Dear Lindsey,
Your birthday is burned into my head. And I like that because it precedes mine and gets me thinking about what it means to be one year older. This year really is significant. This year, I have learned so much about transitions. And turning 30 is another one for both of us. The decade between turning 20 and 30 has been full of transitions. And with every transition there is a death. Even this turning is the death of the 20's. When I think back on the 20's and all of your transitions, it makes me hope that you can find a moment to really reflect on the woman you have become. The first transition was from teen to adult. From sister to aunt. Then from student to graduate to employee. From maiden to wife. Then from wife to mother. That is the crazy thing about the 20's. SO MUCH HAPPENS! With each of those changes, some part of us dies.
Without too much research, I have learned some rituals regarding transitions. Women of the Navajo tribe perform a ritual when a woman goes through a transition like the ones you have been through. Some versions include washing the feet, or lighting sage, setting new intentions, and preserving the memory of the transition by means of a physical object--like a bead. The cleansing helps make way for the new life to come.
My friend in hospice told me how both in pregnancy and before death, people can be filled with the energy to make way for that new life. In expecting mothers, this might be called "nesting." She says she has seen many clients suddenly have energy to tie up loose ends of their lives and settle affairs. Birth and death are two sides of the same coin called life. The energy is part of intuition that tells us there is more to come.
As you celebrate the end of your 20's and make room for all the will come with this new decade, I hope you can feel the magnitude of the journey you have made and the fullness of joy that comes with recognizing it. And if it feels right, a little memory of the identities you have carried and those you have left behind.
Happy Birthday!
Love,
m. jean
(fine you can say it--Magster the Hamster)
Monday, December 5, 2016
Wednesday, April 27, 2016
Silent Dating: Can you connect?
Social Dating Hypothesis: I can communicate
non-verbally and my date and I can feel an increase in connection and fun.
METHODS
Participant criteria:
Male, 25-46, social acquaintance, voluntary status, knows my name.
Recruitment:
I had two men in mind. I had met both of these men on a weekend cabin trip and had only spent time with them 1-2 times after that. I was recently reminded of both--one I randomly ran into at Target and was so delighted to see him that I temporarily forgot my vow of silence. The other had spontaneously instigated a hilarious snowball version of the hunger games and forced us to play till there was one person left standing while he, the game maker, recorded and commentated. I sent a Facebook message describing my goal to go on a date in silence and my hope for their company. Both responded to the private message with what seemed a genuine willingness.
Materials:
I made cards with words chosen from a google search for the 100 high frequency word lists.
I also made a few question cards that had blanks in the sentences so they could be used for more than one subject.
I selected 10 items from the Barrett-Lennard Relationship Inventory and adapted the scoring techniques to my 10 item version.
I also had blank pieces of paper and pens in case of the need to write something.
Study design:
One of my dates voluntarily opted to be silent on the date as well. This provided opportunity for a test and control The control, Brett, would remain verbal for the date. The test, Mike, would only use non-verbal communication methods. All participants, myself included, would do the survey before and after the date. For the mutually silent date, we selected bowling. For the control date, we opted for rainy day gelato (and to my delight, I was able to convince him that we needed to go to dinner too because my favorite Italian restaurant was right next door--HUZZAH for spontaneity).
RESULTS
Control Scores:
Participant
|
Pre-date
|
Post-date
|
Megan
|
16
|
19
|
Brett
|
16
|
18
|
Test Scores:
Participant
|
Pre-date
|
Post-date
|
Megan
|
13
|
26
|
Mike
|
18
|
19
|
DISCUSSION
The scores do not show a significant increase in connection as measured by the Barrett-Lennard Relationship inventory. This could be for many reasons. The validity of the inventory may have been jeopardized by the exclusion of 54 other items . . . like I just took out a lot. Also, the nature of the items were trying to get a score for how you feel you are perceived by the other person which is kind of confusing.
The only score that shows a significant increase is my score on the test date. It could be that I, as the principle investigator, demonstrated a high bias in taking the survey. I think I scored lower in the beginning because he had taken some days to get back to me. One of those deep, dark, pits of despair/anger that I can get sucked into is feeling ignored. I hate it. Also, I am extra sensitive to this because I am usually the one instigating a date and in this phallocentric culture it is ingrained in women that "if a man is interested in you he will make something happen." I could scream how anti-egalitarian this attitude is and how it completely keeps men in power and women as subservient hopefuls, reinforces that women had better do everything in their power to attract a male even if it is degrading because they don't have the option to pursue, etc. all day. But I won't. So at this point, I feel like I have gotten really good at staying away from the dark pits and allow people room for error or just let it roll off my back and move on. But I had a dream--we should all know by now how I feel about dreams--that Mike sent back an email that said "YIKES! This is moving too fast!" Haha, so even though his messages after were super cool and totally reasonable regarding a late response, I may have had residual "walls up" feelings walking into the date.
Yet, through miming and getting extremely creative in our communication together, the genuine good time we had melted those walls and I felt such a genuine kindness from this man and an appreciation for him. We talked about books, dreams, recent experiences, and other things like Bora Bora or Spain. I told him my hypothesis and this is what he said:
With Brett, perhaps my scores were only slightly altered because I felt like I already had an accurate understanding of how he perceived me, mostly because he offered observations on his response to the Facebook invitation (e.g. "I'm laughing just thinking about it." "with you I think it will be fun.") that had already put me at ease and told me I was perceived as "fun". Therefore, I walked into that date feeling more confident and relaxed. We found a lot about how our personalities are similar in some ways, but totally different in others. I laughed so hard when one of our conversations points led to me saying "I tend to value the spirit of things over the letter (i.e. personal interpretation vs. rules) and he didn't even finish reading the sentence before he was like, "Well yeah I could have guess that." I also liked when I told him how traveling alone is amazing in a lot of ways but when I really reach a moment of amazement, I instinctively look around to find someone to share it. He said, "Yeah, I get that. I have experienced that snowboarding. Sometimes it is nice to just go down the mountain, but when you really have a good crash it is kind of sad when no one sees it." While laughing, I also found the truth in this that we desire people to witness our pain as much as we desire them to witness our joy.
What started as an experiment/meet my go-on-a-date-this-quarter quota ended up as not one, but TWO of the best dates I have ever been on. I learned a lot about both of these men and was literally charmed by both--which doesn't happen very often (e.g. found out Brett has been volunteering for a while as a civics teacher for refugees which made me so full of heart melting judgements about him that seem accurate as his care and passion was evident). To have gone on both of these dates and experience zero stress and such total willingness left me with this word:
REAL.
