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.

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