Choose Something Like a Star - Robert Frost

Choose Something Like a Star

by Robert Frost - 1947

O Star (the fairest one in sight), 
We grant your loftiness the right 
To some obscurity of cloud -- 
It will not do to say of night, 
Since dark is what brings out your light. 
Some mystery becomes the proud. 
But to be wholly taciturn 
In your reserve is not allowed.

Say something to us we can learn 
By heart and when alone repeat. 
Say something! And it says "I burn." 
But say with what degree of heat. 
Talk Fahrenheit, talk Centigrade. 
Use language we can comprehend. 
Tell us what elements you blend.

It gives us strangely little aid, 
But does tell something in the end. 
And steadfast as Keats' Eremite, 
Not even stooping from its sphere, 
It asks a little of us here. 
It asks of us a certain height, 
So when at times the mob is swayed 
To carry praise or blame too far, 
We may choose something like a star 
To stay our minds on and be staid.

End of Day

This is end of day. When everything in me hurts, particularly my stomach, and my eyes are just tired. When I spend my time doing nothing, because I can't bring myself to do anything, but I'm too tired for sleep.When I want to play video games, or make some phone calls, but there isn't anyone awake. When I want to eat nothing, and everything. And that time when my mascara has created little black half moons under my eyes, like the ones drawn on in old silent movies, that I say I like but I don't. There are a lot of things I say I like but I don't: coffee more expensive than the gas stations, music that's too loud and too harsh, and eating lunch with people that don't really care what I think.

That being said though, I've always been one of those night kids. The morning feels too bitter and cold, but night feels like a pair of old sweats that feels just right, even though wearing them makes you feel adolescent and cheap. Most of the time, I hate the word nice. It feels awkward and too concise, like stiff stretched collars. It may look appealing, but it isn't me. I am not refined or clean cut. And most of the time, I don't care at all.

I like my people like I like my journals. Spine broken, smudges, and just honest. And tonight is just one of those nights.

Past Prayers

Today, I walked onto campus and was surprised at what I found. I had forgotten about this cross. Every year, one of the Christian churches around town puts this out and asks people to write prayers. And I remembered.

Last year ago, today, feeling lost and desperate, I hastily scribbled "Help me find something to believe in." I stuck it to the cross and forgot about it. Until today.

I feel as though I must express my gratefulness today, for the peace I have found. I am so grateful that I am no longer the person I was a year ago, racked with guilt and depression, and feeling very much alone. A lot has changed in my life, since that day, and I have to say, I don't regret a thing. I am so grateful to the people around me, who have helped me through this. I am so grateful to feel like I have a place in this world and this universe. And I am grateful for my optimism about the human race.

So, all those around me, if you would like to send out a message of what you really need, feel free to write in a comment here. And who knows, maybe it will find it's way around to you. Like mine did.

Poetry

I'm writing about something that most people don't seem to like much, at least, didn't when we were younger. I remember in our 11th grade English class, Mrs. Morrison would stand up and announce that that day, we were analyzing poetry. Everyone would fidget just a little, and wish they were somewhere else.

However, one day, she pulled out this particular poem. I realize it's much more famous than I ever knew, but it was the poem that changed my mind.

Bent double, like old beggars under sacks,
Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge,
Till on the haunting flares(2) we turned our backs
And towards our distant rest(3) began to trudge.
Men marched asleep. Many had lost their boots
But limped on, blood-shod. All went lame; all blind;
Drunk with fatigue; deaf even to the hoots(4) 
Of tired, outstripped(5) Five-Nines(6) that dropped behind.
Gas!(7) Gas! Quick, boys! – An ecstasy of fumbling,
Fitting the clumsy helmets(8) just in time;
But someone still was yelling out and stumbling,
And flound'ring like a man in fire or lime(9) . . .
Dim, through the misty panes(10) and thick green light,
As under a green sea, I saw him drowning.
In all my dreams, before my helpless sight,
He plunges at me, guttering,(11) choking, drowning.
If in some smothering dreams you too could pace
Behind the wagon that we flung him in,
And watch the white eyes writhing in his face,
His hanging face, like a devil's sick of sin;
If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood
Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs,
Obscene as cancer, bitter as the cud(12) 
Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues,
My friend, you would not tell with such high zest(13) 
To children ardent(14) for some desperate glory,
The old Lie; Dulce et Decorum est
Pro patria mori.(15)

Wilfred Owen
8 October 1917 - March, 1918

It's hauntingly beautiful. 