They were both the most REAL dating experiences I have ever had. So while the data may not have reflected an increase, I feel like not speaking was an adventure instead of a barrier. I think the silence gave us a rare opportunity to have to attend to each other. We had to show up to the conversation. There were no last second nods to pretend like we were listening. There was no small talk to get in the way.
In therapy, there are a lot of reflecting statements. The purpose of reflecting is to demonstrate that you are understanding the person or at least attempting to. It also just sends the message that the person has your full attention. With Mike, we were in it together to make the conversation quality. So while there weren't verbal reflections, there was a lot of dedication and teamwork to communicate--which is super cool (e.g. Mike asked me what had happened in the last dream I could remember which is kind of already an abstract concept--but we did it! I think . . . I understood that in his dream he had almost quit his job because his BOSS boss had come in and was being awful). With Brett, most of what he did was reflection! IT FELT SO NICE!! I have a tendency to mistrust words--I want to be understood so badly that I will use every word I possibly know to try to make my meaning unmistakable. Brett showed so much interest in getting to know me and had to reflect back to me what he understood so I could confirm it. I don't think I give people that opportunity very often.
Who knew that silence would help me trust?
Anyways, I kind of feel weird talking about real people and my real experience with them side by side and publicly, mostly because I may come across as indifferent to them when that is the opposite of how I feel. I really value both of them for their unique qualities and personalities. There is something about this that I think is really important and should be shared.
Also, I want both Brett and Mike to know that I will hands down go out again/be game for any eccentric or unique ideas you have--and I guess normal ones too/ remember this experience and be grateful I shared it with you. And I totally wrote it on my gratitude dresser.
P.S. I think there was only one instant in this process that I told Mike if he preferred me silent I would hate him forever . . . I am not entirely compliant to this state of being . . .
Monday, April 25, 2016
If your dreams don't scare you, they aren't big enough
I borrowed the title from my friend Debbie's blog. I know I promised a silent date follow up but then today happened. Despite my desire to not add feelings of pressure to my friends who have seen many of our cohort pass the stupidly scary test for new MSW graduates, I don't think I can hold it back.
The last time I had to take a test that scared me was in Florence, Italy. I had just spent 4 months in a deepening depression as I tried to figure out what I was doing as an Au Pair in Italy and why it wasn't feeling right etc. The last month of it had been spent on my friend's futon as an urchin who had been given a home after I moved out of the family's house. It was also the darkest month of my life. I had never experienced the weight of depression like that, nor have I since. I shudder to think about it. I assure you, the girl you know today would have been unrecognizable in that girl.
Through moving to Florence, poetically the city of the renaissance--of rebirth, I was learning what it would to be myself again. I could talk forever about that process and how every moment was so difficult. In each millisecond, I had to decide what to believe. Did I believe that things would work out or would the darkness just take me? It was exhausting. But, slowly, I started becoming myself again. By the end of my training program in Florence, I felt so close to that rebirth and the only thing that stood between me and new life was a stupid test.
I have never failed anything academic in my life. I don't think I am particularly brilliant, I think I am just good at people pleasing so I knew how to pass tests and get A's. The way this 50 question grammar scared me would cause you to think that it was organic chemistry or something.
I remember the room when they told me I passed. Two teachers and I were crowded around a small table in a tiny room with a paper cutter and staplers. I started crying and they let me talk about how anxious I had been.
Flash forward 5 years and the remnants of that experience both strengthened me and terrified me. Every time I got nervous, I just remembered that room and the relief it held. I remembered my dream that had comforted me when I was unsure if I would get into the MSW program. I have been feeling like my life was too good to be true right now. The only thing standing between me and this new life was a stupid test.
I had a really good study plan. I did a practice test every day at the same time my exam was scheduled. I did all the methods people taught me--the tricks to passing. I learned stuff they had never talked about in school. Counted down the days.
But if you know me, you know I don't really stick to plans.
The anxiety built up and I reached out to people I trusted for their wisdom and blessing. My friend, one of the wisest of all, told me this: "I learned something about birth and death today. Women who are pregnant go through a period of nesting. They just feel urged and energized to make room for this new life. In death, people sometimes get a burst of energy before and tie up loose ends or spend time with important people in their life. This is the same for you right now, Megan. Trust your body. You know exactly how to tie up the end of this experience and how to make room for the next."
Nothing calmed me more than that. She was so right! So I listened to my gut and abandoned all my plans and methods and just did what felt right to me. I moved up the date of my test and totally took it at the opposite time of the practices I had done. I actually kept one of my own secrets for the first time in my life and didn't tell anyone when it was (don't worry, I can keep your secrets). I did yoga, chanted (in my mind), asked the women spirits who are always with me to help, prayed, had a nice chat with God where I encouraged him (I laughed at myself for that one but I really do know that he has got this whole eternal progression thing and felt impressed to say it), I listened to music that was in my soul, and then I went and took the test. Right before I submitted it, I did a mindfulness technique that involves calming down.
The two part exercise shows me what I fear the most, what I think I can control, and what I tell myself about the outcome. The second half always shows me the truth.
First: What if I fail? Is there anything else I can do--anything I can change to make me pass this test? I feel sick. I hate this.
Second: The only way is forward.
Pass or fail, new life or setbacks, the only way is forward.
Results: PASS
I can't help but think about how our souls truly know what we need. If we let it, it can guide us to the exact right amount of heartbreak and the right door to joy. I could not have designed my experience in Italy to be the exact transforming moment I would need to remember to get through this dream of school. All we can do is follow our hearts forward. Somehow, in the midst of that authenticity, we also build safety nets for ourselves, memories and experiences that are powerful enough to give us hope to get through the next hardest thing. So don't think about the pass or the fail. Think about living. And go forward.
Italy:
Today:
(I am cutting the advent calendar that I made while trying not to procrastinate any more . . . I will let you work the counter-productivity of that one out . . .)
ON TO THE NEXT:
The last time I had to take a test that scared me was in Florence, Italy. I had just spent 4 months in a deepening depression as I tried to figure out what I was doing as an Au Pair in Italy and why it wasn't feeling right etc. The last month of it had been spent on my friend's futon as an urchin who had been given a home after I moved out of the family's house. It was also the darkest month of my life. I had never experienced the weight of depression like that, nor have I since. I shudder to think about it. I assure you, the girl you know today would have been unrecognizable in that girl.
Through moving to Florence, poetically the city of the renaissance--of rebirth, I was learning what it would to be myself again. I could talk forever about that process and how every moment was so difficult. In each millisecond, I had to decide what to believe. Did I believe that things would work out or would the darkness just take me? It was exhausting. But, slowly, I started becoming myself again. By the end of my training program in Florence, I felt so close to that rebirth and the only thing that stood between me and new life was a stupid test.
