A self portrait

I started this blog during a major several major life transitions. Writing was almost like a way to survive. To not self implode.

I guess it is just my way of reconciling the experiences. Figuring out what they mean to me and accepting them and moving forward ... hopefully a better person than before.


I had so much to say and to get out and truth be told there was probably a whole lot of over-sharing. But I was just being true to my form... I usually wear my heart on my sleeve with few exceptions.

But writing has been so absent in my life. And it is not that I didn't want to. I just didn't feel the right kind of inspiration. Or the right reasons.  I can't really actually put my finger on it to be honest.

Maybe just too "busy".
....
There is a pulling need to write. It seems like I always need to write when my life changes perspective. For the past several years I have lived the single life. It feels like a morphed into a million different versions of myself. And not in a weird schizophrenic way.. but more in a way to figure out who I am. And that is still an ongoing process ... as it should be.

                                                                                                                       Obviously lessons and becoming who we presently are doesn't happen in an instant but rather very slowly over time. Almost so slow it is hard to notice until you reach a pivotal point or something you have been hoping and dreaming and waiting for. I guess that it is the same reason why I am not very good at writing in the everyday moments. Because it is hard to know which everyday moments will offer the most significance.                                                                                                                             Or the ones that you value and want to keep. But maybe it is those everyday moments that need to be documented. Maybe those are really the ones that make the most difference in a person's life.

Because a "looking back on it" perspective makes it easier to sift out the fine details to get the overall picture BUT you lose those everyday details... which at the end of the day is what the sum total of our lives are all about. And those small memories and moments are some of the best and most treasured.

And they have the most impact.

Maybe one day (tomorrow or when I am old and senile) I will write more about the last few years of my life but for now consider all these selfies an update.

Oh, and that "life changing perspective thing...  I got married... more on that I am sure when I get around to it :)

#2054

13 more hours until I begin my first marathon.

There is a lot of fear in the space of anticipation. Fear of wondering what it is really like to push through the final miles. Fear of wondering what I am really made of. Although, I don't think I am afraid of failing. I think I am more afraid of what it is going to take to finish. It's hard to really know for sure though.

All I know is that I am feeling something very unpleasant inside.

I started training in June, when running a mile felt like torture. I will never forget one of those first early morning runs when I sat down on a rock feeling defeated before I even really started. I would I ever run 26.2 miles if I struggled to run 2 or 3? What did I sign myself up for? Why was I doing this?

I feel a little the same way today... just 13 hours away... only this time I have miles and miles of training behind me.. which is keeping me from coming completely undone.

"Try and keep trying until that which seems difficult seems possible." -President Uchdorf

A marathon before a few months ago seemed like something beyond my reach. It seemed like complete insanity. I guess the insanity part has not changed but the difference is that it is complete insanity that I am willingly walking running into.

And now after all those early mornings, after all those long runs, the hills, the aches and pains, and the mental battles,

I am here.

Here waiting to prove to myself that I can do anything that I set my mind and heart to. That I can accomplish something beyond what I thought I was capable of. Here's to hoping that I will become someone stronger. Here's to hoping that I can become someone I can be proud of. Here's to finishing 26.2 miles at age 26 and 2 months old... that's got to be some form of lucky mojo :)

How I Ended Up Singing at a Stranger's Funeral and also Attending a 12-Step Program.

I stayed out really late on Friday. So late that despite smelling like campfire, I rolled up into my freshly washed sheets and passed out.

I woke up later that usual on Saturday and I would have slept in longer except I had to go practice the song I was finagled into singing today in church. As we were practicing, there walked across the back of the chapel, a women carrying flowers on a cart. Of course I had to ask if there was a wedding to which she replied, "No, a funeral."

Um, awkward.

Ten minutes went by while we still practiced and she still worked on setting everything up when she approached us again and explained that she was setting everything up for her mother's funeral. She asked, "Will you ladies please sing?" She then went on to explain that the musical number which was arranged fell through at the very last minute. She also explained that the song we were singing, "Love at Home" was one of her mother's favorites.

How could we dream of saying no? Can you imagine burying your mother, on mother's day weekend, trying to have a beautiful day to remember her and have the musical number cancel on you at the last minute? We cleared time in our schedules and agreed to do it. We had a couple hours before the funeral to go home and make ourselves look presentable. I am proud to report that I did shower before coming to the rehearsal and didn't torture the others with my musty campfire aroma but didn't go much beyond by way of making myself look presentable. My hair really doesn't do the whole air dry thing so well and I have to admit it wasn't my cutest moment to be in public much less performing a musical number.

On the way out to my car, I ran into a missionary couple in the parking lot. They looked lost and asked me if they found the right church building. Being in Utah it is easy to get the Mormon church buildings mixed up and confused. I asked them if they were there for a funeral. "No, we are here for the the 12 Step Addiction Recovery Program group meeting." My interest and curiosity peaked as I peppered them with questions about it. They invited my to sit in on the group to see what it was all about. It was an invitation that I gladly accepted.

