dying next to the finish line doesn't count: a public service announcement

Okay. *deep breath*

It's that time of year again, kids.

And no, I'm not talking about Christmas. Although I really, really wish I was.

It's that portion of the semester where life doesn't seem pointless--in fact, quite the opposite--but does render its participants somewhere in the "I wish I were dead" zone because there are so many things we should be doing but put off to watch episodes of Supernatural and eat curry our jammies. Then again, maybe that's just me.

this is me. right now. all the time. every minute of every day.

Quick update for those of you who don't live in snow-covered regions of the globe:

As of right now, it literally feels like Dante's version of hell (at least for those of us who consider ourselves cold-blooded creatures and rely on the sunshine to keep us sane). It's terrible.

And to make it even better, it's the end of the semester, which seems like its hurtling towards failed grades and dismal test scores and is making a zombie apocalypse sound like a pretty great alternative to doing all of my homework, because maybe I wouldn't have to finish my research papers if the inhabitants of BYU were all being eaten alive by the undead.

But I digress.

I know lots of people are feeling the crunch, whether you be a university student or not. So, in an effort to convince myself to finish that ten page paper on the influence of San Carlo Borromeo's architectural treatise on renaissance devotional poetry (among other things), I've included the following:

For the College Students

THIS. Seriously, this semester, although it may seem like a direct excerpt from a Stephen King novel, IS NOT THAT BAD. Keep on keepin' on. It'll be over soon, and then we can take naps and watch Netflix and eat home cooked meals for TWO AND A HALF GLORIOUS WEEKS. I believe in you, little starfish. You can do it! *high five*

For Those of You Struggling with Big Life Decisions

It seems like lots of us, myself included, are trying to decide on some BIG, IMPORTANT things right about now. Just remember:

check out postsecret.com for more goodies. seriously, do it.

If Amy + Tina can struggle, so can you. It'll all work out. And hey, you might eventually become half of a two person team made up of LITERAL GODDESSES. TINA + AMY FOR LIFE.

And For Those of You Needing General Encouragement

Please remember this true and simple statement.

(confession: this is my new life motto)

Unless, of course, you are addicted to cocaine, which in that case I suggest you work on getting that fixed before anything else. Seriously, the rest can wait.

So if, over the next two weeks or so, you find yourself wanting to respond like this to all of your responsibilities:

ralph is my spirit animal.

Don't. Be strong. Be like this small child who backflips over his problems and then DANCES.

Because remember - they don't give medals to the guys who die right before they cross the finish line. You gotta complete the race before you're allowed to pass out. You got this.

| M |

put your hand down, hermione (and other useful phrases)

READER DISCRETION ADVISED. I WILL BE USING AN INORDINATE AMOUNT OF HERMIONE GRANGER GIFS BECAUSE IN THIS INSTANCE (AND IN SEVERAL OTHERS) SHE IS MY SPIRIT ANIMAL.

I'm smart.

And if you decided to stop reading after that sentence, that's fine. Most of the people in my elementary and junior high school classes would have probably stopped after that too. Mostly because I finally articulated what they themselves had been thinking ever since they met me.

I'm smart. And I used to get really, really embarrassed by it.

I guess it all started in the third/fourth grade. The slash serves as a divider between the three weeks I spent in the former before I moved to the latter. Which was a decision that has literally shaped my entire life. (And which, in retrospect, my mother said she would never do again, but it's okay. I still love you, mom.)

I looked like this for most of elementary school.

"Oh! I know this one!"

While everyone else basically looked like this:

"She's answering another question?"

But, hey, I was excited. I was being challenged, and I liked it.

There were kids who made fun of me. They called me "stuck up" because I skipped a grade, refused to be friends with me because of it, and it was okay, because I had other friends who didn't really care.

But it all came to a head in the seventh grade, when a girl told me flat out we could not be friends anymore because she hated it when people found out I was an 11-year-old junior high school student. I again was "stuck up" because I was smart, because I liked to answer questions, and it apparently hurt her feelings.