I have never failed anything academic in my life. I don't think I am particularly brilliant, I think I am just good at people pleasing so I knew how to pass tests and get A's. The way this 50 question grammar scared me would cause you to think that it was organic chemistry or something.
I remember the room when they told me I passed. Two teachers and I were crowded around a small table in a tiny room with a paper cutter and staplers. I started crying and they let me talk about how anxious I had been.
Flash forward 5 years and the remnants of that experience both strengthened me and terrified me. Every time I got nervous, I just remembered that room and the relief it held. I remembered my dream that had comforted me when I was unsure if I would get into the MSW program. I have been feeling like my life was too good to be true right now. The only thing standing between me and this new life was a stupid test.
I had a really good study plan. I did a practice test every day at the same time my exam was scheduled. I did all the methods people taught me--the tricks to passing. I learned stuff they had never talked about in school. Counted down the days.
But if you know me, you know I don't really stick to plans.
The anxiety built up and I reached out to people I trusted for their wisdom and blessing. My friend, one of the wisest of all, told me this: "I learned something about birth and death today. Women who are pregnant go through a period of nesting. They just feel urged and energized to make room for this new life. In death, people sometimes get a burst of energy before and tie up loose ends or spend time with important people in their life. This is the same for you right now, Megan. Trust your body. You know exactly how to tie up the end of this experience and how to make room for the next."
Nothing calmed me more than that. She was so right! So I listened to my gut and abandoned all my plans and methods and just did what felt right to me. I moved up the date of my test and totally took it at the opposite time of the practices I had done. I actually kept one of my own secrets for the first time in my life and didn't tell anyone when it was (don't worry, I can keep your secrets). I did yoga, chanted (in my mind), asked the women spirits who are always with me to help, prayed, had a nice chat with God where I encouraged him (I laughed at myself for that one but I really do know that he has got this whole eternal progression thing and felt impressed to say it), I listened to music that was in my soul, and then I went and took the test. Right before I submitted it, I did a mindfulness technique that involves calming down.
The two part exercise shows me what I fear the most, what I think I can control, and what I tell myself about the outcome. The second half always shows me the truth.
First: What if I fail? Is there anything else I can do--anything I can change to make me pass this test? I feel sick. I hate this.
Second: The only way is forward.
Pass or fail, new life or setbacks, the only way is forward.
Results: PASS
I can't help but think about how our souls truly know what we need. If we let it, it can guide us to the exact right amount of heartbreak and the right door to joy. I could not have designed my experience in Italy to be the exact transforming moment I would need to remember to get through this dream of school. All we can do is follow our hearts forward. Somehow, in the midst of that authenticity, we also build safety nets for ourselves, memories and experiences that are powerful enough to give us hope to get through the next hardest thing. So don't think about the pass or the fail. Think about living. And go forward.
Italy:
Today:
(I am cutting the advent calendar that I made while trying not to procrastinate any more . . . I will let you work the counter-productivity of that one out . . .)
ON TO THE NEXT:
Friday, April 22, 2016
Silence
To catch you up:
I have had some vocal problems for a while now. Through overuse and misuse I ended up with a vocal hemorrhage! The only solution is voice rest. Gentle therapy has also been helping it heal. Luckily, I haven't been working and I only had school once a week so I didn't need to talk by the time I went to the doctor. So I have been silent for 2 weeks now and am meant to continue for another week until my job starts. Then I am supposed to talk as little as possible.
A lot of people have been asking me about my experience (since we all know I am a talker).
The biggest surprise is that it isn't as hard for me as a lot of us might think. I think for me, the hardest part was not talking to strangers. Like the grocery store cashiers when they make friendly chatter and I just silently had thoughts. Or the girl who had a really cute skirt: instead of saying, "I love your skirt, it gives this really cool mermaid aura" she just thought I was checking her out.
When I do speak, it is quiet and people start whispering.
Soul friend goes silent in solidarity for the first hour or so when hanging out with each other post injury.
Nieces that are looking forward to aunt time call in desperation saying, "Megan, where your voice go?" "Maybe the bank has her voice. Or maybe there!" I think Sofia even got mad when she found out. She wasn't sure coming to my house would be fun. Singing is a big part of our time together. We even have a special chant/song. (Umm, they loved it. We had so much fun.)
When I do speak, it is quiet and people start whispering.
Soul friend goes silent in solidarity for the first hour or so when hanging out with each other post injury.
Nieces that are looking forward to aunt time call in desperation saying, "Megan, where your voice go?" "Maybe the bank has her voice. Or maybe there!" I think Sofia even got mad when she found out. She wasn't sure coming to my house would be fun. Singing is a big part of our time together. We even have a special chant/song. (Umm, they loved it. We had so much fun.)
Something I loved was being alone with my quiet friends. In particular, I loved being with Sarah the Lionheart. We talk so much and it is such a big part of our friendship that not talking was weird for both of us. I often launch into long monologues as I try to process something and she just listens. She will have those moments too, but she usually takes comfort in knowing that I might fill the spaces with talk. I asked her (via text-to-voice technology) if it was weird to be the talkative one. She nodded and indicated it was a little awkward and different. But I liked it. I liked hearing her chatter more and talk more nonsense and wisdom--she literally is wisdom.
We spent an evening with our soul friend Kate and it was so fun how we used the app to talk. I noticed I had to be quick if I wanted to say anything and I sometimes had to interrupt the flow to say a comment. I even sang her happy birthday!
We spent an evening with our soul friend Kate and it was so fun how we used the app to talk. I noticed I had to be quick if I wanted to say anything and I sometimes had to interrupt the flow to say a comment. I even sang her happy birthday!
The next night I went to my other friend's birthday to hang out with my framily. It was wild! I had so much fun. I told them I would say the prayer. It went something like this.
The rest of the night was SOO much fun because my friends are hilarious. Luckily, hilariousness makes me silent laugh. We played a game on our phones . . . together. It is called Psych (kind of like balderdash). I continued using the app to talk and felt like I was a part of the group, even though it was different for all of us. I think I heard my friend Heather say, "even though it was a computer voice, I felt like I was hearing Megan's voice."
Ironically, I saw this video that day about a boy with autism who uses his iPad to talk. I think by nature I refuse to be disconnected from people, but I also think that working with kids with autism has taught me that there are thousands of ways to build relationships with others. All it takes is creativity, willingness to listen, and courage to reach out unashamed.
