Not Necessarily Necessary

I've made a life of not saying what I'd like to say, what I ought to say, or what I need to say.

I've made a life of not allowing myself to feel what I'm feeling.

As far as I can tell, this is fairly normal - there is nothing unique about my situation - we all keep quiet when we want to share, and we refuse to feel when feeling is all we can do.

I'm writing this because, well, it's necessary.

I learned something this week - a lesson from a fictional character to, of course, another fictional character - but fictional or not, I loved it. Sometimes speaking may seem unnecessary, or too soon, or too late - and sometimes maybe it is - but I don't want to keep letting that stop me. There is a difference between unnecessary and wrong.

So feel what you're feeling.

Joy

Pain

Hope

Fear

Love

Confusion

Happiness

Sadness

Confidence

Doubt

Say what you're thinking.

Thank you.

I'm sorry.

I missed you.

I still do.

Stop.

Go.

You're wrong.

I'm wrong.

Yes.

No.

I've made a life of silencing myself. In all honesty, it's been a pretty good life, but I think I'm ready for a better one. So maybe I'll try this whole speaking and feeling thing, and see how it goes. Maybe it's a good idea...maybe it's not. Join me and we'll find out together - it'll be an adventure, and everybody loves a good adventure.

Honesty it moderation, and with discretion. Please. People are fragile.

But seriously....

Sometimes, things just need to be said.

It's always necessary.

My Own Dream

If I could write out my own dream...

Can you imagine what I'd see?

Can I imagine what I'd see?

If I could write out my own dream, where would it begin, and where would it end? Would you have a part to play?

Would you like one?

If I could write out my own dream, what sort of dream would I create? Would I be happy, or sad? Myself, or someone (or something) else? Alone, or surrounded? On the ground, or in the sky? Would I obey the same rules that govern my waking existence, or would I create my own? Would I say what I want to say and hear what I'd like to hear?

Or would I remain silent and, perhaps, hear what I'm afraid of hearing?

If I could write out my own dream, would I ever want to wake up? Would I prefer my dream to reality? Would I wake up disappointed to discover my dream was just that - a dream - then spend each day simply watching as the world went by, passing the time until I could slip back into my dream?

I wouldn't, would I?

Or maybe, in order to avoid this disappointment, I wouldn't write a dream, but a nightmare...

I wouldn't do that either, would I?

If I could write out my own dream, I'm sure barriers would fall. I'm sure I would be free.

Right?

If I could write out my own dream, what would I fear more - sleeping, or waking? Complete control, or the unknown - the mystery? My own answers to my own questions, or questions that remain unanswered?





If I could write out my own dream...would I dare?







If I could write out my own dream, I like to think I'd get it right. But maybe it doesn't really matter. Maybe I should remember and embrace the fact that I can't write out my own dream - that what I put to paper tonight is not what I'll see once my head meets my pillow.

Maybe that is freedom.

Maybe I should just live my dream instead.

Excuse Me While I Sing to the Sky

Shhh....

Slow down. I'm tired of listening.

It's nothing personal really, sometimes it just gets old.

And it's not that I'm actually tired of listening to you, that's not it at all - what you have to say is important to me - very important, in fact, and I really appreciate your willingness to share it.

I'm tired of not being heard.

I've discovered a pattern, and I'd like to share it with you. You may read all of this and decide it was a tremendous waste of your time, or that I simply spend too much time thinking, or that I don't know anything at all. And that's alright - I won't be upset, and I won't even judge you. But if you'd at least think about it, that'd be great. I'll be writing (obviously) from my point of view, and speaking for myself because, of course, I can't speak for anybody else. But I am willing to bet that there are other quiet, maybe a little awkward, introverted people who feel the same way, and have had similar experiences.

Now, I don't talk a whole lot, that's a fact. I'm not a man of many words, I don't need to be heard to feel validated or important, and I don't need to constantly hear the sound of my own voice. You may think I've already contradicted myself, but bear with me. I have been informed, many times, that my silence, my lack of speaking, my quietness (I don't know why I'm rewording it so many times, you know what I mean) makes some people uncomfortable - it makes them feel awkward, or it makes them feel like I'm judging them, or that I hate them. Well - I'm sorry, I'm not, and I don't.

Now that we've cleared that up, let me teach you a few things. These may only be true of me, and no other quiet person that you know, but here they are.

The fact that I'm quiet does not mean I have nothing to say, the fact that I'm quiet almost always has nothing to do with any sort of awkwardness (at least on my part, maybe it makes you feel incredibly awkward..I guess you'll have to deal with that one), and the fact that I'm quiet does not mean I don't understand what you are saying or what is going on around me.

