Performance at the Center

Posted on

I liked walking on the grates in the sidewalks in New York, and once I realized this, I instantly began searching for ways to make this observation into a metaphor: walking with a world beneath me, walking on top of shaky foundation? Nothing really fit, so I gave up and let it be simple:

I liked walking on the grates in the sidewalks. I liked sliding my fingers along the stone of the building next to me. I liked looking up, but I liked looking down too. I grew to appreciate my humidity hair.

It’s hard to verbalize what it is about the city that spoke to me so much. Maybe it was the creaking of the train or the hum of an intersection. Maybe it was the smell of bagels and cronuts and giant sticks of lamb rotating in a street cart. Or perhaps it was the subtle joy of meeting and visiting your soul people.

Dear Journal

Posted on

So what is it about neglect and procrastination that is so completely addicting? Forgive the informal writing style for this post, but I was just chatting with my sisters-in-law about how terrible slothfulness feels and yet, it seems to breed and multiply and consume you until you’re eight re-runs of Arrested Development down, but not any smarter, stronger, or happier. Why do we do this to ourselves?

A Nap About High School

Posted on

Today was a special day, and here’s how I know it: I napped for an hour. A Whole Hour.

I am a frequent napper but usually only for five-ten minute bursts. I call these “synapses,” because they are short like a synapse and help me get something working again. But today, I had a genuine nap, though it was nothing special in and of itself. In fact, it gave me a headache afterwards.

A Chicago First Anniversary

Posted on

Right before I left, Jeremy and I celebrated our first year of marriage in Chicago. It was a little bit of fanfare, because our real anniversary was on Sunday and Latter-day Saints try not to spend money on Sunday, so we celebrated Saturday. Both of us felt like it was cheating a little to celebrate the day before though, so we went ahead and celebrated Sunday anyways. That felt real and wonderful and romantic.

Prayers (and Donations) Requested for The Dark Knight Rises Shooting

Posted on

 

This empty blog post has been staring me down for hours. The cursor blinking. But I couldn’t write because I’ve been trying to marshall my thoughts, trying to get my thoughts them to behave, to order, to make sense. Also, I’ve had sore throat–like a thirsty fur ball tangling with my voice box. A lump that expanded every time I got on Facebook or read the news.

Facebook was half beautiful votes of sympathy, eloquent expressions of condolence, and cries for different positions on gun control. The other half was a stark juxtaposition to the typical status updates about summer fun, new dogs, and Bachelorette gossip. But one thing was clear: Yesterday Colorado was heavy with pain we’ve unfortunately had to bear before.

I said a silent prayer as I was walking through Old Town Chicago, which was unusual since Latter-day Saints usually try to pray with their heads bowed and eyes closed. This usually suggests that prayers are said in the stationary position. But Old Town is the quietest, most beautiful place in Chicago–perfect for prayer, eyes closed or not. The only sound I could hear were occasional children giggling as they rode their bikes. With every child’s laugh, I was reminded that life–even after everything– is still good.

The lump in my throat was for the victims of this horrendous tragedy in Aurora, Colorado. My prayer was for the world that we might find a way to counterstrike against gun violence, mass tragedy, and large criminal attacks.

A Classy Change of Location

Posted on

From about ages 8 to 11, Nick Carter from the Backstreet Boys looked down at me from my wall, my own personal guardian angel, the ultimate status symbol of “cool.” This was the first instance of my personality taking control of my room, and soon next to Nick Carter came Britney Spears, Jessica Simpson, 98 Degrees, N’Sync (even though they were Backstreet Boys rival) LFO, and any other picture that I could yank out of a magazine and masking tape to my wall (except NEVER the Spice Girls because I HATED the Spice Girls. Mainly because my older sister told me they were lame). Over time, the four walls in my room became scarcely visible, and I liked it that way. Chaotic masses of twenty of the same famous gaurdian angels keeping watch over me. My personality was defined by the images of others, these famous “celebs” that dominated my room decor. I was not yet Sierra, only just a fledgling that liked to have something all her own.