The One Where I Get on an Election Soapbox.

For starters, I am not thrilled about the way this election played out. I would not have been thrilled if it had gone the other way. I couldn't vote for either of the candidates in good conscience, for a variety of reasons that, frankly, are completely irrelevant now, as the future looms in front of us.

Elections, particularly those of a presidential nature, bring out the worst in everybody.

"Everybody is entitled to their own opinion," we say, with a muttered "but your's is wrong and I'm right" following closely behind it. 

Insults are thrown left and right in an attempt to "agree to disagree" and "explore the other side!" 

Here's the thing. 

Anger-fueled remarks are less than likely to convince somebody to see things your way. 

Removing people from your social media feed because you don't agree with them makes you as closed to their viewpoints as you accuse them of being to yours. 

To those of you that are "scared," this is not the first time a leader who doesn't support your personal beliefs has been elected, and it certainly won't be the last. 

To those of you that are "angry," you can't win them all. If you were happy with election results all of the time, someone would feel like you do all of the time. Think about it. 

To those of you wondering "how will I teach my kids about hatred, racism, bigotry, after this election," you should do it as you would if things had gone differently. You have a more direct influence over your children than anyone in the White House will--so change your house. 

To those of you that are "ashamed," you should be, of yourselves. Yes, this was an ugly race, and (at least in my eyes) neither of the candidates were good options--but that should not make you ashamed to be an American. Just because you don't agree with something does not make it shameful. Our country was built on innovation, progress, and change--and this presidential term will be a continuation of those. Change is not easy. It's not comfortable. And it's not something we agree with all of the time. But your reaction to this change says more about you than it does about the change itself. 

The President of the United States does not have any easy job, and that's without factoring in the reality that half of the country, and maybe more, hates them and everything they stand for. 

You may not agree with who is in office, but the office deserves your respect, as long as you are an American citizen enjoying the freedoms and liberties that come along with it. 

I may not be thrilled with the way things turned out--but I am grateful I have the ability to speak my frustrations, enact change, and live how I wish...and I'm still proud to be an American. 

Personal time machine.

*shuffle songs*

A couple chords, the all too familiar "oh, her eyes, her eyes" and it's junior year all over again, from the front seat of a blue Mazda listening to the boy you like talk about hockey and tease you about failing AP Biology on our way to another hockey game.

*skip*

"Some songs will always be better live," you think as What if You Don't comes on and you and your best friend are hearing it for played live for the first time and you get the same goosebumps you did then.

*skip*

It's the one you played on repeat the night he broke your heart.

*skip*

It's the middle of August, but Jay Z and JT will always feel like the Fourth of July and pulling into Huntsville with Nan and Hillary after Holy Grail played on the radio for the first time.

*skip*

Jon Mclaughlin sings "You're in my arms, and all the world is calm" and that same boy is dancing you around the parking lot in the rain and those three minutes and 52 seconds are the sweetest thing your 17-year-old self has ever seen and six years later you hope he's happy.

*skip*

"Tonight! Tonight! There's a party on the rooftop, top of the world" and you crack a smile that's partially a wince because this one feels like running 11 miles and you'd like to get it over with.

*skip*

A foreign rhythm starts playing and now it's 3 am on the Devil's Backbone and you and your best friends have your Pussycat Dolls parts down cold and can perform them on demand months later even though you still don't really know what "Jai ho" or "Baila baila" mean.

*skip*

You laugh out loud when Enrique tells you he can be your hero because you remember the boy who sang this one to you over the phone when you were in ninth grade.

*skip*

It's the one you played the night you broke his heart.

*skip*

Your hidden love for Avril Lavigne doesn't hide very well while you yell about how you still think you would have been a better girlfriend, despite the fact that you were in 8th grade then and being his girlfriend probably would have made it hard for him to still be your friend after almost 15 years.

*skip*

You catch your breath as the Dirty Guv'nahs sing about meeting her halfway to Birmingham because those words feel like leaving what you love, and when Spotify put it on your Year in Review as a "You ventured into the unknown with this track," you couldn't help but think that's exactly what it had felt like when you met the boy who showed it to you.

*skip*

A new favorite comes on, with lyrics you can't sing all the way yet and key changes you don't quite know and you let this one play through, because right now, it's just a song, not yet a part of the time machine.

The highlight reel.