What does my silence mean? Well, it means that I'm paying attention, that I'm listening, and that I'm learning. You should try it sometime. Seriously. I'm very confident in saying that I can learn more about the world and the people around me in a day by primarily listening and paying attention, than you can by primarily talking. You might be amazed.

So why am I writing all of this? Well, because of this little pattern that I've noticed. You see, I've made it a goal of mine to focus on those around me more, and to focus on myself less. In working toward this goal, I've made it a point to talk less and listen more - I've found it's pretty easy to dominate a conversation, but I've also found it to be counterproductive, so I try not to. But in doing so, I've noticed that when you make it a priority to give voice to another, you run the risk, at times, of losing your own.

And I'm not ready for that.

I'm not ready to lose my voice because there are times that I actually have something to say. I'm not willing to lose my voice because, believe it or not, I have things to say that you need to hear. I'm tired of not being heard because that which you won't hear is, at times, exactly what you need to hear, and the assumption that my silence is an indication of indifference, ineptitude, or just general awkwardness not only negatively affects me, it does so to you as well. In short, I'm not ready to lose my voice because I have a voice, and really, that's reason enough.

(This is basically how I feel at times. Poor, picked on me..)

"A voice is such a deep, personal reflection of character."

- Daniel Day-Lewis

I guess what I'm really getting at is this - it might be wise for you, for all of us, from time to time, to take a deep breath, slow down, and remember we're surrounded by people, all of whom have voices. Take some time to listen. Take some time to learn. You might be surprised to realize that even the quiet people, the awkward people, and the introverts all have things to say, to share, and to teach. So try it - take some time to be still, to be silent, and to listen.

It is clear to me that we underestimate the value of a voice - of our own voices, and the voices belonging to those around us, and it's time to stop. It is important to be heard, and it is just as important to hear. Tom Hiddleston, of Thor fame, is quoted as saying, "For myself, for a long time...maybe I felt inauthentic or something, I felt like my voice wasn't worth hearing, and I think everyone's voice is worth hearing. So if you've got something to say, say it from the rooftops." 

So excuse me while I sing to the sky, and speak from the rooftops. 

And join me in realizing that every voice, no matter how small, or how silent, is worth hearing.

"The voice of intellect is a soft one, but it does not rest until it has gained a hearing."

- Sigmund Frued

(Side note: I am fairly confident that some of you, as you're reading this, might think that I'm writing about you, or at you, or because of you. Don't worry, I'm not. The thoughts that prompted the writing of this random, 'sassy pants' post have been stirring around in my brain for a long time, and are added to, or subtracted from, on a daily basis. I pay close attention to interpersonal interactions and communications and these interactions are what made me want to write this. You may notice a reference to a conversation we've had, maybe recently, maybe not recently - don't take it personally. Although I'm basically pointing fingers at the hypothetical recipient of this post [did you notice how it almost seemed to be addressed to a specific person? It wasn't actually addressed to anyone, but written that way intentionally] the entire time, I realize that communication and conversation is a two-way street, which means there is just as much blame to be placed on me for any and all ineffective communication I am a part of. I didn't want to write that half of this post because it never would have ended.)

(New and improved side note: I borrowed, without permission of course, the term 'sassy pants' from the one and only, world famous, unequaled and unparalleled Laura Christopherson, who, being the genius that she is, coined the phrase "sassy pants blog post." Many thanks to her for inventing such a wonderful phrase, and for not being offended [hopefully...] by my stealing of it. Check out her blog! Do it, or I'll judge you.)

Guest Post! What?!

(Alright folks, here's the deal - Sometimes I don't have anything to write, but I set a goal to post something every month. This is a problem. Well, it used to be, but then I invented the idea of guest authors - ta-da! You're welcome blogging world. I can't believe nobody thought of it sooner.....

So meet my wonderful friend Erica Ellen! She is one of my favorite human beings alive, she is native, which makes her even more awesome, and she was kind enough to write a post for my blog. She is pretty dang awesome. Word.

Now, just for the record, I did not assign her a topic. Fo rizzle. I did not make her say these things, I promise - she wrote them so I posted them.

With that in mind...Enjoy!)

Kyle Joseph asked me to be his very first guest author on his rarely read blog, and then told me that I could write about anything.. which is the worst thing you can tell someone like me.

in a flash of good judgment,  I told him that he needed to tell me what to write about, and he said,

"Whatever you'd like - you may have noticed the blog has no point, so anything goes! It can be serious or funny, long or short, fact or fiction, happy or sad.

