“Are you sure you want to
decline your acceptance to Brigham Young University Provo?”
Yes. And no.
Maybe. I’m probably more unsure about this than I have been about anything in a
while. Because guess what? I was a senior in high school. I knew where I was, I
had my girlfriends by my side, my parents…I belonged somewhere. The swaying
fields and fresh cut alfalfa, the little red swing atop a gritty sand pile, the
theater stage hot with lights, the winding roads of the Divide and my little
tank, the heater and blanket and late night talks with momma. They owned me.
Heart and soul. How was I supposed to be
sure about jumping from the one thing that was going to be constant? I was
going to grow up, attend BYU, and then go to Law School. Live in New York.
Not Idaho. And
yet, that is exactly was I was going to do. Because the little essay I was
writing called “the simple, beautiful, finding myself years at Weber” was coming
to a close. It had reached its 3,000 words and it was time to turn it in.
That’s what I
feel like my life is like. A few well written essays, some photojournalism, and
a short story or two. And a lot of ramblings. It’s like little chapters of a
novel that is still being written. How did I get here? What now? Where am I
going? Sometimes I wonder that too. Especially the “where am I going” bit.
Chapter one: a perfectly
on-time baby is born 30 minutes after her mother’s arrival at hospital. She
gurgles and laughs and her sisters put headbands on her bald head. Colorado is
good to her.
Chapter two: a
bare-foot childhood is spent running around a storybook neighborhood, chasing
the mailman and jumping on trampolines. She’s pretty confident. And precocious.
Most of the time she just doesn’t care if the man fixing the lights in the
basement wants to hear her stories or not.
Chapter three:
Huntsville. Paved roads gave way to dirt fields. The little girl danced and
swung until she grew up. She loved that family that she called her own. And
they went adventuring almost every day.
Chapter four:
that one time when she went to junior high. Because that time was hard. And
somehow, no matter how high the swings took her, she could never get back the
beautiful, bright-eyed child she was. She was plain and awkward and
self-conscious. No fun.
Chapter five:
her feet found the stage and her voice found a song. And the stage and the song
found her friends. Good ones. Gorgeous girls full of life and love and
happiness. And they loved her, for just being her. And she slowly gave herself
permission to be her again. The bright-eyed child. Because they said it was ok.
And she danced. It was an exquisite and charming little time.
Chapter six:
college came. And somehow, between classes and working and living she became
herself. Little things she had wanted and worked on, people were suddenly
complimenting her on! This was fabulous. And she had her first boyfriend. What?
Guys asked her on dates? Yep. She loved life and it loved her right back.
Chapter seven: passing
buckets full of mud and water, she found a part of herself she never knew. Her soul
soaked up the joy, love, vibrancy and hope from those who were rich with
poverty. She has to reclaim that part of herself often…the being under the Kenyan
sun and breathing warm air and thinking new thoughts and loving people who were
suddenly no longer strangers part. Because sometimes it gets lost or forgotten.
Chapter 8: although
she has some big plans for this part, it hasn’t actually happened yet. So she
keeps dreaming with her eyes wide open. Ready.
So I guess that's where I can from. Kinda. And as I sit here in my forth-floor apartment, I'm grateful for it. Because yeah, I might be a little crazy. and temperamental. and probably annoying. But I'm optimistic. and driven. and hopeful for the future. And that's enough.