Four years ago, walking across the stage with 980 other students in brown and gold was the biggest thing I'd ever done.
Four years, and what seems like a lifetime later, I'm beginning to realize how incredibly wrong I was.
Since the second I set foot in my dorm-room apartment in Snow Hall my freshman year,  I've heard echoes of neighbors and friends and family members telling me how I was "doing college right," and just how fun everything looked.
They're right.
Some days, it was the worst and I just wanted to go home to my mom and I won't deny that, but for most of the last four years I've been spinning in this state of wonder at the things that were happening.

Tomorrow when we wake up, everything is going to be pretty much exactly how it was today and completely different at the same time. Today, we're part of a special group of people, a community, an Aggie family if you will. In Marina Keegan's speech/essay "The Opposite of Loneliness," she puts into words the feelings I can't quite wrap my head around. "[USU] is full of tiny circles we pull around ourselves. Acapella groups, sports teams, houses, societies, clubs. These tiny groups that make us feel loved and safe and part of something even on our loneliest nights when we stumble home to our computers--partnerless, tired, awake. We won't have those next year. We won't live on the same block as all our friends. We won't have a bunch of group texts. This scares me. More than finding the right job or city or spouse, I'm scared of losing this web we're in. This elusive, indefinable, opposite of loneliness. This feeling I feel right now." 

For the last three years, I've hated being the one that got left behind. Now, I'm scared to be the one leaving people behind. 
I'm that nervous kind of excited that twists your stomach in knots and makes you bounce up and down with anticipation, but I'm equally as terrified. I'm walking into a new house, a new job, and a new city, and leaving behind a place that holds four years worth of magic and memories and heartbreak and love and a large part of who I am. 

Because college for me was a dream, but it was so many other things too.

It was all-night study sessions and endless amounts of brownie batter and popcorn with "Call Your Girlfriend" playing in the background.
It was saying goodbye to the first boy I really loved, and watching his truck pull out of my driveway while the realization that I didn't know if the goodbye's we'd just said were for two years or forever.
It was sending my best friends on missions, holding down the Single Snitch fort, and watching old friends meet new friends.
It was the sound of the Sweetheart song, the sound of Logan Canyon's wind, and the smell of Charlie's seven minutes before close. 

It was countless ice cream runs when things didn't work out, and dancing like fools at wedding receptions when they did.
It was ethnic hair care products, Nutella Banana Bread, and heading to the Lonely Bench with the Snitches when things got overwhelming. 
It was waiting for P-Day, waking up for pre-meeting, and Monday's pin attire.
It was jumping--not just stepping--out of my comfort zone and trying something everything new: kissing a boy in front of 200 freshmen in the name of student orientation, putting stereotypes on hold for sorority recruitment, and giving a thousand new friends a chance.

It was a boy I fell in love with, a girl I learned to live with, a professor who changed my mind, and several dozen people who changed my life.
It was giving up old dreams and setting out after new ones.
It was refusing to join a sorority, and not being able to stop the tears three years later as I said goodbye to the house that had become home.
It was moving in with strangers, saying "yes" to everything, and dyeing my hair purple.
It was breaking rules and making rules and speed-walking away from hot-tub-rule-enforcing landlords in the middle of the night.

It was paint-fight Twister, Tuesday Tacos, and $1 movie theater popcorn without the movie.
It was watching my best friends fall in love, fraternity formals, and being the only real winners during the world's longest game of hide and seek.
It was midnight drives through the canyon and more spoken word poetry than I can fit on a single playlist.

It was peachy dews and peachy penguins and not nearly enough dollar nug nights. 

It was "family dinner," and Strata [almost] all-nighters and mission farewells and wedding receptions.
It was Snow 102, Pineview 35, and everything that happened in Room 22. 
It was SOAR days and burrito truck runs and falling in love with a little town with bad air and too much snow.
It was worlds colliding, and hearts breaking, and new beginnings. 

Today, we walked into a new chapter of who we are, but I found a lot of who I am in this little town.
I fell in love with a place where the sagebrush grows because of the things that happened here.
I discovered a sense of adventure in it's nooks and crannys and all of your canyons. 
I found my best friends, an education I'm passionate about, and a real idea of who I am within this little valley. 
I made it through eight hellish finals weeks, two dramatic breakups, three incredible summers, and four of the most challenging but rewarding years of my life. 

Here's to you, USU. Thanks for everything. 

The highlight reel.

Four years ago, walking across the stage with 980 other students in brown and gold was the biggest thing I'd ever done.
Four years, and what seems like a lifetime later, I'm beginning to realize how incredibly wrong I was.
Since the second I set foot in my dorm-room apartment in Snow Hall my freshman year,  I've heard echoes of neighbors and friends and family members telling me how I was "doing college right," and just how fun everything looked.
They're right.
Some days, it was the worst and I just wanted to go home to my mom and I won't deny that, but for most of the last four years I've been spinning in this state of wonder at the things that were happening.