This made me revisit an idea I had a long time ago to go on a silent date. (I have so many date ideas. I loved the eat-in-the-dark date and I can't wait to play 1st date bingo with someone.) With most of my ideas, it is usually best if I just forget about them. If I try too hard to make it happen, it gets weird. But, when I forget about them, my body tunes in and manipulates space with the pure desires of my heart and the ideas resurface in as natural of a way as possible.
So. This is the silent date idea resurfacing.
Stay tuned to see how it went!
Thursday, April 7, 2016
Mormon Women: Please keep serving . . . and consider expanding your definition of "refugee"
I just feel the need to get this out.
Please keep serving refugees. Good job Mormon women (oh and the countless professionals and volunteers that have been serving this community for years). Way to look into it. Please keep reaching out to your fellow human sisters and brothers in love and service.
And please think carefully about who you consider a refugee.
Because chances are your neighbor is seeking refuge from something.
Chances are the newly labeled "apostate" gay couple that you know is seeking refuge from something--it might even be from the political decisions of your religious institution.
Chances are the undocumented immigrants whose children go to school with your children just might have left their country fleeing the same violence as official refugees. They just might not have had the chance to seek asylum.
Chances are the person you see with food stamps and their nails done still might be in need of your kindness instead of your judgement.
Chances are that what Sister Burton was saying was to look EVERY human in the eye and ask yourself, "what if their story was my story?"
If you don't have a center for refugees near you--don't fret. There are plenty of refugees of every kind surrounding you.
I loved Elder Kearon's talk in conference. It was mind blowing and so well done with heart and truth. His words that spoke most to me were the following:
"Being a refugee may be a defining moment in the lives of those who are refugees, but being a refugee does not define them. Like countless thousands before them, this will be a period—we hope a short period—in their lives. Some of them will go on to be Nobel laureates, public servants, physicians, scientists, musicians, artists, religious leaders, and contributors in other fields. Indeed, many of them were these things before they lost everything. This moment does not define them, but our response will help define us."
What I heard in that is everyone's story. One piece of someone's identity system or their circumstance does not define them.
How are you defining you?
Please keep serving refugees. Good job Mormon women (oh and the countless professionals and volunteers that have been serving this community for years). Way to look into it. Please keep reaching out to your fellow human sisters and brothers in love and service.
And please think carefully about who you consider a refugee.
Because chances are your neighbor is seeking refuge from something.
Chances are the newly labeled "apostate" gay couple that you know is seeking refuge from something--it might even be from the political decisions of your religious institution.
Chances are the undocumented immigrants whose children go to school with your children just might have left their country fleeing the same violence as official refugees. They just might not have had the chance to seek asylum.
Chances are the person you see with food stamps and their nails done still might be in need of your kindness instead of your judgement.
Chances are that what Sister Burton was saying was to look EVERY human in the eye and ask yourself, "what if their story was my story?"
If you don't have a center for refugees near you--don't fret. There are plenty of refugees of every kind surrounding you.
I loved Elder Kearon's talk in conference. It was mind blowing and so well done with heart and truth. His words that spoke most to me were the following:
"Being a refugee may be a defining moment in the lives of those who are refugees, but being a refugee does not define them. Like countless thousands before them, this will be a period—we hope a short period—in their lives. Some of them will go on to be Nobel laureates, public servants, physicians, scientists, musicians, artists, religious leaders, and contributors in other fields. Indeed, many of them were these things before they lost everything. This moment does not define them, but our response will help define us."
What I heard in that is everyone's story. One piece of someone's identity system or their circumstance does not define them.
How are you defining you?
Sunday, July 19, 2015
It started with a life, manifested in a death.
I can't believe it has been four years since my grandpa died. I wanted to share a part of my journal that sums up what July 19 means to me now and forever. Maybe, it was mostly important for me to type it out and revisit each word. It isn't even really about my grandpa dying. It is just to mark and celebrate 4 years of post experience learning.
I still remember being in Italy and debating when it was time to go home and say goodbye to him. I woke up one day knowing. I went home and remembered the promise I had made to myself when I spent hours with a 99 year old woman named Helen. I told myself if I ever got the chance, I would take care of my grandparents in this same way. I got to take care of him for a few weeks; about 1 1/2 months. One promise usually leads to another.
July 19, 2012
Exactly one year ago today, at 7:30 p.m. LaVerle M. Bingham died in his home, in his bed. He died the way he probably dreamed of dying, surrounded by family with all of his living children present. I saw him die. The air was still in the last few moments of his life. It was quiet. we all listened to his gasps that began after my grandmother had whispered at his bedside, "I will be all right." After weeks of taking care of him, I watched him let out one final breath, and with it his spirit. I looked at the frame of him. Curled in the fetal position and on his side, he laid in his final resting form. His mouth was open with his jaw slackened crookedly. It was a Tuesday.
That was a moment that changed my life. As I contemplated it over the next hours I came to understand that it was the greatest lesson my grandpa could teach me. His lesson, taught by his life and presented by his death was that all the blessings of the heavens and the earth were actually attainable. I know this because I believe he succeeded in attaining them. He was a simple farmer, a social butterfly, a father. HE watched movies and got grumpy. He has some of the worst penmanship I had ever seen. He was an average guy. But I believe now he is becoming a god. This event that caused me to understand is now one of the most significant in my life.
Today is a Thursday. Today I went through the Twin Falls temple to become endowed with power from on high. I wear the symbolic garment of the priesthood as I will do for the remainder of my life. The beauty of ancient rituals, symbols, covenants, and truths alleviate my need to understand them today. It was an eternally important day for me. I chose the day my grandpa died because I wanted to sanctify the day he taught me the greatest lesson. I didn't want to remember his passing with sorrow, for it was one of the most spiritual experiences of my life. It seems so natural to me to celebrate that in the temple.
Love,
Megan
I still remember being in Italy and debating when it was time to go home and say goodbye to him. I woke up one day knowing. I went home and remembered the promise I had made to myself when I spent hours with a 99 year old woman named Helen. I told myself if I ever got the chance, I would take care of my grandparents in this same way. I got to take care of him for a few weeks; about 1 1/2 months. One promise usually leads to another.
July 19, 2012
Exactly one year ago today, at 7:30 p.m. LaVerle M. Bingham died in his home, in his bed. He died the way he probably dreamed of dying, surrounded by family with all of his living children present. I saw him die. The air was still in the last few moments of his life. It was quiet. we all listened to his gasps that began after my grandmother had whispered at his bedside, "I will be all right." After weeks of taking care of him, I watched him let out one final breath, and with it his spirit. I looked at the frame of him. Curled in the fetal position and on his side, he laid in his final resting form. His mouth was open with his jaw slackened crookedly. It was a Tuesday.