"I know that provides no direction, but sometimes that's good?"

then I gave him options.. one option I knew would really grind his gears..

a list of why dark chocolate M&Ms are better than Skittles

the other option is the subject that I've decided to write about, but I've renamed it..

because I'm pretty sure Kyle Joseph has a lady friend that he won't tell me about, annnnnnd

I don't want her to think I'm a creeper.. even if the title would've been just to make him feel awkward. which is one of the reasons I keep him around.. because he is so awkward.

so I give unto you, the rare readers of Kyle Joseph's awkward life story..

Twelve Reasons Kyle Joseph is One of My Favorite People Ever

1. He is willing to listen to whatever ridiculous thing you have to say.

     Which for me, is a good thing, because I am a pretty ridiculous person.. and I don't see why he would ever feel the need to make an exception for me. So, I'm going to assume he does the same for most people. It doesn't matter what stupid thing you are talking about, he will listen. Granted, he is totally making fun of you in his head, but he's pretty good at keeping it to himself. If you're fortunate enough to be stupid, you won't even realize that he's making fun of you if he does happen to verbalize it. Which isn't often, he is a man of few words.

2. His favorite Disney Princess is Belle. Not Cinderella, not Aurora, not Jasmine, Belle.
     This is significant because Belle is the most admirable of the Disney Princessess. For one, she is the least skanky Disney Princess. She's also the most independent, she is intelligent, and she's not afraid to be different. The other princesses are whiny, and want/need to be rescued. Belle is the heroine. Also, if any of the other Disney Princesses had been put in her situation, the ending would not have been so great. The beast would have died, and we wouldn't have a ginger prince. Or the beast would be alive, rockin' the single life, and Gaston wouldn't have had to ask more than once.. but I digress.

3. He will kill giant spiders in your trunk, despite being like... little-girl-afraid of them.
     Once there was a huge, and ferocious black widow in the trunk of my car. I didn't know it was a black widow, I just knew that for the past month, there was a spider that kept spinning webs, and I was scared to put things in my trunk. So, not knowing he's scared of spiders, I asked Kyle if he would kill it for me. We went out to my car, popped open the trunk, and looked around for the spider. We found it, I was super creeped out.. we took a picture, then Kyle manned up and killed it. We named her Gail.

4. He is not afraid to tell you how dumb you are for liking Twilight.

     In 2007-2008 I was under the impression that the Twilight series was fantastic. In February of 2008, he told me why Twilight is the worst thing to ever happen to the written word.. and he did not hold back. I totally cried. It was on facebook, and it consisted of three very long wall posts.
     "The books are unhealthy and quite repetitive. There is no character development and the main characters are annoying. Yes I didn't think they were all that bad at first, but things have changed. Again, the only reason girls like the books is because they just sit and picture themselves with Edward. Us guys don't do that ( I didn't anyways) because Bella is whiny and completely helpless, not to mention self destructive."
     That is just a small portion of what he said to me.. even if it all made me cry at the time, I'm definitely a better person for it.

5. He won't get mad when you call him in the middle of the night to cry because your douche-bag boyfriend dumped you over a text message.
     It was around 1:30 am, on a school night, a week or two before finals.. and I just needed to cry and tell someone.. so what did I do? Well, because I am a horribly inconsiderate person, I called my best friend. He answered, didn't get mad, and he listened to me cry like a baby, because that's the kind of boy he is.. the good kind.

6. He has a Kermit the Frog-esque voice.
     Coupled with straight sarcasm, it's an entertaining mix.. and who doesn't love Kermit the Frog?

7. He wants to find Sasquatch, and is kind of obsessed with skinwalkers.
     I will never forget the day he told me about installing (or delivering) something (an air conditioner, maybe?) at the Skinwalker/UFO Ranch. The way his eyes lit up, you would think that he was a child that just met Santa Clause. He's gone skinwalker hunting. He loves the ridiculousness that is Finding Bigfoot. I wouldn't be surprised if he went into the wilderness to practice his squatch calls.

8. He still has a myspace page.
      He has an old school song, a picture of the gate to skinwalker ranch, and his mission address.. And a ton of old pictures of him in ill fitting clothes, and bad hair cuts. Sometimes, as in like maaaaybe once a year, it is almost worth it to remember your myspace password to look at all of the magnificence.

9. He likes to have popcorn for dinner.
     Which is a good thing, because I have witnessed him mess up EasyMac. Yeah, EasyMac.