For the record, it was never my intention to be rude. I didn't answer questions to make my fellow classmates feel stupid or unqualified. I answered them because there is a certain rush I feel in understanding a small portion of this very big world. And to everyone reading this, I apologize if I ever made you feel this way.

In an effort to appease this girl, we went to the school guidance counselor, who gave me the following rule:

I was not allowed to tell people my birthday.

*condescending hermione stare*

Yeah, that was a real thing.

Apparently because I was born in 1995, everyone else who claimed '93 or '94 as their birth year would be incredibly offended if I let them know I was a mere child among elders. I was being rude by being smart, by being a little ahead of the curve.

And that brings me to my main point.

WE NEED TO STOP "SMART SHAMING."

I see being intelligent as a talent. I was not endowed with the ability to multiply large numbers together, bake a pan of cookies without forgetting at least one ingredient, or walk up a flight of stairs without getting winded.

But I'm good at learning. And I think that's pretty great.

This doesn't mean people who find learning to be their talent get to  show it off - that's super, duper annoying. I mean, we all had overly obnoxious Hermione Grangers in our classes (because if I'm honest, I might have found her a little annoying, too).

I feel ya, Ron.

Here's the thing, though. We ask those with more acceptable talents - painting, piano playing, being really good at running and throwing a ball at the same time - to share those with other people, and we tell them they are selfish when they don't. But for those of us who can process information well, who are good at learning and remembering, we are asked to shut up, to keep quiet, to stop making everyone else feel inadequate.

And as a result, I often feel inadequate because one of my only talents is often seen as a burden or a nuisance to other people. And that really, really hurts.

And it makes me look like pre-first year Halloween Hermione.

Coming to college was a huge shock for me. After the seventh grade, I stopped answering questions in class because I figured it was the easiest way to stop people from making fun of me. But then, in one of my first university courses, when professors told us we would be graded on answering questions, I figured I'd try speaking up in class again.

And it's thrilling. Teachers appreciate it when their students speak up, and my classmates don't mind quite so much.

I still find it hard. Answering questions now tends to give me slight anxiety attacks. But I'm learning to work through it, because learning is great.

It feels a lot like this, especially when I get a question right.

And I think that's bloody brilliant.

| M |

a letter to miss lee

For the past seven summers, I've read "To Kill a Mockingbird" without fail.

I'm sure anyone besides my immediate circle of friends (and maybe some of you in it) where all like

wait, what? did i hear that right?

Yeah, you're not alone.

But a few days ago as I was flying home from a yearlong stint up at school (and simultaneously following Scout, Dill, and Jem to the side of the Radley house with a note attached to a fishing pole), I was asked a question I didn't really have an answer for. 

The person with the query was the teenage girl sitting next to me, who was already getting on my nerves after she had asked as we were taking off - her arm already flung across my chest, holding her phone to the window - "Do you mind if I take a picture?" I had politely said, "Not at all!" although my inner J-Law had been all like, 

YES YOU IMBECILE TAKE YOUR STUPID INSTA PHOTO

Anyway.

When she posed her second question of the flight, "Why do you do that?" after finding out that I read this book every summer, I about lost it.

But I was caught a tad bit off guard, and so my train of thought went a little something like this small child's four wheeler.

Although my response of, "It's just such a good story!" had placated all the previous askers of this inevitable question, It didn't seem to work for her, and she responded, "Well, I didn't like it. At least until the last chapter when everything came together." 

My face looked a little something like Leslie Knope's right before she yells, "GREG PIKITUS!"

that was for you, emily.

And then she turned back to her iPhone in an attempt to win 2048 (which she proved unsuccessful in during the duration of the flight, much to my pleasure). 

But it bothered me. Why did I read this book? I couldn't come up with a straight answer. And so when I arrived home, I curled up on the couch, mentally placed myself in a living room where Atticus is seated in a rocking chair, paper in hand, and I thought.

First off, I consider reading this novel as a form of penance for disregarding such a well-written book because my father, in an effort to make sure I was well prepared for the coming school year, told me I could not read the newly released Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows until I had read To Kill a Mockingbird.

