In Which I Am Alive

I've been trying to stay optimistic about the results of the election, and not to get caught up in worst-case scenario thinking. But I'm also realizing that optimism is a luxury I can afford because as a white, straight Christian, I don't have much to worry about with a Trump presidency. I don't have to worry about half my family being deported. I'm not worried that my marriage won't be legally recognized anymore or that people will be able to deny me service because of my sexual orientation. I won't ever be targeted as a potential terrorist because of my religious affiliation. The rise of hate crimes that has been noted this week will probably not affect me. So yeah, it's really easy for me to say "Maybe it won't be so bad!" Because for me, it probably won't. So I'm still going to hope for the best, but I think it's important to recognize that for some folks, things are looking kind of scary. And that means that those

When I hear the word "adventure," I usually envision a positive experience. Traipsing over new territory, catching my breath at gorgeous vistas, feeling the thrill of discovery. Sometimes I forget that a true adventure carries an inherent risk-the chance that something horrible could happen at any minute. I remember huddling in prayer with some girls from my high school track team at the start of the meet. There were storm clouds threatening, and were dreading the prospect of running in the rain. The girl giving the prayer started out normal, asking that we would be given mental and physical strength to run our races. But then she added, "And please bless that this will be an adventure." We all audibly groaned. We didn't want an adventure at that moment. We wanted the rain to go away so we could run our freaking races. I didn't want an adventure that Tuesday in May. My little brother and I were going rock climbing for the first time this season. I met him

I had ice cream for breakfast today. And also yesterday. And I know that's super unhealthy, and I'm trying to make better choices and lose weight, and all of that, but hear me out. We were out of all of the breakfast foods. No cereal or milk. No bread for toast. No eggs. No yogurt to put in a smoothie. All we had was oatmeal. Don't get me wrong, I love oatmeal. But the past several times I've tried to make it, it has exploded all over the inside of my microwave. It even happens if I take the oatmeal out and stir it halfway through cooking. Maybe this microwave is hotter than my old one? I don't know. Maybe I've wronged it somehow and this is its revenge. So this morning I was sitting in the kitchen trying to decide if it was worth it to make a bowl of oatmeal when most of it would end up splattered around the inside of the microwave when finally, I got too hungry to make the decision anymore and just got myself a bowl of chocolate ice cream instead. And then ano

I did a lot of things this summer. I completed the second level of my Kodaly teaching certification. I grew a vegetable garden. I volunteered at a community center near my house. I went to the zoo. I planned a birthday party for my husband. I went camping. I spent time with friends. I visited the Dominican Republic. I went on a road trip with my in-laws. I went to two different family reunions. I joined a Masters swim team. I got caught up on doctor's appointments (dentist, gynecologist, eye doctor, voice therapy, etc)  I went to Idaho and back in one day for a friend's wedding. I started teaching piano lessons. I completed hikes that had been on my to-do list for years. I saw Mount Rushmore. And I read a ton of books. And yet, when I think back on my summer, my brain skips over all of this and gets stuck on the days I spent binge-watching "The Office" (I watched all 9 seasons this summer). Instead of remembering the new friends I've made in my ward, I remembe

Before I got married, I used to swear up and down that Aaron and I would never be one of "those" couples. You know, the ones who, upon getting married, retreat into their married bliss and completely ignore their friends forever. No, I was sure that I'd spend just as much time with my friends after I got married as I did before.  I was wrong. I've been married for a year and a half, and I rarely see or talk to most of my friends. Many of them have graduated and moved away, some have had babies, and some I just....haven't made time for. My ability to make new friends also seems to have completely disappeared. I can do small talk and casual aquaintanceship just fine, but moving to actual friend level? I have no idea how to make that happen. There are a few reasons for this. First, before I was married, I lived with some of my best friends, so it was pretty easy to make time for them. The friends I didn't live with still mostly lived within a few blocks. It&#

I have a student (let's call him Max) who has been giving me trouble all year. He is often defiant, refuses to participate or to follow any directions, and stirs up the other kids to make mischief as well. On multiple occasions, he's started running in circles around my room screaming to avoid doing what he's supposed to be doing. Nobody has known what to do with him: not the classroom teacher, not the principal, and definitely not me. Last week, after a particularly rough class, I kept him after class to talk about his behavior. I tried to explain why his behavior was inappropriate and unacceptable while he kept dinking away on a xylophone he'd pulled off of my shelf--without my permission, I might add. I was getting frustrated that he wasn't listening when he suddenly looked up at me, no trace of anger or defiance on his face, and said, "Mrs. E, I just really love playing instruments." Well, I was floored. I wasn't aware that "Max" love

Last week, my mom had me go through some boxes of my stuff from junior high and high school to get rid of whatever I didn't want anymore (apparently my parents' house doesn't have infinite space?) In the process, I found something bizarre. Something glorious. Something I had completely forgotten existed.  It was....the Man in a Can! So, the Man in a Can was an activity we did for my church Young Women's group when I was 14. We cut out pictures of wedding dresses, color schemes, and rings, made lists of attributes we wanted in a future husband, and picked out names for our future children ("So, basically pre-Internet Pinterest," says my brother). Then, each of us sealed up the contents of our wishful wedding planning in a Number 10 can, to be opened only when we had become engaged. So here I was, face to face with my DIY Pinterest Time Capsule, opening it a year and a half late. I remembered the activity; I also remembered having a really bad attitude about

This year, I set a New Year's resolution that I've been trying to bring myself to set for a few years. I decided that I would lose 20 pounds by the end of the year. For the past three years, I've been skirting around the issue, pretending I don't care, and basically doing nothing. So what that I'm almost thirty pounds heavier than I was five years ago? Bodies change, man. I was training for a half marathon five years ago, and I sure don't have time for that now. I would tell myself that the only healthy outlook was to love myself as I was, which meant accepting those extra thirty pounds as a welcome part of me. I told myself that trying to lose weight would only lead to extreme dieting, anxiety, and probably profound disappointment. I reasoned that it was just too hard, I couldn't do it, and it would make more sense to just accept my new size as normal. And I was ready to leave it at that, except that I couldn't. It kept nagging at me. This extra

Well, you may have noticed that my Johnny Karate blog series lasted exactly one post. I'm not going to make any apologies or give any excuses for that. But after a seven month blogging hiatus, I think I'm ready to start writing again. I don't know what shape this blog will take or what purpose it will serve. It used to be a journal of sorts, a place to vent my thoughts when I didn't know who to share them with. I have an unprecedented level of support in my life now, and my mental health is much better than when I was blogging the most, so I don't need this blog to be therapy for me anymore. But I do know that I miss writing. I know that these days blogs are supposed to have a theme or a niche or some unifying feature. For the past seven months I've been trying to choose an angle: do I want this to be a lifestyle blog (whatever the heck that is)? A blog about living in Provo? A religiously-themed blog? A blog full of stirring essays about my deepest inner feel