10. You can win back his friendship with a bag or two of Skittles.
     In high school, I needed a partner for co-ed for cheerleading. Practice every day at 7 am for a week to perform a dance once is not my idea of fun, and that's a lot to ask of a boy.. but I asked Kyle anyway. He showed up for practice, and since he was the smallest boy, the two seniors decided it would be a good idea to have him be the flyer in an all-boy-basket-toss.
     I will never ever ever ever forget the sight of him flopping around like a fish out of water as he flew up in the air. It was mixture of glorious, and hilarious. I still kind of feel bad for asking him to do it.. but only kind of.. to make up for it, I bought him a ton of Skittles, and we are still friends.. so obviously it works.

11. He will sing Disney songs, "I Believe in a Thing Called Love," old school Taylor Swift songs, and Kelly Clarkson's hit single, "Since You've Been Gone" at the top of his lungs with you.

     We made the long voyage from Cedar City to Roosevelt together once.. and if you have never made that drive, let me tell you, it is a long and boring one, but a necessary evil at the time. So, to entertain ourselves, we sang.. to be honest, I'm not sure if you could call that singing, but we did it.. and it remains one of my favorite "road trip" memories.

12. He loves the gospel.
     I can't think of many people that are a better example of loving, and living the gospel than Kyle Joseph. I'm super thankful that I had him to be that example for me.. because without it, I'm not so sure that I would have the relationship that I do with the Savior, and Heavenly Father. Which is kind of a scary thought, because I would definitely be a total hot mess without it.

Those are just twelve of the many reasons that Kyle Joseph is one of my favorite people ever..

and ways that I have taken advantage of our friendship.. I'm kind of a horrible friend like that.

-erica ellen

The Black

The night was cool - a frightening chill, unexplained by simple temperature, hung in the air. My surroundings, once so familiar, now seemed different - dark, and barren. My breath was short, the terrible anticipation gripped my chest, squeezing tighter and tighter until I was hopelessly at the mercy of its overpowering clutches. I knew what I had to do - I had spent many minutes (at least ten) preparing, and yet, I felt unprepared, and unaware of what was ahead of me. My journey was far from over - it hadn't really yet begun. The weight of expectation was heavy on my shoulders, like some sort of really big tortoise that you can't move because it's big...and also really heavy.

It was then that I realized I hadn't yet moved. "How long have I been standing here?" I thought, as I continued to stare straight ahead - looking forward, but wishing to remain behind. Every step forward would be a step toward danger and confusion - I would be walking directly into fear itself. "Let's start small," I said to myself, "just one foot in front of the other. Start with the right foot, its steadying balance will surely be required tonight - it would be wise to start on the right foot. You can do this." I tried, uselessly and unassuredly, to reassure myself, "You can do this. Can I do this? Am I doing this?" I was suddenly aware that my feet were moving - my feet were going where my heart dared not, as if summoned by an unknown source - dark, unseen, and unheard. A mystery to me, this source, to be sure, but not I to it, for it was calling me, pulling me in - closer and closer until all hope was lost, and with it any sort of cogent and coherent thought. I had entered the black - darkness now surrounded me. I could not see. I had my vision of course, but could see nothing. I looked around, but found only confusion, chaos. I pressed forward, I had accepted my fate (or, it had accepted me) and could not turn back now. I felt as if I was in a dream, a nightmare really, and could make no sense of this reality (could it be reality?) - surrounded by so many, yet completely alone - there was so much, and yet there was nothing. I saw many familiar faces - friend or foe I could no longer tell - passing me, following me, smiling - but what truth hid behind each deceiving smile? I could trust no one, of that I was certain, but why I did not know. This is the fate of one such as I on a night such as this. We are all wanderers tonight. We are all alone. On a night like this, the more you surround yourself with the presence of others, the more alone you become - the unnamed, unknown presence has you right where it wants you.

Time passed painstakingly slowly, and yet frighteningly fast. I moved about as though I was in a daze - unaware yet undeterred, a part of reality yet somehow, apart from it. Apart from myself.

If only there were a way to fully explain what I saw on this fateful night. If only I could convey the terror, the horror, the no good, very bad things I witnessed. But there are times when words are not enough, when what we have seen is too gruesome, too frightening, or too disheartening to share. And then there are times when what we witness is all of these. This was one of those times. The words I share with you now do not do this experience justice, and for that, really, we can all be grateful.