Mrs. Morrison once described poetry as language under a microscope. That succinctness was the most important quality. You needed to say what you needed to in as few words as possible, 

The other day as I was driving home, I started realizing that we all collect little phrases. It's why so many old wives tales keep around. And these little phrases keep us grounded, and we wear them like armor. They're the advice we tell to our children and our friends. And for whatever reason, they ring true with us. 

Here is a few of my phrases:

"it was only ever thus".-Snow Patrol, The President

"we are all pieces of broken china, waiting for the chintz and lemon to soak through..." Toby Barlow, Sharp Teeth

"It is an aching kind of growing." -John Steinbeck, East of Eden

"How fickle my heart, and how woozy my eyes." -Mumford and Sons, Awake My Soul

Many, many more. They are not quotes, per say, but little words to dwell on, I think. A safety net for me.  

The Great Unknowing

Okay, I have to admit, this is the scariest blog post I have written yet. I can't remove it from me and I can't be funny about it. This is just me answering the questions that have been asked of me so much lately. And it's all the raw emotion I can't bring myself to say in regular conversation.

Here it is:

This is my story of why I decided to walk away from the LDS church.

I grew up in the LDS church, born and raised. Just like everyone around me. The small town I grew up in has about 8000 people in it. I don't know the exact percentages, and I don't want anyone to argue semantics with me, so I'm going to just say this: the incredible majority of people I knew were LDS. Everybody had a ward, everybody went to Sunday School. People were just expected to go. And in some ways, that was extremely unifying. And in others, it wasn't..

For those of you who don't know, the Mormon church doesn't just abide by the Ten Commandments. There's a whole other set of rules that I don't think that non-mormons aren't ever really conscious of. The most poignant example of this is the Strength of Youth pamphlet, which was passed around incessantly as I grew up.

This pamphlet is not malicious. It does not say anything horrible or inherently awful. It's the social stigma that follows this pamphlet that always made me uneasy. There are no hard and fast rules. Avoid extremes in appearance is one of the things outlined. But what is an extreme? I never thought anything I wore was particularly extreme. But I could see my mother's disappointment when I got ready in the morning. Black again? Striped tights? TO CHURCH? This frustrated me. I didn't have gauges, I didn't wear a Shakira onesie. But I always sort of wanted to.

Oh, but doesn't she look fine....

And that is a major problem. Because outlined in the doctrine is the underlying thought that even thinking about or wanting something against God's will is just as bad as committing the sin. I think it comes from this passage of the Bible, but I'm not particularly sure.

 Matthew 5:28 But I say unto you, That whosoever ^alooketh on a ^bwoman to ^clust after her hath committed ^dadultery with her already in his heart.

That seems rather harsh. Espeically if it occurs straight across the board: if I wanted to get an extra piercing: UNRIGHTEOUS DESIRE. If I wanted a tattoo: UNRIGHTEOUS DESIRE. If I ever wanted to drink: UNRIGHTEOUS DESIRE.

And these were all sins. Through out all of middle and high school, I was plagued by an awful guilt sprial. Mostly because what I wanted to be as an adult looked like this:

Open back dress? UNRIGHTEOUS DESIRE.

Shocking gorgeous tattoo? UNRIGHTEOUS DESIRE.

 And none of that was church sanctioned. Right about the age of fourteen, I began inhaling fashion magazines and books. They became my taste of what the "real world" was like. The real world was a magical place for me, and one I dreamed of often.