I don't think I've ever finished a book so fast (except maybe Harry himself). I'm pretty sure I was channelling my inner Belle after I finished both of them. (Hint: like this.)

note to self: buy a bookshelf that can support a ladder

Then again, that penance should have been over several years ago.

I once heard that a book deemed a "classic" has never finished what it has to say. I think that's a fair way to put Miss Lee's novel. There is reason it has been a high school staple for decades, a reason why it is considered one of the greatest American masterpieces. And it's the same for me.

When it comes down to it, this novel is about people. It's about what makes us inherently human - both the good and the bad. It proves there are horrible human beings on this planet, people who are selfish and mean and coldhearted (and maybe we sometimes fall into that category). And it also proves that among this darkness, there is light, brought by people who remain good and true and honest (a category we all hopefully fall into much more often than the former). But in the end, we're all human. In the end, like Scout says,"There's just one kind of folks - folks." But most of all, it reminds me of this simple truth:

There are still people like Atticus Finch, and I should try to be one of them. 

And so to Miss Lee, thank you. Your novel reminds my annually of the simple goodness of the human race, which, like my reading patterns, has been a constant in my life for several years, and it will remain so for many more to come. And I think that is the reason I love this book so much.

Because in the end, it is always there. No matter where I've been, who I've known, or how many mockingbirds I've accidentally hit over the past 12 months (because if I am honest with myself, this year has been witness to quite a few), the eternal summer of Mobile lives on, with Jem, Dill, Scout, and Atticus always ready to welcome me home.

ramblings + the reservoir

This summer’s been an odd one.

Watching basically everyone I know head off on some kind of adventure - whether that be international traveling or just heading home for a few days - has been really hard. Especially since I’ve been stuck reading 11th century British literature and arguing about shading versus stippling in my introduction to art class, while everyone else got to see the beach or the Eiffel tower or a bed larger than the twin I’m really tired of sleeping on.

But hey, at least I completed all of my generals.

And maybe that’s why last night I decided I needed to do something drastic. And I was all like, “Hey, why don’t I go swimming in the Utah County Reservoir?” Genius.

(Don’t worry, mom. I didn’t actually do it. Save that dramatic phone call until you’ve finished reading, okay?)

After four hours of “The Mindy Project” and “Bones” and a rom-com starring my favorite Scottish leading man (David Tennant, for all of you uncultured swine), I told my future roommate I was not having any of it, and that we needed to leave P-Town IMMEDIATELY, or I was going to do something really stupid.

Like study. Or do laundry.

And so we set off, driving up the canyon with the windows down, listening to a compilation of Taylor Swift, Carrie Underwood, and the soundtrack from Disney’s Hercules in the middle of the hardest rain Provo’s seen in the past few months. And it was oddly freeing. I felt dangerous (which is a feeling I try very hard to avoid), and I liked it.

preparing to take the plunge was a lot scarier than it looks

Forty minutes later and I was perched on the edge of the dock, totally ready to dive into a lake I could not see the bottom of for the sake of adventure and adrenaline and the fact I was tired of being stuck in this tiny town I was only in for a quality education (which, for the record, is a good reason, but one that is stretched a little thin after a while).

And although Emily and I agreed leaping into unknown waters could run the risk of me getting myself paralyzed, and realizing that maybe I enjoyed the use of my legs, and wound up with us ultimately walking back to the car, me holding my dress and shoes and very not-wet, I decided that was definitely the most fun I’d had in a very, very long time.


I guess the lesson learned here is that adventure can be found in really unlikely (and maybe often dangerous) places. I think it just takes a bit of guts to get out there and find it.


Courage takes courage to find. Like that whole, "You need experience to get a job but a job to get experience" kind of thing, but so much better, mostly because you don't have to eat cold lunches and talk to people who are just as not-thrilled as you are to be there.

I think that's pretty great.


And just for kicks and giggles, here's a super hipster picture of me, which looks like I copied off the Tumblr of some aggressive, moody teenager. You're welcome.

| M |