Where there had been chaos and confusion, like when you and your siblings realize there is only one cookie left, there was now silence, and stillness, like that awkward moment you make eye contact with a stranger, and you're both like: "This is weird, why are we doing this?" An unexplained moment of expectancy was upon us - my heart raced, my eyes narrowed...my elbow itched, so I scratched it...and I listened. I could almost hear it - impending doom. Certain destruction. Then, in an instant, as if commanded by the voice of the unheard presence itself, the floodgates were opened, and true madness spewed forth. Man, woman, and child pitted against one another in a battle for supremacy, all were alike, all were equal, all were enemies. Friend, family, these terms meant nothing now. Survive. Destroy. Hunt. This is now the world in which I find myself.

I move slowly at first, cautiously, aware that every move I make could very well be my last. I am not where I need to be, where I am supposed to be - my instincts told me it was not safe, so I waited. "One one-thousand, two one-thousand, three one-thousand..." I could wait no longer - had my instincts betrayed me? I had not time to decide - I was off! Keenly aware of my surroundings, yet blind to them, I raced! Nothing could stand in my way, not now, not anymore! My target was in sight, but ah, the horror! The sharks of greed and selfishness circled it, feeding upon the helpless prey like...well...like sharks feeding upon helpless prey. It's worse than I ever imagined, fear, greater than I had ever known overcame me. One more step and I would certainly meet my demise. My instincts, the same instincts I had just questioned, had been protecting me. They had protected me and I had betrayed them - there was no helping me now. It was too late to turn around, too late to accept any other outcome than the one now staring me in the face. I was being pulled into the madness, with a quickness for which I was unprepared - it wouldn't be long now, my misery would surely end soon, the suffering, no doubt, will be brief. Predators don't wait, I will be finished shortly.

But then, in an instant that can only be described as inspiration. Or maybe it was an epiphany.....

But then, in an instant that can only be described as a flash of inspirational epiphany, I thought to myself: "This isn't how I go."

And just like that, I became one with the madness - I was no longer afraid! I was no longer the hunted, I became the hunter. I was not being pulled into the madness, I was creating it. I saw no people, I saw obstacles, but they would not stop me. I pushed, I pulled, I kicked - I crushed. There was no stopping me - there was a fire in my eyes, and my fists of rage knew no bounds - I would succeed. Kill or be killed - the law of the wild. Or don't kill and don't be killed, but do whatever you have to do to destroy the will of your opponents without ending their lives - this is a secret law of the wild that not many people, or wild animals, know about...this was now my law.

My target was once more in sight, but I was not the only one seeking this treasure - the heartless, nameless, shameless monsters of the night stood ready to pounce - on me or the target I did not know, and I would not wait to find out. It started suddenly, in an instant, I had no time to think - I grabbed the nearest bystander, used him as a shield to block the treacherous lunges of my new-found enemies, and snatched my target up. I came and conquered, and would not wait to witness the destruction of a people such as these. I chose my escape route carefully, instantly, and seized my open opportunity - I put an egg in my shoe and beat it. I did not look back, and I would not until I reached higher ground. There was no point, the lesser creatures were being consumed by the madness and I could not bear to witness their demise - I could not bear it because it could have been mine.

This thought may haunt me for the rest of my life.

I sought safety and found solace as I reached high ground. From this vantage point I could see all, but in their fits of uncontrolled rage, these animals, these fanatics could not see me. My pulse was racing, like words coming out of a nervous guy's mouth as he asks a poor, unsuspecting young lady on a date. My senses heightened, I discovered an unexplained urge to join the madness once again, but I refused - this is not sport, it's survival. I had done enough damage for one night, and I still had an escape to make.

The second wave of madness was quickly approaching - the unknown presence called out to me with every passing second: "You are weak. You cannot escape. You know how this will end. You cannot hide. Give up now." Its taunts, although harming my self-esteem, could not derail my plans. I responded to the presence the only way I knew how: "What you say? Get up out my business! I thwarted you and your hoodlums once, I'll do it again. I done told you once you son of a gun, I'm the best there's ever been."

And with that, I was off, it was not time to make my escape, oh no, not yet - but it was time to seek solitude and safety in a place these hooligans would never suspect. I walked directly into the heart of the beast, the source of the flame - I stood face to face with fear. The source of this madness surrounded me, I could feel its awful presence, but I did not fear. Like I always say - the closer we are to danger, the farther we are from harm. Just a little phrase I coined...

I was surrounded by fiends, monsters, and stinky people - I saw them all, but they did not, could not see me. I can avoid being seen if I wish - so that's exactly what I did. Insanity. That is all I heard, all I could see. In this frightful display of pointless derangement I found solace where there was none, safety where it could not be. I would survive.