It was a place where I could wear clothing I liked and not be judged for it. Where I could have intelligent conversations with people about things that were taboo in Mormon culture. (Like sex or science, for example.) Where the second question out of people's mouths wasn't, "Are you LDS?" Where discussions about incredibly tedious parts of "the doctrine" didn't happen. (So if dressing immodestly is a sin, is being naked a sin? Or only being naked in public? Was my doctor seeing me naked a sin? What about changing in the school play....?)

I fell in love with the notion of this place and there were very key media influences that played into this.
-Ray Bradbury's Dandelion Wine
-Teen Vogue
-F. Scott Fitzgerald's The Great Gatsby
-George Orwell's 1984

I began realizing that there were entire sections of life that I would miss out on if I never stepped outside of the Mormon religion. There was parts of me I could never understand if I never stepped outside.

So I started to. I began swearing in the 6th grade. I became friends with non-mormons, just to see what they were about. I made dirty jokes.

And I waited for the axe to fall. My religious upbringing had taught me that wickedness never was happiness, so there was no way I was going to escape unscathed. And for a while, I attributed what I should have realized was bad hormones and timing, to God's revenge upon me.

This was roughly how it went:

Try something new and slightly rebellious.

Feel bad.

Guilt myself into depression.

Attribute that depression to God's rage.

And then "repent".

Start over.

And then something happened. I don't know when exactly, but I started realizing that my depression and anxiety wasn't God's punishment. It was my body coping with all the shit that comes with puberty. It was me trying to get a grasp on how large and vast the world was. And I began realizing other things too.

This was right around the time that I met Chapman White. Chapman is one of my dearest and most loving friends, and I don't think he'll ever completely understand how much I love him.  Chapman is a proverbial rock. Nothing shakes him. And I began realizing that Chapman was one of the most open and loving and hardworking (I really could sing his praises for days.) people I knew. And shocker: he wasn't Mormon.

WAIT, WHAT? PEOPLE COULD BE HAPPY AND NOT BE MORMON.

I know, this seems SO stupid, but it was a BIG deal to me. And suddenly my two worlds started to converge. I could have the future I wanted. I could be happy. If only I let this Mormon dream go.

But I couldn't. It was so deeply engrained. Stay religious, get married (IN THE TEMPLE), have six hundred babies, die surrounded by posterity. But I didn't want that.

I wanted to be sexy, successful, single. I wanted to gorgeous, and seductive. I wanted to be a film noir goddess. I wanted to be intelligent, extremely well-read. I wanted to be tactful and tolerant. I wanted to have a husband some day, but not necessarily children. And mostly I wanted the ability to say "I don't know." I wanted to be able to throw my head up to the sky and say, "I don't know how this got here." I wanted to be able to look at a person of another religion and say, "I don't know which of our attitudes is correct." I wanted to be able to hang out with goths, beatniks, muslims, ANYONE.

And I began realizing that life was all sensations and moments. And if I just embraced them, and stopped worrying about whether what I was doing was appropriate, I enjoyed it more. And I enjoyed the hell out of my last two years of high school. I really did. Me and my friends tried to rip Morgan from the ground up. We ran around in the rain, and swore and were just young, all over the floor.

And then I went to college. And I met some people. John Stuart and Lissa Jones and others. So many people who changed my reality significantly. John was gay. And John was fetching awesome. Lissa was crazy, but that's why I loved her. And I realized that I was okay with homosexuality. And that coffee didn't create murderers. And that not everyone who drank was an alcoholic who  beat their kids. And that I didn't want to be around depressing people. And slowly, but surely, the blinders started coming off..

And slowly, I became happier.

And then weirdly enough, I feel right back into that guilt spiral somewhere around November of last year. I looked around Cedar City and wondered why I hadn't been asked on a date in 2 years. And  I began to believe that my limited success in college and in dating had to be because of my lack of faith. Maybe this was payback for all those years. So I threw myself back into church, I met with my bishop constantly. I went to activities. I started trying to date LDS guys.