Tomorrow when we wake up, everything is going to be pretty much exactly how it was today and completely different at the same time. Today, we're part of a special group of people, a community, an Aggie family if you will. In Marina Keegan's speech/essay "The Opposite of Loneliness," she puts into words the feelings I can't quite wrap my head around. "[USU] is full of tiny circles we pull around ourselves. Acapella groups, sports teams, houses, societies, clubs. These tiny groups that make us feel loved and safe and part of something even on our loneliest nights when we stumble home to our computers--partnerless, tired, awake. We won't have those next year. We won't live on the same block as all our friends. We won't have a bunch of group texts. This scares me. More than finding the right job or city or spouse, I'm scared of losing this web we're in. This elusive, indefinable, opposite of loneliness. This feeling I feel right now." 

For the last three years, I've hated being the one that got left behind. Now, I'm scared to be the one leaving people behind. 
I'm that nervous kind of excited that twists your stomach in knots and makes you bounce up and down with anticipation, but I'm equally as terrified. I'm walking into a new house, a new job, and a new city, and leaving behind a place that holds four years worth of magic and memories and heartbreak and love and a large part of who I am. 

Because college for me was a dream, but it was so many other things too.

It was all-night study sessions and endless amounts of brownie batter and popcorn with "Call Your Girlfriend" playing in the background.
It was saying goodbye to the first boy I really loved, and watching his truck pull out of my driveway while the realization that I didn't know if the goodbye's we'd just said were for two years or forever.
It was sending my best friends on missions, holding down the Single Snitch fort, and watching old friends meet new friends.
It was the sound of the Sweetheart song, the sound of Logan Canyon's wind, and the smell of Charlie's seven minutes before close. 

It was countless ice cream runs when things didn't work out, and dancing like fools at wedding receptions when they did.
It was ethnic hair care products, Nutella Banana Bread, and heading to the Lonely Bench with the Snitches when things got overwhelming. 
It was waiting for P-Day, waking up for pre-meeting, and Monday's pin attire.
It was jumping--not just stepping--out of my comfort zone and trying something everything new: kissing a boy in front of 200 freshmen in the name of student orientation, putting stereotypes on hold for sorority recruitment, and giving a thousand new friends a chance.

It was a boy I fell in love with, a girl I learned to live with, a professor who changed my mind, and several dozen people who changed my life.
It was giving up old dreams and setting out after new ones.
It was refusing to join a sorority, and not being able to stop the tears three years later as I said goodbye to the house that had become home.
It was moving in with strangers, saying "yes" to everything, and dyeing my hair purple.
It was breaking rules and making rules and speed-walking away from hot-tub-rule-enforcing landlords in the middle of the night.

It was paint-fight Twister, Tuesday Tacos, and $1 movie theater popcorn without the movie.
It was watching my best friends fall in love, fraternity formals, and being the only real winners during the world's longest game of hide and seek.
It was midnight drives through the canyon and more spoken word poetry than I can fit on a single playlist.

It was peachy dews and peachy penguins and not nearly enough dollar nug nights. 

It was "family dinner," and Strata [almost] all-nighters and mission farewells and wedding receptions.
It was Snow 102, Pineview 35, and everything that happened in Room 22. 
It was SOAR days and burrito truck runs and falling in love with a little town with bad air and too much snow.
It was worlds colliding, and hearts breaking, and new beginnings. 

Today, we walked into a new chapter of who we are, but I found a lot of who I am in this little town.
I fell in love with a place where the sagebrush grows because of the things that happened here.
I discovered a sense of adventure in it's nooks and crannys and all of your canyons. 
I found my best friends, an education I'm passionate about, and a real idea of who I am within this little valley. 
I made it through eight hellish finals weeks, two dramatic breakups, three incredible summers, and four of the most challenging but rewarding years of my life. 

Here's to you, USU. Thanks for everything. 

As the sand of the sea.

I just spent the most magical 10 days in Hawaii. 

I could go on for hours about the waterfall we hiked, the ruins we visited, the incredible food we ate, and the places we explored, but honestly the most amazing thing I experienced was when I was sitting on the beach, watching waves crash around me. 

I'd been talking to one of my best friends about the reality of how quickly life was coming at us, and I was feeling more than a little bit overwhelmed with everything that was going to be happening in the next 55 days. 

Rather than dealing with it in an adult fashion, I turned off my phone and sat on the beach watching the water and squishing sand between my fingers and toes and tried to think about anything other than reality. 