I knew my time was short, my window of opportunity would soon open, and just as soon close. I must be swift as a coursing river. "One Mississippi, two Mississippi, three Mississippi..." I was off! With all the force of a great typhoon, with all the strength of a raging fire I made my escape! I could not be caught, I could not be touched. Whether I was seen or not I do not know, it did not matter, the plan was in place - there were things then in motion that could not be undone. I made a decision to leave the carnage behind and I would not stop, I would not deviate from my now determined course. Tranquil as a forest I knew I would soon be free, but on fire within I quickened my already quickened pace to almost unthinkable levels - I could see my exit - closing yes, but there nonetheless. Surrounded by a blackness that somehow grew ever darker, I pushed forward. There was a struggle yes, the presence would not let go, and I would not give up.

Finally, after a herculean effort certainly powered by large amounts of turkey, I escaped. The presence no longer had any influence over me, and I stood, breathless yet full of life, back where my journey began. I had returned to where I should have stayed. It's like I always say - once you find your center, you are sure to win.

It was finished.

I had won. I was victorious.

I came, I saw, I conquered.

Morning came quickly - I awoke early, stirred by the harrowing memories of an unspeakable presence, an unfathomable horror. Was it a dream? Surely such terror could not exist in a place such as this. It must have been a dream - a nightmare not to be forgotten.

I looked out the window. This had been no dream.

"A red sun rises. Blood has been spilled this night." I whispered to myself in dreaded awe.

The hypothetical blood of innocent shoppers.

I survived Black Friday (Eve).

The End

p.s. The real title of this post is "Black Friday Eve" but I didn't want to give away the ending...

p.p.s. It may be impossible to separate fact from fiction, it may not always make sense and most of it never happened, but this is based on a true story.

I'm a Human

I think I might be afraid.

Now let me tell you a story.

(I'll be brief)

(....I'll try to be brief)

(Let's just be honest here...I'm not very good at being brief)

I was sitting in a British literature class recently as we discussed a book entitled The Quiet American, and analyzed, as a class, the book's narrator and main character. Throughout the course of our discussion my thoughts kept returning to one particular passage from early on in the book, which gave us necessary insight if we were to understand the character. What's that? You want to read it? Well good, here it is.

"Why should I want to die when Phuong slept beside me every night? But I knew the answer to that question. From childhood I had never believed in permanence, and yet I had longed for it. Always I was afraid of losing happiness. This month, next year, Phuong would leave me. If not next year, in three years. Death was the only absolute value in my world. Lose life and one would lose nothing again forever. I envied those who could believe in a God, and I distrusted them. I felt they were keeping their courage up with a fable of the changeless and the permanent. Death was far more certain than God, and with death there would be no longer the daily possibility of love's dying. The nightmare of a future of boredom and indifference would lift. I could never have been a pacifist. To kill a man was surely to grant him an immeasurable benefit. Oh, yes, people always everywhere loved their enemies. It was their friends they preserved for pain and vacuity."

This passage stood out to me for a number of reasons, but mostly because it somehow sounded very familiar. And then it hit me - this character, in this passage, wasn't talking about himself - he was talking about me. Now, granted, there is nobody sleeping beside me every night (which is good...BYU housing frowns on that sort of thing), I don't have a particular desire to die (in fact, I kind of really like being alive), I have a very strong belief in God, and I don't usually find killing people to be very beneficial. But, despite all of that, I found that I can relate to the essence of the paragraph.

The man speaking in this paragraph is a man who claims to be indifferent, who constantly reminds the reader that he is simply an objective observer, a man who doesn't take sides. He tries to convince the reader, or really himself, that he is not emotionally attached or involved in anything going on around him. But here, perhaps accidentally, he confesses that this is not truly the case. He isn't objective (nobody is), he isn't indifferent, he does take sides and he does find himself emotionally invested. By claiming to be indifferent, by working to convince himself that he doesn't care, what he is really doing is trying to protect himself from loss and from pain.

And I can relate.

Although I typically refuse to admit it, I too am always afraid of losing happiness.

I am afraid of losing happiness.

This is a problem.

This is a problem because when I am afraid of losing something (happiness itself, or a source of happiness), I distance myself from it, thinking that somehow this added distance will make the loss easier to handle. This is a problem because I've unintentionally taught myself to live in such a way that my happiness, for the most part, is replaceable. This is a problem because I seek to convince myself that I don't care, that I too am an objective observer, and that I am not involved. This is a problem because instead of making decisions with the intent of increasing my level of happiness, I find myself making decisions simply to avoid decreasing my level of happiness.