And when none of this worked out, I felt myself resenting the church. Because when I put minimal effort into the church, I expected minimal results. But there was another scripture that was troublesome. It said that God was bound to keep his promises when you lived your life accordingly. I had completely gotten my life together. I was temple worthy for the first time in years.

And I was miserable.. I found myself sitting in church meetings wishing I was playing video games. I was stressed and inconsistent.

And I started wondering if God kept his promises. And I began realizing that God had a pretty sweet system. People could look around at the beauty around them and say, "Oh God is truly wonderful. Look at how beautiful his creations are!". But if anything was unappealing or tragic, (cancer for example), God got off scotch-free. He didn't create evil things, those things were just bad luck. How convenient. And if he didn't answer your prayers? You probably weren't praying hard enough. Your life was kind of sucky? It was your fault for not taking the responsibility.

So if all of the bad things in my life were my fault, why not just take credit for the things that were good? Friends that loved me, grades I worked hard for, etc. What if God had nothing to do with anything?

What if God didn't exist?

I read Julia Sweeney's Letting Go of God. I inhaled Richard Dawkins, starting with God Delusion. And science made a whole lot of sense. If everything just evolved, there was no right or wrong, per say. There were moral things, which have value, but no moral is more valuable than another. And homosexuality wasn't wrong, it was just an interesting gene. I've laid out the rules I live by in another post, so I won't go over them here. But I will say this:

I am an atheist. I am not an atheist because I am certain God doesn't exist. I don't know that, and I never expect to. I am an atheist because I believe that if we lived in a world where people truly believed that whatever happened on this planet began and ended with them, if there was no magical judgement chamber waiting for them at the end of their lives, they would work harder to be fulfilled. They would not spend time trying to get an invisible man to forgive them, they would ask forgiveness of each other. If they thought that this was it, they would work to ensure that they packed every moment they could full of joy.

And maybe they wouldn't wait around for God to cure them. Like my brother, or me, or any number of my friends that I won't mention here.

Maybe we could all just live. And love each other.

And maybe, when I told people I was an atheist, instead of being told I am a disappointment, I would be welcomed by the people I know.

I am happier here, as a an atheist than I have been in years. I wrote this post so that hopefully, people can understand.

All I ask, is that you be happy for me, too.
And keep that disappointment to yourself. 

Ideals of Beauty

So, I have a conversation fairly often about who the most beautiful women are. I think maybe it's because I'm very into fashion or work in theatre, but people seem to want to know. So here goes, my ideals of beauty in order.

I'll say right now, if I could be anyone, it would be Rooney Mara.

I think she's stunning, whether she looks like this. Or like this:

There is something about her that is just spectacular. And I don't know what it is. Closely following in second place is Cate Blanchett.

And then, Jessica Pare.

A New Beginning

I've just finished The Perks of Being a Wallflower by Stephan Chbosky. For the record, I read it in a span of exactly 9 hours, in which 4 of those I was working. I simply couldn't stop. When Lissa told me that it would change my life, I thought she was being dramatic, as Lissa is occasionally wont to do. (Or most of the time. It's okay, darling, it's why I love you. Also, because you're fabulous. Also, crazy.)

She wasn't.

Wallflower is a difficult pill to swallow, simply because Chbosky has bottled the way I thought as a teenager, the insecurities, the emotion, everything I felt then.

It was uncomfortable, I'll be honest. It was not pleasant to dredge up the feelings of vast insecurity and loneliness that occasionally plagued me in my lower teenage years. (Give me a break, I'm a month from being 20.) I remember what it was like, to wonder if I was normal, if these daydreams I had in my head made me crazy. Or the fact that sometimes, I just talked too much and I couldn't stop, even when I knew I was making everyone uncomfortable.