That was a moment that changed my life. As I contemplated it over the next hours I came to understand that it was the greatest lesson my grandpa could teach me. His lesson, taught by his life and presented by his death was that all the blessings of the heavens and the earth were actually attainable. I know this because I believe he succeeded in attaining them. He was a simple farmer, a social butterfly, a father. HE watched movies and got grumpy. He has some of the worst penmanship I had ever seen. He was an average guy. But I believe now he is becoming a god. This event that caused me to understand is now one of the most significant in my life.
Today is a Thursday. Today I went through the Twin Falls temple to become endowed with power from on high. I wear the symbolic garment of the priesthood as I will do for the remainder of my life. The beauty of ancient rituals, symbols, covenants, and truths alleviate my need to understand them today. It was an eternally important day for me. I chose the day my grandpa died because I wanted to sanctify the day he taught me the greatest lesson. I didn't want to remember his passing with sorrow, for it was one of the most spiritual experiences of my life. It seems so natural to me to celebrate that in the temple.
Love,
Megan
Thursday, December 4, 2014
Fraudulent Memories--but oh so happy
I had this idea that the whole world would share their favorite memory of Lindsey. Then I thought, what is mine? Then I was like, "Don't we always talk about the same old memories even though they remain funny forever?" Then I thought, "What I really wish is that we had tons of new memories." Then I got sad, but then I thought, "I basically assume she is here all the time anyways." So then I thought, "I should just make up a bunch of fake memories to celebrate because they probably happened in some alternate universe anyways." Did you love hearing that entire thought process???
So here we go. A trip down fake memory lane.
Do you remember that one time with the canoes? There we were canoeing around the river bend with peaceful strokes when suddenly we heard a cry for help. we looked around and OH MY GOSH!!! It just so happened to be Lindsey, Rosie, Trevor, and Smiley stranded on a log! I was like "HEY YOOOOOOOUUUUU GUUUUUUYYYYYYSSS!" And you said, "Megan Megan, this ain't the kind of place you go to the bathroom in. Dead things MEGAN DEAD THINGS." Phew. Good thing we saved you guys. That was a good time. I don't even know how you came to be stranded in Utah.
So here we go. A trip down fake memory lane.
Do you remember that one time with the canoes? There we were canoeing around the river bend with peaceful strokes when suddenly we heard a cry for help. we looked around and OH MY GOSH!!! It just so happened to be Lindsey, Rosie, Trevor, and Smiley stranded on a log! I was like "HEY YOOOOOOOUUUUU GUUUUUUYYYYYYSSS!" And you said, "Megan Megan, this ain't the kind of place you go to the bathroom in. Dead things MEGAN DEAD THINGS." Phew. Good thing we saved you guys. That was a good time. I don't even know how you came to be stranded in Utah.
Then there was that other time that I ALMOST pushed you off of a cliff when Schmoopy kisses got OUT OF HAND.
Then there was that time when we all had that party at the Randall's cabin. Everyone was way cool and chill until a pigmy version of Trevor dressed as a zombie and tried to go all Walking Dead on us. At which point Lindsey rolled her eyes and got all introverted and went to write that hit song "Alone In My Principles"
Basically, Happy Birthday. I always wish you were here because it would make my group of friends that much more amazing. Love you too much. #istillwantyoursongtabs & #irecognizethisasmydudyearbutidon'tfeelbadbecauseiwarnedyoulastyearthatthismighthappen
Thursday, October 9, 2014
Chatter
Ruth is my new roommate. Ruth loves to eat tomatoes with a little bit of sugar. She and I share a love of scarves, although she wears hers with greater poise than I do. All of Ruth's possessions are carefully crafted and were thoughtfully chosen. The plates are Swedish. The jewelry box is from Jerusalem. The little sauce dishes are from Japan. Sometimes, Ruth stays up all night long to read a book. My kind of friend.
Ruth and I are new friends so we have talked a lot about each other's families, friends, and where we have been. We watched the old version of Sense and Sensibility together and I can't wait to show her my favorite version. She is pretty funny, but mostly she is really smart. We have had really great conversations. I feel like I can talk to her about a lot of things, but she will always talk about things that I don't know.
Tonight she was telling me about her trips to Jerusalem. Whenever people talk about Jerusalem, I feel like time stands still. Yes, I get so confused about dates and significant places there and history and facts and conflict, etc. But, I could listen to a person's experiences there all day long. She talked about traveling to Qumran and visiting the cave where they found the Dead Sea Scrolls. "When I came out, the limestone was all over me and I was as white as a ghost. But my smile was huge." She told me about the Pyramids of Giza. "Every geography book has a picture of these pyramids. You've seen them your whole life, but there is nothing like being there."
The way she talked reminded me about some of my experiences in Italy. I told her, "I believe we don't have to travel to feel apart of the world, but you are right. Being in one of those places is an inspiring feeling." Ruth agreed and then kept telling me about some of her favorite moments, like riding a camel or praying at the Western Wall. She said that she was passing a bar mitzvah and the celebrators insisted she eat some of their food. "They wanted to share some of their happiness with the tourists." As she talked, she brought up her friends that she traveled with. I could tell they had made a special bond, and it reminded me of my Alison. Then she said, "All of the people I shared this with are dead. Sometimes I wish I could talk to them about it and we could remember together."
Did I mention Ruth is 95-years-old?
Because it is me, you might have guessed that I have found a living arrangement that involves me being a caregiver again. You are right. I live for free in a basement and care for Ruth by cooking her dinner, eating with her, and helping her get ready for bed two nights a week and every other weekend. After general conference, she made the goal to study the scriptures more. So while she takes her pills, I read to her (which is helping out a lot because she can take forever on those pills sometimes--the scriptures keep us on track because I will stop reading when she needs to take one again). She had me start in Isaiah (yet another example of something she understands and I don't). Each night, I will read something that reminds her of something. She will start talking about that something. Then, she will look at me, wink, and say, "You don't mind if I chatter, do ya?"
No Ruth. Chatter. Chatter on. I don't mind.
I think I just heard her turn off the television so I am going to stop this and tuck her in. Insert in your minds: Trevor saying, "Oh finally, she will stop writing!" He is always baffled when it comes to matters of my verbosity.
Ruth and I are new friends so we have talked a lot about each other's families, friends, and where we have been. We watched the old version of Sense and Sensibility together and I can't wait to show her my favorite version. She is pretty funny, but mostly she is really smart. We have had really great conversations. I feel like I can talk to her about a lot of things, but she will always talk about things that I don't know.