I probably could go on longer that I should about my experience there and won't. To be honest, it feels too special to share... weird, I know. I always share details. But I will say that it was an amazing and humbling experience to sit with complete strangers and witness their courage to accept that they have a problem and make the decision to exist on the brutal, uncomfortable, and scary road to addiction recovery.

It took me back to a time that I struggled with an addictive lifestyle, an eating disorder. I remember my road to recovery and realized that these people were just like me, only the me several years ago, completely enslaved to those behaviors and struggling to see any sort of happy, healthy life beyond them. And then it hit me, not for the first time, but harder than ever before: I am not captive to those demons any more. I have been freed. I have been healed. And I was able to share my story of hope with those who are struggling just like I did. And it felt so wonderfully good.

I am looking into being more involved with the program as a facilitator. It's a new passion and a new cause. More on that later I am sure.

So back home I quickly ran to pull myself together for the funeral.

Her name was Margaret. She was tall. Humorous. Fashionable. Loving. Full of grace and charity. She was a woman that I had never met but felt as though I knew her. So surreal. I decided that I wanted to be like this woman. To live a life like hers. Imperfect yet complete because she ultimately knew what things mattered most. It was obvious by the way she made others around her feel.

Yesterday reminded me that life is beautiful. Unexpected. And to be cherished. Yesterday reminded me of the messy process we are going through to become something, someone better.

Life sure is good.

The Savior never fails me. Even though I fail miserably in doing so, I know that I can explicitly trust Him and He will NEVER betray my "faulty"  confidence.

It's November again. A year down and gone by.

Strange.

Surreal. 

Yeah, I just used two words that mean practically the same thing, so take your pick.

Time has a way of healing the heart.

...life since last November, has been beautiful in an ugly sort of way. I guess that may not make any sense to anyone except myself but it doesn't matter because somehow verbalizing it that way creates clarity and some peace of mind at the moment.

The gamut of emotions this year brought made me feel like I am more than only halfway human and somehow I was able to come back to life in a lot of ways- somehow I started to see color again.

It's not the November of last year and knowing that gives me all sorts of freedom. It's funny how life ebbs and flows between happiness and sadness.

Today I accept that quality about this human experience.

So, here's to a sweet November.

... First inclination was that someone stole my identity and was living it up somewhere in Kansas or Oklahoma...

My phone rang early this morning from a number I didn't recognize.

"Who would be calling me this early in the morning?" I thought to myself.

I answered the phone to an automated message from my insurance company telling me that there was an out of state license in my name. I was told to stay on the line until a representative was available to talk with me. First inclination was that someone stole my identity and was living it up in somewhere is Kansas or Oklahoma.

Apparently however, the license on file was from Michigan under the alias of my married name. Which makes sense, because when I signed up for my insurance I was still technically married ... I guess though I thought I had already went through the process of changing everything over to my new/old name.

And going through that process was not fun. The universal response at any agency, whether at the social security office or the DMV or this morning with my insurance company was some variation of, "Congratulations, did you get married?"

"No, divorced."

Today, giving that response cut me deep. Really deep. And maybe that's because I was already down from the events of the previous night. This morning I didn't wake up to an alarm -- I woke up to tears. It reminded me of this time last year when I started waking up to my tears on a consistent and regular basis.

I tried my best to pull myself together but I was coming apart by the seams. I got ready for work and my sweet roommate made me tea and empathized when I told her what happened. I left my apartment with all the courage I had to face the day -- which was wasn't much. When I got to the parking lot at work I couldn't get out of my car. My phone rang and it was my boss telling me that he was running a little late but from the sound of my voice he could tell that something was wrong. Something was very wrong.

For the next hour or so we sat in cafe of the office building next to ours. I had my head down on the table and cried and cried and cried. I didn't even care that I was in a public setting, or that my boss was sitting across from me and other people were around.

No dignity. Just overwhelmed by an unshakable hurt.

Today was an ugly day in my life. Today I forgot what the meaning of courage and hope are.

I was unfortunate enough to be a victim of the following awkward conversation...

Tonight after the broadcast of Women's Conference, a lady from my sister's ward asked if I was married or single. A question to which I replied, "single".

She then proceeded to tell me about a lady in their ward who was 40, single, and recently engaged. When this woman announced her engagement in Relief Society, they cheered and rooted her on as if she just scored the winning touchdown at a football game. I wasn't sure where she was going with her touching little hallmark-movie-plot story until she closed it out with this 'inspirational' remark, "So, don't worry sweetheart and don't give up."

Seriously? I am only 25.

On another note, can I say that I have a crush on President Uchdorf? Yep, I do and I totally just said that. Is it because of his thick molasses German accent? Possibly. Is it the thick salt and pepper mane? Possibly. Is it because he was once a fighter pilot? Definitely. Is it because he obviously is in touch with what women want and need to hear? Absolutely.

But I think nothing is as attractive as a solid god-fearing righteous dude. Jus sayin.