Charlie, the main, comments, "I stared at my reflection and the trees behind it for a long time. Not thinking anything. Not feeling anything. Not hearing the record. For hours. Something is really wrong with me. And I don't know what it is."

I remember that feeling, too.

But mostly, I sympathize with Charlie when he feels he can't be honest with anyone.
Near the end of the novel, he finally realizes that he has to, that we only have one chance to be honest and real with anyone.

I'm realizing that too.

So here it is, me being honest.

My name is Kristen. I'm 19. I like reading, thinking, debating, listening, and hanging out. I love movies, music, and above all, books. I love writing and being with people. I love history and theatre. I would love theatre more if it had less political bullshit.  I pride myself on being casual and open, and on my vocabulary and intelligence.

I like the way I look, although I often wish I could laugh without looking like a man. I'm much skinner than I used to be, but that has nothing to do with how much happier I am now. I don't know how I feel about God, although if he is up there, he has a lot to answer for. I think that people are inherently good, and left to their own, they usually do good things. People are incredibly noble, if you let them be.

I think undefined romantic relationships are underrated. I know my family will never know how much I love them. And I wish my friends knew how much I miss them, here in what I call the "lonely desert". And I hate living my life through a telephone. I miss the people in my life who have died.

Overall, I try to live my life by the rules Richard Dawkins wrote about:

-Do not do anything to anyone you would not apprieciate having done to you.
-In all things, strive to cause no harm.
-Trust your fellow human beings, your fellow living beings, and the world in general with love, honesty, faithfulness, and respect.
-Do not overlook evil or wrongdoing, but always be willing to forgive things freely admitted and honestly regretted.
-Live live with a sense of joy, wonder, and boundless optimism.
-Always seek to learn something new.
-Test all things, always check your ideas againist the facts. Be ready to discard a cherished belief if it does not conform to them.
-Never seek to censor or cut yourself off from dissent. Always respect another's right to disagree with you.
-Form independant opinions on the basis of your own reason and expierience; do not allow yourself to be blindly led.
-Value the future on a timescale longer than your own.
-Do not indoctrinate your children. Teach them to think for themselves, how to evaluate evidence, and how to disagree with you.
-Enjoy your own sex life, and leave others to enjoy theirs in private whatever their inclinations, which are none of your buisness.
-Do not discriminate on the basis of race, sex, or sexual preference. 
-Question everything.

It's 6 am. I'm tired, and ready to sleep. Now only if my mind will let me.

-Kristen

Women and Sexuality

So I'm posting about something that has bothered me a bit over the last few weeks. 
But first,  let me preface this with a little history.

Women, as a whole have not been able to speak their minds all that long. So I guess that I really just ought to bee grateful to write this at all.

In my Early Modern English class,  we were talking about the witch trials in England. First let me give you some stats: 80% of the witch convicted were women.  Only 24% of people accused were convicted, but numbers were much higher on the continent.  All of the men and women who were convicted were executed, through any number of ways.  Burning was most popular on the continent, it made sure there were no relocation or burial sites. In England,  hanging or drowning were most used.

So what does this have to do with anything?

Well, the main reason that the vast majority of these executions were women is because women were thought to be made of lesser stuff,  both in moral quality and physically.  In order to have made a pact with the devil, as many of these women were thought to have, one must have had intercourse either with the devil himself or one of his demons.  Men could still do so,  but women did so more commonly because they did not have the reasoning or resistance that men did. They could not tell the difference between their human lovers and their demon lovers. They were also seen to be the sexual predators i their time. Men were "seduced" by women, they just couldn't help themselves.

So, in the cultural conscious of that era,  women held very little sway in the affairs of their time.  We have come very far in the last 450-ish years.

But I have one bone to pick with our more modern, more civilized society. Why is it that when a man does something distasteful or cruel, he is a jerk or a bastard, but when a women is, she is a slut or whore? Why is every insult thrown at a woman tied immediately to her Sexuality? Her moral quality should have nothing or at least very little to do with her "looseness" sexaully. This there still a stigma about women's mental capacity tied with her sexual activity? I would hope not.