I'm afraid of happiness, because I'm afraid of losing happiness.

I'm afraid to dream, because I'm afraid of unfulfilled dreams.

But really, it's not the happiness that I'm afraid of, and it's not even the loss of happiness. I'm afraid of being vulnerable. I'm afraid of the vulnerability that inevitably comes when placing a certain level of trust in another person. In an earlier post I mentioned wanting to feel vulnerable and safe at the same time, which is an honest desire, but I'm finding more and more that it is this feeling of safety, not vulnerability alone, that I seek. I dread the thought of vulnerability without an accompanying sense of safety. It scares me.

I can't fully explain this to you - although I really wish I could - if you haven't had a similar experience in your pursuit of happiness, then you probably have no idea what I'm talking about. And that's okay.

I also wish I could explain why I need to write all of this, but to be honest, I don't really know. I know I'm writing this for my benefit, but I don't have any solutions, so I don't know what all of this typing will accomplish. If you've survived this post up to this point I thank you - this is all a sort of strange moment of honesty coming from me. This is not an easy thing to talk about - it's very real and very personal, and those are two things I typically try to avoid.

While I don't have many answers, or many adequate explanations, I have learned a few things:

1. Happiness is not meant to simply be replaced. If you're living your life in such a way that your happiness is easily replaced, you'll one day find that the life you lead is not the life you need. Trust me.

2. Happiness without vulnerability, in many instances, is not complete happiness. As we allow ourselves to be vulnerable, we open the door to happiness. As we open the door to happiness, because we are now vulnerable, we run the risk of disappointment and pain. It's complicated, isn't it?

3. We need to learn to trust, and we need to live in such a way that we can always be trusted.

I still feel like something is missing from this post - like this is just a big, incomplete thought, and really, it is. I know that I fear vulnerability, and I know that I enjoy happiness. I know that I try to protect myself from loss and from pain, and I know that by doing so I experience a different kind of loss and disappointment - missed opportunities, and what might have been.

And I know that life is good.

It's simple, really - I am a human, and sometimes it scares me.

"We're never so vulnerable than when we trust someone - but paradoxically, if we cannot trust, neither can we find love or joy."

-Walter Anderson

Also, spiders. I'm afraid of spiders.

......Seriously though, they creep me out.

The Beauty of Letting Go...

...And Our Occasional Inability To Do So

                                                                                                                    

I want to tell you about a man called Ildefonso. I have never met this man, and surely never will, and I share his story hoping to relate it to a topic completely unrelated to his experience. Bear with me and hopefully this will make sense.

(Side note: Everything in regards to Ildefonso's story that I share was shared by a woman named Susan Schaller, who ends up playing a pivotal role in Ildefonso's life.) 

Our story starts in Los Angeles in the late 1970's, Susan Schaller is fluent in sign language (she had learned it sort of by chance) and had just been put into an interpreter training program at an L.A. community college. She walks into a reading skills class and sees kids all over the classroom signing excitedly, but then by the door she sees a man off by himself, holding himself as if he were making his own straightjacket. When Susan asks the professor about this man he (the professor) explains that the man was born deaf and is brought to the school each day by his uncle. As Susan observed this man she noticed that he was studying mouths. She then walked up to him and signed "Hello, my name is Susan."

He looked at her, and instead of signing his name he brought his hands up and signed right back to her "Hello, my name is Susan."

Susan shakes her head and says (signs) "No, no, I'm Susan."

To which he responds "No, no, I'm Susan."

And it occurs to Susan that this man, who she called Ildefonso (we don't know his real name), doesn't have language. He was 27 years old, had never been taught sign language, and didn't know he was deaf. He was born deaf and didn't know that there was such a thing as sound - he could see mouths moving, he could see people responding, and he thought everyone had simply figured this stuff out visually.

Well as you can probably guess, Susan begins to teach Ildefonso sign language, and it's an extremely slow and frustrating process. She took out a book and showed him the sign for book, but he thought she was ordering him to open the book, so he grabbed it and opened it. She would show him the sign for standing and he would think she was telling him to stand, so he would. This process continued for weeks.

Long story short, Susan begins to teach him language. After a few weeks of the slow process mentioned above Ildefonso comes to the realization that everything has a name, and his ability to learn and comprehend language began to slowly improve. Fast forward four or five years - Susan and Ildefonso had gone their separate ways when she decides to write a book about him, so she went and found him again. He has language now - she can carry on a conversation with him and ask him all kinds of questions. The big question was, of course, what is it like to be languageless? What had been going on in his head? Susan explained: "I asked and I asked. And I asked.  And he starts telling me that was the dark time in his life. Learning language is like the lights went on and I tell him, 'well we know about language...we want to know what it’s like not to have language. And he doesn't want to talk about it.'"