It's easy to get lost in your thoughts when you're listening to the waves, and the ocean has always been something awe-inspiring to me. 

Genesis 32:12 came to mind, and provided a much needed change of thought. 

"And thou saidst, I will surely do thee good, and make thy seed as the sand of the sea, which cannot be numbered for multitude."

Do me a favor, and just try to think about that for a second. 

Think about how many grains of sand fit into a single handful, or on a single beach, and then process just how much sand there is around this Earth. 

Makes you feel pretty small, doesn't it? 

Then start to think about all the hundreds of times we've heard how individually and completely we are loved and try to wrap your head around loving more people than there are grains of sands or stars in the sky that much. 

Pretty freaking incredible, if you ask me. 

So yes. I could go on for hours about the things we did and the pictures we took, or the food we ate. But instead, I'm going to think a little bit longer about how incredible this world we've been given is, and how immensely we are blessed and loved, because there's more wonder in that knowledge than I could ever put into words. 

[if you've got 20 minutes to spare, listen to this. When things get overwhelming, it's the perfect reminder that you're not alone--and who doesn't need that sometimes?]

#InternationalWomensDay

Real quick, I'm not some ultra feminist. I don't think that men are overbearing [usually], and I don't want [all of] the responsibilities society has given them. Honestly, I think that a lot of the so-called feminist movement is entirely out of hand and people have lost sight of their original purpose. 

That's not to say I don't think women are pretty freaking incredible and celebrating us is something I can totally get behind. 

I think it's important to celebrate women because we're pretty cool, not because we're better than men. 

And most importantly, because I think the important women in my life need to be recognized. 

Like my mom, for standing behind me in everything I do even when I want to stand on my own. 

Or my grandma, for being my biggest hero. 

My sisters,  for being both my role models and the reason behind me trying to be better every day. 

My aunts, for being some of my biggest influences.

My best friends for testing me, loving me, and making it through life with me. 

Strong women are important because they can make or break a person, and I'm so glad the ones I know have made me into the person I am today.

"Here's to strong women. May we know them. May we be them. May we raise them." 

Lost and found.

It's February, and y'all should be able to guess which word is my favorite to define--but it's also still the hardest thing for me to wrap my head around [and in the spirit of transparency, I'm about to get real personal. don't say you weren't warned].

When I was little, there was a day where my little sister Brittany decided that she wanted to take matters into her six-year-old hands and ask my grandparents why they didn't speak to us. One quick search through the phonebook and a sneaky phone call from my great-grandma's guest bedroom later, we found ourselves at my grandparents house for the first time in years. I listened to the adults make small talk around the kids, while I absorbed the feeling in the house [in awe that even after three moves and half a dozen years, grandma's house still smelled just the same], and everybody avoided the elephant in the room. My grandma took this opportunity to show us around their house, and while most of us were in the kitchen, my mom lingered behind and was talking to my grandpa. I don't know the entirety of the conversation, but I distinctly remember hearing him say "I have lost a lot of love for a lot of people."
In the moment, I didn't think much of it. Now, it stings a bit--but then it was mostly confusing.
How do you lose love? It wasn't something tangible that you could simply set down and forget about, and since it wasn't an object the odds of you misplacing it or it walking away were incredibly low.
And even if it wasn't tangible, how on earth do you lose it? What was love if it could be lost like that?

Fast forward roughly 10 years, and I think I'm finally starting to be able to answer my own questions.
Not because I know what love is, but because I know what love is not.
In middle school, you learn about the types of nouns: concrete, collective, compound and abstract.
Abstract nouns were always the most interesting to me, because I remember laughing at my teacher trying to explain to us how to define something that wasn't definitive--and that's a fascination that has never changed.
[try it: ask one of my coworkers how one would define liberty, or ask a panel of parents how they define "grounding," the possibilities are truly endless]
Abstract nouns and concepts have become even more interesting as I've grown up, if only because my definitions are changing faster than I can comprehend them.

Love is forgiveness, and second chances, and apologies and compromise. 

Love is not walking away, no matter how tired or how frustrated you are.

Love is "see you soon," "drive safe," and a quick squeeze when you're about to lose it. 

Love [for me] is pebble ice, tacos, peppermint tea, and a cozy blanket. 

Love [for them] is chocolate donuts, Skittles, spoken-word poetry, long drives, or movie nights. 

Love is not giving up, because quitters never win and everything is worth a little bit more of a fight.

Love is not easy. 

