My Birthdays...

Are like milk.

For the following reasons:

1. They are very very very white.

2. They make some people uncomfortable.

3. There is that fateful day when, without warning, they go from fresh to disgusting and everyone's so intrigued by how appalling it is, they wave it in the air and ask you and everyone else to smell it about a million times.

That day has magically arrived for me. 

I'm not old. I'm not even close. In most places, my life hasn't even started yet. Here at BYU, though, to have gotten to this age and be unmarried is... well, an anomaly. My mom called me today and told me she found a bowl my Grandmother wanted me to have for my wedding and did I just want it now? 

I guess 24 is the age at which Mormondom relinquishes hope of your ever being married. . . or it's a rite of passage.

The first thought I had was obviously a little harsh. "Looks like I'm done here, time to start picking out cats and making them dress up and reenact my favorite scenes from Pride and Prejudice," but no. I feel like a grown-up! I feel like I'm being taken seriously and I even have a real resume. That was maybe the scariest realization of all: my resume could be taken seriously. It has all kinds of things like a foreign language and a graduation date and complete lack of babysitting.

I AM JESSICA: THE ADULT.

I have my own friends and credit cards and keys and I'm here kick life's butt.

Listicle

In my recent writing class, we discussed genre, one of which was something called a "listicle" or an article in list form. I thought the topic was so fun I decided to create my own. Here is my listicle. Enjoy!

A Short List of Things I Lost From ADHD

• About 2-3 books I swear I used to own
• One sweater
• 3 pairs of misplaced pants
• One shoe. WTF?
• Around $58.72 in varied currency... some of which is (was) foreign...
• Friends
• The first 5 minutes of everything I've ever gone to
• Bobby pins and hair ties
• 5 retainers
• Countless homework assignments that were completely finished
• The last half of every thought I've ever. . . 
• Tofu

A Short List of Things I've Gained from ADHD

• About $35.87 most of which was loose change in odd places I was staring at too hard
• Intrigued followers
• One shoe. WTF?
• 20-27 books whose owners now stand forgotten
• Really nasty looking bobby pins and hair ties
• A billion really amazing unfinished projects
• Much time spent daydreaming or eating (usually during the first 5 minutes of something I'm supposed to be at)
• Enemies
• Tofu

To those of us who contemplate our comma in the sentence of eternity,

For each breath in, take two breaths out
And slowly fade away.
Your burdens will get heavier
Day by painful day.

You give your food to others who
would have you starve as well
Gray gets only grayer in
the very depths of hell.

Search, contemplate your dark abyss
You'll find no sure way out.
Life lived in colorless expanse
Is worse than death or drought.

Though leave you can't, you'll comfort find
In echos or the hand
That reaches in and hold your heart.
And maybe then you can

At least exist. At least go on.
At least for one more day.
You're stronger than you were before
So [slowly] wend your way.

Light ahoy? Perhaps it's still
too early to be told.
But light I'll find, I'm sure I will.
At least I can grow old.

There's something about not only knowing where you are, but having the comfort that others know as well. It makes the ignorance we suffer feel less catastrophic. It makes us feel we are valid WITH trials we face. The moment we allow ourselves to have problems is the moment we can remove the weighty label of guilt on our already heavy, mortal baggage. It's the moment we stop looking for a non-existent exit, all the while cursing the pieces of us that get in the way, and turn instead towards accepting what we have and doing what we can: moving, however slowly it may be.

After all, when looking back on someone's life or even while they're still alive, we rarely define them by what they have failed to accomplish. When asked "Who is she?" we never say "Well, she's not a pianist, she's never hiked Mt. Kilimanjaro, and her name isn't and never will be Suzie." With a few exceptions, we define people by what they are accomplishing or have accomplished. "Well, she's this awesome girl who's studying English Teaching. She speaks Chinese and has the coolest family ever and the most awesome friends. She's an artist, musician, writer, runner, and super nerdy. Although she's vain enough to write paragraphs about how great she is, she's pretty cool."

Be

Philosophy for the day.

Today while coming home from work I found myself humming one of my all time favorite songs from Donavan:

Happiness runs in a circular motion

Thought is like a little boat upon the sea

Everybody is a part of everything anyway

You can have everything if you let yourself be.

In the original version, the last word is "see," but my mom always sang it "be." I was struck by the last line by seeing things a way I never have before. I've always read it as "You can have everything if you let yourself be happy," but I think a more powerful way of reading it is this: "You can have everything if you let yourself alone."

There's a lot to be said about letting yourself be happy, about not stressing about the unimportant things. However, the way we do that is never something easy to find. The way we let ourselves be happy is to let go of ourselves. Let your life be about what someone else needs and your needs will be drastically less remarkable to you.

In sticking to the original "see," see the world around you. Don't think about yourself in terms of one. If you allow yourself to see others and be a useful part of society, you can have it all. By having a hand in the lives of others, you become a part of each other. The more you help and the more you give, the more you are fulfilled and the more you receive.

The Nature of a Poem

A poem is a silly thing

It’s made straight from emotion.

Not really words, not really form

It’s something like an ocean.

A poem is a vastish thing

And yet it is so tiny.

It means so much in one small life,

But on the page is finey.

A poem is a fiercish thing

A nail made of words.

Tis true it’s small, but when it pushed,

The point comes through in thirds.

A poem is a growing thing

What comes out comes in.

It’s meant to let emotions out,

But that is what it brings.

Reflections on Age

It is a supreme goal of mine to absolutely never become old without first obtaining and maintaining a convincing, if not tried and true, English accent. Somehow, you can't really be decrepit then. I've been spending a lot of time where you hear people get so old that they start over-pronouncing their "r's" so much they sound like they're not only really close to dying, they're also extremely uneducated. They could be talking about the historiographical morphology of Ovid's Metamorphoses, and you still think to yourself, "Poor old guy. It would suck to lose your mind like that." If, however you happen to have a high English accent at around 87, you're suddenly the Queen. Then, you could tell people that Swiss cheese is the new California State Flower and people would admire your grace and elegance instead of realizing what Swiss cheese has to do with flowers or California and why in the world that could possibly be the Queen of England's business. Yes, it's much better to be a respected idiot than a forgotten scholar.

Prelude to Poem

I went for my first bike ride of the season yesterday; Mother Nature's been pretty brutal up until now. I went over this little bridge into a park and found an arch of trees with a tinsy little path going through it. I followed it in, and just as I suspected: it was a portal into a fairy kingdom! It had a stream and small paths and some lovely benches. And best of all, everything was green and alive. And secluded. It was like a little room of living green. I sat there for a while and knew I had to write a poem when I got back. So here it is!