Fast forward a couple more years, Susan is talking with Ildefonso, once again about the way he used to think, and has this experience: "He said he can't think the way he used to think, and when I pushed him to talk about what it was like to be languageless, the closest he ever came to any kind of an answer was exactly that. I don't know, I don't remember. I think differently now."

Ildefonso could not remember his old way of thinking - he couldn't recall what it was like to think before he had language. It wasn't simply that he couldn't explain it - he literally could not remember. His old way of thinking - of being - had been replaced.

                                                                                                                    

Now, why am I telling you all of this?

Because so often we look back. We hold on. We remember.

There are things in the past - your past and my past - that we miss, and there are times when we struggle to move on. It may be an ex-girlfriend or boyfriend that you miss, if only for one day; maybe it's an old job that you now know you shouldn't have left; it could be a time, a place, a friend, a class, or a sport - it could be anything. Perhaps you miss something that you never really had - a should-have-been love interest, a dream never realized, or goals never achieved. Or maybe this time it's a little different - maybe, somehow, you're missing something that's still there - a friendship you see changing, a relationship you know has to end, a family member pulling away -- in each case, a distance coming between you and one you care about.

We miss things because we care about them. We look back because, at times, it's easier than looking forward - it seems there are fewer questions in the past, and the questions we find there don't always demand an answer, not anymore. We hold on because there is no promise of something better, no guarantee that we'll find what we're looking for, no assurance that what we found unsuitable in the past will be corrected in the future. We remember because our lives were changed; because really, there's no way to forget.

This experience - looking back, remembering, missing - is different for everyone, and changes depending on the situation. Sometimes we look back with fondness, we're grateful for these experiences and these people. At times we look back with sadness and regret - we see missed opportunities, wasted time, and too many mistakes. Then there are the times when we look back and, for whatever reason and for however long, we wish our past was our present. Unfortunately, during some of these times we may even stop looking to the future completely - we may tell ourselves that there are voids that can't be filled, wounds that will never heal, and that happiness has passed us by - if we aren't careful we may experience fear and doubt to a degree that they become almost paralyzing.

I'm not telling you anything you don't already know - we're all familiar, to some degree, with these feelings and emotions, and usually know how to deal with them. I also don't have any life-changing solution to share with you (although I wish I did, if only for my own benefit. I'm sure your coping strategies are already more successful than anything I've come up with) - mostly, I think, I'm just walking myself through my own head, trying to sort through the mess that is my brain. And here's what I've decided

We need to remember - we need to look back. 

We have to look forward.

There are lessons to be learned from the past. Experiences and people that have shaped us, and taught us; corrected and protected us - these can't simply be forgotten, or ignored. We can learn from the good times and the bad - how to treat others, the type of treatment we each deserve, how to act and react in certain situations, how to avoid heartache and failure in the future, what we're looking for, what we now know we ought to become, weaknesses that need strengthening, and strengths that can carry us through the obstacles that are sure to come. As we look to the past we can discover a map for the future. We can discover ourselves.

I am convinced that the regret we experience - the pain we feel - will not be permanent. Ildefonso, the man from the beginning, spent 27 years without language - he didn't know words existed, he didn't know there were sounds, or names; he didn't know how to communicate with those around him, and nobody knows how or in what manner he thought. But, after 27 years of both literal and figurative silence, 27 years of what he described as darkness, he found language (or rather, language found him) - he found light. His old way of thinking, whatever it was, was eventually replaced by something better. He couldn't remember his life before language because the void was filled, because he found what was missing.

I am certain that the same will be true for us - voids will be filled, wounds will heal, and happiness will abound. I don't mean to suggest that we will forget every problem from our past, or that we will never experience regret again - I simply believe that as we do all in our power to move forward, things will work out. Lessons will be learned and we will move on. We will find what we're looking for, and so much more.

Our problems from the past will be replaced by the better things - the things we were looking for all along.

This is the hope that keeps me looking forward, even when I can't stop looking back.

I don't know how it will all work out, but I'm certain that it will. I believe that, and I hope you do too.

We've got to.

"It is for us to pray not for tasks equal to our powers, but for powers equal to our tasks, to go forward with a great desire forever beating at the door of our hearts as we travel toward our distant goal."

-Hellen Keller