Tonight she was telling me about her trips to Jerusalem. Whenever people talk about Jerusalem, I feel like time stands still. Yes, I get so confused about dates and significant places there and history and facts and conflict, etc. But, I could listen to a person's experiences there all day long. She talked about traveling to Qumran and visiting the cave where they found the Dead Sea Scrolls. "When I came out, the limestone was all over me and I was as white as a ghost. But my smile was huge." She told me about the Pyramids of Giza. "Every geography book has a picture of these pyramids. You've seen them your whole life, but there is nothing like being there."
The way she talked reminded me about some of my experiences in Italy. I told her, "I believe we don't have to travel to feel apart of the world, but you are right. Being in one of those places is an inspiring feeling." Ruth agreed and then kept telling me about some of her favorite moments, like riding a camel or praying at the Western Wall. She said that she was passing a bar mitzvah and the celebrators insisted she eat some of their food. "They wanted to share some of their happiness with the tourists." As she talked, she brought up her friends that she traveled with. I could tell they had made a special bond, and it reminded me of my Alison. Then she said, "All of the people I shared this with are dead. Sometimes I wish I could talk to them about it and we could remember together."
Did I mention Ruth is 95-years-old?
Because it is me, you might have guessed that I have found a living arrangement that involves me being a caregiver again. You are right. I live for free in a basement and care for Ruth by cooking her dinner, eating with her, and helping her get ready for bed two nights a week and every other weekend. After general conference, she made the goal to study the scriptures more. So while she takes her pills, I read to her (which is helping out a lot because she can take forever on those pills sometimes--the scriptures keep us on track because I will stop reading when she needs to take one again). She had me start in Isaiah (yet another example of something she understands and I don't). Each night, I will read something that reminds her of something. She will start talking about that something. Then, she will look at me, wink, and say, "You don't mind if I chatter, do ya?"
No Ruth. Chatter. Chatter on. I don't mind.
I think I just heard her turn off the television so I am going to stop this and tuck her in.
Monday, July 21, 2014
Why creativity is so important to me. Go.
So sometimes I have these totally aquarian moments (see here if you are curious about what that means) when I think an idea I have is OBVIOUSLY the best choice one could make for an evening. I have been dying to take a hike and paint at the top. Am I a painter? NOPE. Do I care? NOPE. Fortunately, I have two great friends who didn't make this extrovert spend this nature-loving moment alone. We hiked 3/4 of the way up and thought we might lose light so we pulled off the trail and sat down to paint. We were pretty much left alone (other than the 45 year old guy who tried so hard to impress us with his remote control airplane. I have it in me to attract these type of men . . . sadly.)
Both Natalie and Krista had some beautiful landscape stuff going on. Inspired by Giggles (my client who is the best abstract artist), I just started doing crazy, mad brush strokes with all the colors. It seriously looked like a painter's palette before Krista saved it. It was getting to the point where I was so embarrassed that I was trying to hide it from the other girls. But Krista saw it and said, "Oh, I see that girl flying." I shifted my eyes and slowly said, "Yeah . . . it is a girl . . . I mean, it is totally supposed to be a girl . . . " Not true. It was supposed to be a sun. But I smeared it all up because it looked like an attempt by a 5 year old (and not the exceptionally artistic Autistic 5 year old that I know). So I made it into a girl flying. I kind of love it. It probably represents exactly how I have been feeling lately. So that was lucky.
Here is the thing. I love being creative. I fail more often than not at the demonstration of skill, but I don't care. I love it so much. It might be one of the things I love the most about me. I used to stress about it having a place in my life. I would question if it would ruin my love for creative things (like sewing and writing) if I tried to make them my career. What I have found is that the more I have worked with people, the more creative I have had to be. What I love about creativity is that it isn't always about what you can create from nothing. It is more about how you can connect anything. Everything. How does what you know allow you to think about a problem in a different way? I am kind of just rambling about this thing I love about being a human. This is all leading to the way I feel about people. I have struggled reading fiction lately because I keep finding books full of characters that are no where near as ironic, brave, kind, true, complicated, simple, loving, etc as real people that I know. I am semi-addicted to solving people. I love to figure them out. I love to think about what makes them the way they are. With my clients, I love that moment when I can make something so full of fun and adventure and happiness that they learn without even knowing it. I can do that because I know them so well. And I know something like prepositions. And I have to find a way to entice them to care about prepositions. I never would have predicted how creative I would get to be on a daily basis because of the extraordinary opportunity that I have to work with people of all ages. I love art because I love how it can use this same concept to represent something. It can capture experiences that the artist might not have ever had. Even just connecting to a piece of art is a process of creativity. To look at something and connect it to an emotion or an experience or a memory or a concept that you personally have is to be creative with your own story. To imagine it or to see it in someone else's language. This is by far not my most eloquent blog post. It is super scattered and incomplete (insert Trevor's comment: "How can it be this long and still be incomplete?") , but I am so excited and happy to be alive. Way too energetic to calm down and edit this post. I just can't imagine that figuring out the right words to say will make any of it more understandable anyways. If I have learned one thing lately, it is that words are sometimes the least effective way of communicating.
And everyone should watch this talk by Elizabeth Gilbert. I don't care what you think about "Eat. Pray. Love." because it really doesn't matter.
Thursday, May 29, 2014
Wanna see me at work?
My friend Nicki suggested I write about one of the kids that I work with. For those who don't know, I am a behavior interventionist. I work with children with Autism and go to their homes to do different therapy programs with them. Here is one tiny glimpse at the things I get to witness:
We will call him Giggles. Mostly, because by the way he laughs at his own jokes you would think he is the funniest person in the world. Which, he might be. I arrive at Giggles' house the same time he does. He spots me and immediately groans and follows it with a "NOOOOO. Hate you! Hate you!"
Oh the games we play.
"Giggles, show me how to use nice words. Hi Giggles!" Now he knows I won't leave him alone until he is a tad kinder.
G: "Hi May-nan (Megan)."
M: "How are you?"
G: "Gate (Great). How you?"
M: "I'm so good. Thanks for saying hi and using nice words. Why don't you have a few minutes of free time."
G: "NOO LONGER! LONGER!!"
M: "Do you want one minute or five longer minutes?"
G: "Longer."
M: "Ok. 5 longer minutes then."
So I unload and start getting ready for the session by gathering materials. With this particular kiddo, I ignore him completely after he greets me because as we can see a year has gone by and he still hates seeing me at first. He will usually hide in his bed or play or run around with his usual vocal expressions of "AHHHH AHHH AHHHH ER ER ER NA NA NA NA" Honestly, they are no longer funny or strange sounds to me. They are just Giggles.
Today he has chicken nuggets so he is at the table with me. I walk away. I come back and find him giggling over spilled chocolate milk that he is rubbing all over himself and the furniture. His mischievous smile shines when he looks at me and explains in one word both the mess and his glee, "Bubbles."
