires skills beyond our current ability, there is a time of learning, waiting, preparing, and sacrificing. When that preparatory period is over, we have more choices to help and act than we did before because we have the skills required. We are released from the chains of ignorance and helplessness and we have the freedom to act.

As I look toward the future I see many preparatory years still ahead. School can be overwhelming and frustrating. While I yearn to set my feet in the real word, I am beginning to understand the importance of this time in which I must keep my eyes wide and my mind open. I am giving myself more opportunities to act, help, and be free.

More on the subject can be found here, here and here.

M

heart

I struggle sometimes to know what words I want to fill these pages. I've composed hundreds of posts in my head that I've never posted. I don't always know what I want this space to be. My thoughts yes, but on what? I never know if what I write is worth reading. Is it too personal or not personal enough? What's my motive? What image of myself and my life and my thoughts am I trying to convey? Who, dear readers, am I?

Several times I've thought about deleting mjots. I just never post on it as much as I want. I look at these design blogs or blogs of people who have hundreds of followers and I just don't see myself putting my life out there like that. So often a false sense of reality and life is portrayed or what is posted seems superficial and meaningless. But every time I seriously think about getting rid the suki diaries, I can't. I want this space to become something that is worth reading. Me, being true and real.

What follows is personal. Probably the most personal thing I have ever and will ever post on mjots.

Today I was supposed to do one of the biggest and scariest things I probably would have ever done. Today my life was supposed to have taken a defined and monumental course. I was supposed to feel excitement, anxiety, fear, relief, gratitude.

Today I was supposed to take the MCAT.

Rewind five months and you could not have imagined my excitement as I poured over the MSAR, looking at potential medical schools. Everything seemed to be coming together. I had the whole thing planned. And it was actually happening.

The few months after that seemingly golden time were (are) probably the hardest period of time I've had to go through. Details aside, plans changed. I took on too much and I couldn't handle it all. I knew in February that I wouldn't be taking the MCAT today. Yet, I held onto my spot for months afterward. I wasn't ready to let go.

All week I've been thinking about my alternate reality: what I'd be doing if I had really taken the MCAT today. Oh how different my life would be.

I wish I could say that it's all behind me. That I'm on a new course and I can see why I was derailed so jarringly. But the wound is still fresh, the infection acute.

In life we often face disappointments. Some are big and some are small. But guess what? Life goes on. We breathe in and out and one day it doesn't hurt so bad.

I'm getting there.

bradbury had it right

Everyone has a method to their writing. When I read this passage from the forward of the lovely book Dandelion Wine, I felt my feelings on the process were captured most perfectly with Bradbury's profound words:

[...] like every beginner, I thought you could beat, pummel, and thrash an idea into existence. Under such treatment, of course, any decent idea folds up its paws, turn on its back, fixes its eyes on eternity, and dies. It was with great relief, then, that in my early twenties I floundered into a word-association process in which I simply got out of bed each morning walked to my desk, and put down any word or series of words that happened along in my head. I would then take arms against the word, or for it, and bring on an assortment of characters to weigh the word and show me its meaning in my own life. An hour or two hours later, to my amazement, a new story would be finished and done. The surprise was total and lovely. I soon found that I would have to work this way for the rest of my life.

choices

Work these days brings hours of computer work or shifting among the shelves. In order to pass the time with my brain still intact, I listen to books. They fill my mind with thoughts and ideas that are simply beautiful. I ran out of books that I hadn't listened to (or had interest in) that belonged to my parents, so I reverted to the default: HP.

I think I've listened/read each book a thousand times, but each time I still fall in love with the story and words all over again. (yeah, I'm twelve, I know). Lately The Order of the Phoenix (Okay please just click this link and appreciate whoever spent the time to make this. Lovely.) has been filling my ears. I'm near the end, having just finished the intense fight in the ministry of magic.

As I listened with pained ears to Harry make the mistake of believe that Voldemort really had Sirius Black, I realized yet one more reason why I love the books so much. Rowling shows us that all choices have consequences-even good ones. I wanted to badly for Harry to listen to Hermione's hesitation. I wanted Sirius to walk into the kitchen when Harry checks Grimmauld Place to see if he's there. I wanted so badly for Snape to stop Harry in the forest. I wanted something to change and for Sirius to live. Harry did the right thing-he showed he would do anything for those he loved so everything should turn out, right? But even though Harry had the best of intentions, Sirius still died. And as painful as that is, it's just like real life. When we act and make choices, there are often unforeseen consequences. And even if we have the best intentions and we do the "right" thing, it might not turn out the way we hope.

Often in movies and books everything goes wrong only to be turned right at the end, with nothing lost. But think about the books and movies you truly love-the ones that made you think and feel and be. They often don't end with every little piece of the story neatly wrapped up in polka-dot wrapping paper with a satin ribbon on top.  We relate to these stories because they mimic our own lives. There is a price to be paid. Always. But that my friends is what makes life so great. When we hurt and struggle, when we cry and bleed, it only makes those moments when the world is good and our hearts light that much sweeter. We become more.