Oh wait, Rush Limbaugh.

Damn.

A Note of Frustration

So I hate to post literally one day after the previous one. I HATE doing that.

Here's the thing, kids.
I just spent a half an hour sobbing in my car. And why? Because, ladies and gentlemen (pardon my language) because everything I touch turns to shit. It seems to me, especially in theatre. My show opens this week. And of all of the things I built for this particular show, most of them have to be remade. Because I don't know how to do anything correctly. My grades are in shambles. I am not in good standing with my peers.

Maddie told me the news, and I held it together just long enough to make it to my car. And then I cried. Harder than I've cried in a really long time. I've put in so much work and none of it has come to fruition. Not to mention, in order to get my grades up, I'm going to have to work just as hard. IT NEVER ENDS. I never get to relax. All of it was meaningless. None of it matters. So why the *&%$ did I work so hard?

I don't know. Why can't I just succeed? Am I epitome of big fish in a little pond? Was I only successful before because there was so little to be had in Morgan? Probably. And that stings.

So, here's the thing, kids. I am just going to go back to work. I'm going to do my best to repair what I can. And then, I'm going to bed. At 6, I am going to bed.

And I'll do my best to not think about my failures.
So until then, I'll just keep listening to this.

Mood Swings

I go through different mood swings. And different life phases. All the time.
Most of the time, I love theatre more than I can say. It's what I live for and work for. But days like today...?
I wish I worked a day job.
Theatre runs in cycles, and usually, I'm okay with it. There are lazy times, and then everything culminates into one giant glob of stress and terrible, called Tech Week, or for the less politically correct, Hell Week. It's where everything that was supposed to have gotten done weeks and weeks before suddenly gets done....in a matter of days. It's one big ball of stress. And so, as I sit here, finishing my hats, I sometimes wonder...what would life be like if I just...made phone calls all day?
If I didn't sprint off to Tuacahn to pick up more work every week? If I didn't work with the SAME people I go to class with and do productions with and hang out with? What if I just....didn't?
What if I just curled up in my caterpillar blanket and slept? Forever?
That's the dream.

A Post about Hats

It's hat making time again. You can always tell when I've been doing it, because there will be little rips and tears in my skin. Millinery needles are pretty serious. They are about 1/3 longer and 2x thicker than regular needles. So when I'm pushing them through three layers of buckram and my finger turns out to be just a little too close....
It hurts.
But I love it. Hats have complicated angles and things that you don't get in regular sewing. Not to say that regular sewing is easy, because it certainly is not. (Stupid period correct costumes....button fly my arse.) But I like the problems in hats better than I like problems in garment construction. Picking my poison, I guess.
I love millinery.

There are a few things that scare me though, about this particular business. Techies are notoriously hard on their bodies. The joke in theatre is that you work until you're 45, and then you teach, because you've ruined everything but your mind.

I met a milliner named Kathy about a year ago. Kathy was teaching a workshop at my university, and she was demonstrating how to hold buckram while you cut it. (It's a bitter mistress. But that's what you get when you soak fabric in glue for like....weeks.) She picked up her Ginghers and went to cut into the fabric. And then she grabbed her hand in pain, and said that her arthritis was too bad now. That someone else would have to CUT FABRIC for her. She literally could not support the weight of the scissors. Kathy was 38.

I just hope it won't happen to me.

Thoughts on Life

So interestingly enough, I think I am going to blog again. I never really liked the idea of it, just sharing with anybody, but I feel like I've maybe got something to share now.
See, when I was fourteen, I wanted to write all about life. I fashioned myself the next Steinbeck, to bring another generation around to understand their failings. The problem with that mentality is....I had never really lived. At all. I wanted to write about heartbreak and loneliness, and the absolute feeling of happiness. Coming from Morgan, I had never experienced a lot of this. I could talk about how much I empathized with someone, but I had no idea what depression felt like.