M: "Oh dear. Bubbles in the chocolate milk. Next time try small bubbles."
Well that was an invitation. Process repeated. I carefully train him on the art of maintained bubble blowing and we clean up and get started. For him we have a visual schedule that has pictures of what we are going to do with my time there. We take turns choosing. His favorite choice is the star that means FREE TIME. My favorite choice is the snack time because then I get to convince him to try food he hates. I don't know why I love desensitization programs so much, but they are my favorite! He has gone from sobbing when I hold turkey in front of him to licking it, to holding it on his tongue, to holding it in his mouth, and the other day he chewed it for the first time!! Something about getting people to do stuff they hate makes me happy? Am I a torturer? Don't answer that.
Today, Mom gave us a cool rock that we got to break apart to find gems. Duh, breaking stuff? Fun. Giggles was in heaven as he took the hammer and chisel and repetitively crushed every bit of sandy plaster. His actions were accompanied by the face he makes when he is crazy focused on something: jaw locked, forehead furrowed, one eyebrow higher than the other, eyes wide, and all kinds of crazy noises from his mouth. The kit came with a magnifying glass. Giggles LOVES hunting. He loves pirates and treasure maps and scavenger hunts and finding hidden candy etc. He was pretty motivated today.
Giggles is kind of difficult to understand. He often will say something and pantomime it until we can figure out what it is (a year ago we couldn't get anything but vowel sounds, now he is using full sentences but to the un-Giggle ear not much would be understood). He usually ends a question with "Now." When crossing the street, "Hand now?" When wanting a snack. "Hungry now." When face-timing mom on her vacation and sweetly asking her to come "home now?"
Today I saw a band-aid on his elbow and asked what happened. He got that look in his eye. That Giggles look. He smiled and said, "Bah-beye". Then he raised his arm to his mouth and pantomimed biting. The charades begin.
M: "Bug bite?" "Did a kid at school bite you?" "Did you bite yourself?" "Did a spider bite you?"
G: No. No. No. No.
Mom tried to help but we couldn't figure any of it out. After 5 minutes of intense interrogation, Giggles was fighting back laughter as if he had a joke coming on. Finally, he said it one more time "Bah-Beye" BUT this time, he followed it up with a "Grrrrrr," and brought his hands to his face with his fingers curled. Mom said, "A vampire?"
And then came the giggles. Fired with machine-gun rapidity his low chuckle tumbled out infectiously. "YEAH! A Bah-beye!" See? He knew what he was saying this entire time. He insisted that it was a vampire. He later told me his name was Dracula and he came and bit him when he was in bed. I asked if he was a goofy vampire or a scary one. He said with all seriousness (and a look like "duh May-nan") "Scary." I asked him if he was a vampire now and with the same look of condescendence towards me he said, "NoOOooo."
He is always playing tricks on me. Right when I think he just wants to cuddle, he rips my scarf off of my neck and chucks it across the room. He laughs hysterically when I accompany him to retrieve it. I fall for it every time (but I finally stopped wearing scarves.) He tries to steal candy. He distracts me with a "this chicken nugget is HOT," hoping I will inspect it so he can try to run away.
Funny side note: The other day I had to eat his candy because he wasn't focusing on his work and the timer went off. We had a deal, but he clearly didn't believe I would follow through. So I ate it and he started sobbing in disbelief (umm there was a huge pile of candy in the corner but I guess he really wanted this one). He was so shocked that he pried my mouth open with his hands to see if the candy was really gone. Multiple times.
There are no words to describe how much I love this kid. And he knows it. One time I asked him who loves him and he listed his family members and then said, "And May-nan!"
But don't worry. I know he loves me too. He may start the session with "HATE YOU" but secretly, his mom told me that she asked who to invite to his birthday camping get-away. Do you know what he said? "Momma, dad, sister, Grammy, and May-nan."
HAH. I win.
We will call him Giggles. Mostly, because by the way he laughs at his own jokes you would think he is the funniest person in the world. Which, he might be. I arrive at Giggles' house the same time he does. He spots me and immediately groans and follows it with a "NOOOOO. Hate you! Hate you!"
Oh the games we play.
"Giggles, show me how to use nice words. Hi Giggles!" Now he knows I won't leave him alone until he is a tad kinder.
G: "Hi May-nan (Megan)."
M: "How are you?"
G: "Gate (Great). How you?"
M: "I'm so good. Thanks for saying hi and using nice words. Why don't you have a few minutes of free time."
G: "NOO LONGER! LONGER!!"
M: "Do you want one minute or five longer minutes?"
G: "Longer."
M: "Ok. 5 longer minutes then."
So I unload and start getting ready for the session by gathering materials. With this particular kiddo, I ignore him completely after he greets me because as we can see a year has gone by and he still hates seeing me at first. He will usually hide in his bed or play or run around with his usual vocal expressions of "AHHHH AHHH AHHHH ER ER ER NA NA NA NA" Honestly, they are no longer funny or strange sounds to me. They are just Giggles.
Today he has chicken nuggets so he is at the table with me. I walk away. I come back and find him giggling over spilled chocolate milk that he is rubbing all over himself and the furniture. His mischievous smile shines when he looks at me and explains in one word both the mess and his glee, "Bubbles."
M: "Oh dear. Bubbles in the chocolate milk. Next time try small bubbles."
Well that was an invitation. Process repeated. I carefully train him on the art of maintained bubble blowing and we clean up and get started. For him we have a visual schedule that has pictures of what we are going to do with my time there. We take turns choosing. His favorite choice is the star that means FREE TIME. My favorite choice is the snack time because then I get to convince him to try food he hates. I don't know why I love desensitization programs so much, but they are my favorite! He has gone from sobbing when I hold turkey in front of him to licking it, to holding it on his tongue, to holding it in his mouth, and the other day he chewed it for the first time!! Something about getting people to do stuff they hate makes me happy? Am I a torturer? Don't answer that.
Today, Mom gave us a cool rock that we got to break apart to find gems. Duh, breaking stuff? Fun. Giggles was in heaven as he took the hammer and chisel and repetitively crushed every bit of sandy plaster. His actions were accompanied by the face he makes when he is crazy focused on something: jaw locked, forehead furrowed, one eyebrow higher than the other, eyes wide, and all kinds of crazy noises from his mouth. The kit came with a magnifying glass. Giggles LOVES hunting. He loves pirates and treasure maps and scavenger hunts and finding hidden candy etc. He was pretty motivated today.