I've said it before, and I'll say it again. Nothing about any kind of love is easy. It takes a lot of work, more patience than I have on a regular basis, and lots of compromise. If it were easy, I'd argue with my parents less, they'd roll their eyes at me less, my siblings and I would be less annoyed with each other, I wouldn't feel the need to throw tantrums about boys all the time, and I'd never argue with my best friends.

Love is both the most mind-boggling thing I've ever tried to wrap my head around, and the simplest thing in the world to understand. 

Subconsciously, I think that overheard comment from my grandpa taught me a lot.
I'm 21 years old and I still get emotional pulling out of my culdesac on my way back to Logan, and I have a healthy sense of nostalgia that can be a real problem sometimes.
Some people say I have a hard time letting things/people go [they're right], and I've never been a fan of goodbyes. When I love, I love hard and I love big--and I think that has a lot to do with the idea that I never want to lose love for somebody else, or vice versa. I want to give it my all and do everything possible to make love work before walking away. I'm not about to let my love for anyone get lost.
A year ago, I posted this. 
Love was synonymous with a roller coaster of emotions and confusion. But even then, it wasn't something I felt like I'd truly lost.
It took a lot of work, a couple thousand more tears, and more talk about my feelings that I'd ever like to do again, but a year later,  love has simply changed forms--and I am oh so grateful for the endless amounts of love around me everyday.
Love is only really lost if you let it be--and it's something worth finding again if it goes away.

Nostalgia.

For someone who hates emotions as much as I do, I'm entirely too sentimental.
I'm the one that gets a weird little twinge of nostalgia on days when something important happened.
I could tell you exactly what I was wearing the day my first boyfriend first brought me flowers.
I can quote the note my best friend from elementary school wrote me the day she moved and switched schools in the middle of 8th grade.
I could tell you the exact time and place of every first kiss I've ever had.
I keep movie tickets, concert tickets, notes and letters, and every picture my siblings have ever made for me in a box under my bed.

I'm a firm believer in the fact that our memories make up most of the person that we are, and while these memories are mostly magical, sometimes they hurt a lot.
Because as sentimental as I am, I'm also a huge planner.
I know what I want, when I want it, and how I want it to go.
Sometimes things don't go the way you planned, and sometimes the way you planned isn't the way you want things to go.

The people you think will never leave are the ones just out of reach, and the ones you never thought you'd be able to keep close are the ones talking to you at 2 am and calming your crazy. 

Sometimes what your heart wants isn't what your heart gets and what you get is what your heart never knew it wanted.

I'm 900% content with my life right now. I'm surrounded by wonderful people who love me (and even when people are dumb, there's a dozen more who make sure I don't go crazy), I'm 106 days away from graduating from a university I love more than just about anything, and I have a family that has me convinced my life is actually made of magic.
But it's in these minutes of tender nostalgia that I wonder what else could have happened. In a world where I still blush every time Just The Way You Are plays, I can't help but sing So Close when it rains, and I still believe in the magic of Miracle--what could have happened? What if I had gone to a different school, or said "no" to this, and "yes" to that,  and done a dozen different things instead of doing what put me right here?
If anything, these moments add proof to the belief that everything happens for a reason. I wouldn't change where I am now for anything in the world...but tonight, that doesn't mean I'm not thinking about dozens of Wednesday night hockey games and two years worth of letters with the sweetest kind of "I miss you" feeling and feeling incredibly grateful for the people I was lucky enough to call mine, even if just for a minute. 

Recognize goodness.

Do you ever have those days where a lesson just hits home and seems to be just for you? 

Today was one of those days.

Our lesson today was on President Howard W. Hunter, and talked about how Jesus Christ is the only way to true joy and hope. 

Then we watched this video, and if you haven't watched it yet, you need to. But have some tissues ready. 

"Evil did not win that day." 

That statement hit me and made me look differently at things. 

It's been a weird couple of months. 

I've seen marriages end, watched friends leave the church, cried over the death of family members, and dealt with my own struggles. 

I've watched the news and shuddered at the things happening all over the world that bring people to describe things as evil and terrible. 

The world is a scary place. It's exhausting, terrifying, and stressful. 

The negative things are so much easier to count than the blessings.

It's so easy to get caught up in the evils that surround us and feel overwhelmed with our inability to do something about it. 

This video helped me breathe a little better when I started thinking about these things. 

In the face of such a tragedy, and amidst so much heartbreak, this mother was able to look at the spirit her little girl had brought into the world and recognize the presence of goodness in the world. 

If they could recognize it, why can't we? 

Because if evil didn't win that day, don't let it win today. 

So there's my New Year's resolution. Recognize more goodness. 

[If you want something else to read/watch/listen to, go here]