Don't get me wrong. I am not now saying that as a nineteen year old, I now know everything there is to know, or that I have felt every emotion. But I can now officially say, that college has certainly put a lot into perspective for me.

I can say certain things about myself and I can no longer say certain things.
Here is the list of what I have realized about myself:

• I used to despise the idea of marriage. I don't anymore. If I ever get so lucky as to come home to someone who cares enough to ask about the mustard stain on my shirt, then God will truly have blessed me.
• Like Rufus Wainwright, I like things just a little too strong for my own good. I have pushed my body and my mind to its limit so many times. And I won't stop. I care too much about my friends and about my career to let it sit.
• I hate criticism. I hate having to change. That being said, I know that the person I am and the person I want to be are two very different people. So, as painful as it is, I will continue to grow.
• I like sleep. A lot. And I never seem to get enough. Every morning as I lay in bed, I calculate the amount of hours until I will return and there are many days when I am tempted to not leave.
• I am ungraceful and callous. I hope to get better, but at a certain point, I just have to be okay with the fact that I will never be Cate Blachett.
• I believe God speaks to everyone differently. I can honestly say that I have felt God's presence far more through film and music than I have in most church meetings.
• Kids? We'll see.
• I have often struggled with the fact that I never seem to fit anywhere. My fashion is a little too tacky for the fashion forward people, but I am too "edgy" for more cautious dressers. I am sick of trying to fit either group. I will make my own style, if that's what it takes.

Anyway, this is all sounding very "I can do!". Personally, I've always hated motivational speeches. (Mostly because they are given by people who I don't care about. Have Coleen Atwood give a motivational speech, and then maybe I'll listen.) But you know, in the goal of having people maybe understand, I'll lay out my ideology and life plan.

In the next couple of years, I would finish school, and land a few jobs a long the way. Get a fairly good GPA, get a better portfolio. After school, I would just allow my career to go where it will. Live out of a suitcase for five years. Tour? Sure. Opera? Sure. Wherever would pay for me to live and work, that's where I go. Travel and work. That's the dream.

Somewhere along this timeline, I get married. My husband and I would work out the details, but I never really want to stop doing tech. Not to mention, I think I'd make a horrible mother.

Kid: Mom, can I watch Invader Zim?
Me: Sure, why not?
-Kid has nightmares for weeks-

So kids, no kids, that's all up in the air. I expect to move every six months for quite sometime. And then, eventually, we'd find a place we loved. A city, a town, a theatre. And then we'd live there most of the time. If I had to spend three months of the year somewhere else, then, well, I'd miss them tons.

And so, I mean, I thought I was on the road to achieving this rather unconventional utopia.

Unfortunately, I suffered several big personal blows lately, and I had to reconcile who I am.
In the fall, I had a big design opportunity flop. (Like flop so bad that I hated to put my name on it.) And that hurt, a lot. Tech has always come easy for me. And when it didn't, I completely fell apart. I felt so of ostracized after that, because I felt I wasn't living up to expectations of me. I slogged through the rest of that semester, and then this one hit. This semester has taught me discipline, and has undoubtedly been one of the hardest I've ever experienced.

So after the majority of this semester, I saw my way out. I would take an internship in Ohio, and take a year off. No more expectations, good money, and I would be far away from Utah. All part of the plan.

I was surprised to hear back at all, but I got an interview. Obviously, this was meant to be. God was preparing the way for me to go. And then...Tatjana said that she would love to hire me, but to call her after I graduated.

What?

You mean, I'm not supposed to go?

How could this be? I had made arrangements and plans, hell, I had budgets made.

So, I guess I am staying in Cedar. Apparently, there is something here for me to discover or find.
I am not allowed to run away yet.

Well, God, I hope you've got this one covered, because you've got me stumped.

So I guess what I'm left with is....what now?