Giggles is kind of difficult to understand. He often will say something and pantomime it until we can figure out what it is (a year ago we couldn't get anything but vowel sounds, now he is using full sentences but to the un-Giggle ear not much would be understood). He usually ends a question with "Now." When crossing the street, "Hand now?" When wanting a snack. "Hungry now." When face-timing mom on her vacation and sweetly asking her to come "home now?"
Today I saw a band-aid on his elbow and asked what happened. He got that look in his eye. That Giggles look. He smiled and said, "Bah-beye". Then he raised his arm to his mouth and pantomimed biting. The charades begin.
M: "Bug bite?" "Did a kid at school bite you?" "Did you bite yourself?" "Did a spider bite you?"
G: No. No. No. No.
Mom tried to help but we couldn't figure any of it out. After 5 minutes of intense interrogation, Giggles was fighting back laughter as if he had a joke coming on. Finally, he said it one more time "Bah-Beye" BUT this time, he followed it up with a "Grrrrrr," and brought his hands to his face with his fingers curled. Mom said, "A vampire?"
And then came the giggles. Fired with machine-gun rapidity his low chuckle tumbled out infectiously. "YEAH! A Bah-beye!" See? He knew what he was saying this entire time. He insisted that it was a vampire. He later told me his name was Dracula and he came and bit him when he was in bed. I asked if he was a goofy vampire or a scary one. He said with all seriousness (and a look like "duh May-nan") "Scary." I asked him if he was a vampire now and with the same look of condescendence towards me he said, "NoOOooo."
He is always playing tricks on me. Right when I think he just wants to cuddle, he rips my scarf off of my neck and chucks it across the room. He laughs hysterically when I accompany him to retrieve it. I fall for it every time (but I finally stopped wearing scarves.) He tries to steal candy. He distracts me with a "this chicken nugget is HOT," hoping I will inspect it so he can try to run away.
Funny side note: The other day I had to eat his candy because he wasn't focusing on his work and the timer went off. We had a deal, but he clearly didn't believe I would follow through. So I ate it and he started sobbing in disbelief (umm there was a huge pile of candy in the corner but I guess he really wanted this one). He was so shocked that he pried my mouth open with his hands to see if the candy was really gone. Multiple times.
There are no words to describe how much I love this kid. And he knows it. One time I asked him who loves him and he listed his family members and then said, "And May-nan!"
But don't worry. I know he loves me too. He may start the session with "HATE YOU" but secretly, his mom told me that she asked who to invite to his birthday camping get-away. Do you know what he said? "Momma, dad, sister, Grammy, and May-nan."
HAH. I win.
Friday, May 2, 2014
Siobhan
Why am I so terrified? It is just a phone number. You dial it and someone answers.
Where did I get this number, you ask? Oh, that story begins with homesickness. Like all of my stories from the beginning of Italy do. I was homesick for Halloween, of all things. So I went to the market. I stood there stupidly until I watched enough people take a ticket to know that standing in line was an idiotic thing to do. I was the only person who was buying a pumpkin for carving rather than soup. Then I heard someone speak English. As I always did in Pecetto, I immediately sought out the human making those sounds and struck up a conversation. It lead to her giving me the number of a coworker who was looking for friends.
The coworker's name was Siobhan. I finally dialed her number. She answered and we had a good chat. She sounded so friendly and so nice. However, I knew that our cultures were a little different (Irish + Mormon). What if she drank all the time? What if she only wanted to party? What if she was a cool person (those and I don't get along much-not like unique=cool but a person who is literally 2 cool for school)? What if she thought I was stupid? What if she got too clingy and I suffocated from friendship? What if she watched movies that I absolutely hated? These are the things I worry about when making new friends.
I remember walking up her stairs the first time and seeing such a beautiful blonde. Her Irish accent rang delightfully throughout the seven times I had to ask her to pronounce her name. (Sh-iv-on). It turns out, the first night we hung out we watched a mutual all time favorite (French Kiss). Turns out, she was really accepting of all types of people (even non-drinking Mormon friends who were a little timid about exploring the Torino world). Turns out, we loved so many of the same movies. Turns out, she had lived an exciting life full of so many destinations from which she had come and gone. Turns out, making that phone call gave me a friend who didn't know me for very long, but still housed me when my job as an au pair fell through. Turns out, the more she drank the wiser she got. Long chats with her when I was desperate and lost still sound in my ears when I feel myself getting anywhere near the darkness of fear. She was so kind to me. She had such beautiful hopes and dreams, most of which involved finding a soul mate and getting married. Today, that dream came true. I saw videos and pictures go up of a wedding in Torino of one of the humans in this world who has literally saved my life. My heart could not be fuller. Congratulations my wonderful friend! Tanti Auguri!!!
Where did I get this number, you ask? Oh, that story begins with homesickness. Like all of my stories from the beginning of Italy do. I was homesick for Halloween, of all things. So I went to the market. I stood there stupidly until I watched enough people take a ticket to know that standing in line was an idiotic thing to do. I was the only person who was buying a pumpkin for carving rather than soup. Then I heard someone speak English. As I always did in Pecetto, I immediately sought out the human making those sounds and struck up a conversation. It lead to her giving me the number of a coworker who was looking for friends.
The coworker's name was Siobhan. I finally dialed her number. She answered and we had a good chat. She sounded so friendly and so nice. However, I knew that our cultures were a little different (Irish + Mormon). What if she drank all the time? What if she only wanted to party? What if she was a cool person (those and I don't get along much-not like unique=cool but a person who is literally 2 cool for school)? What if she thought I was stupid? What if she got too clingy and I suffocated from friendship? What if she watched movies that I absolutely hated? These are the things I worry about when making new friends.
I remember walking up her stairs the first time and seeing such a beautiful blonde. Her Irish accent rang delightfully throughout the seven times I had to ask her to pronounce her name. (Sh-iv-on). It turns out, the first night we hung out we watched a mutual all time favorite (French Kiss). Turns out, she was really accepting of all types of people (even non-drinking Mormon friends who were a little timid about exploring the Torino world). Turns out, we loved so many of the same movies. Turns out, she had lived an exciting life full of so many destinations from which she had come and gone. Turns out, making that phone call gave me a friend who didn't know me for very long, but still housed me when my job as an au pair fell through. Turns out, the more she drank the wiser she got. Long chats with her when I was desperate and lost still sound in my ears when I feel myself getting anywhere near the darkness of fear. She was so kind to me. She had such beautiful hopes and dreams, most of which involved finding a soul mate and getting married. Today, that dream came true. I saw videos and pictures go up of a wedding in Torino of one of the humans in this world who has literally saved my life. My heart could not be fuller. Congratulations my wonderful friend! Tanti Auguri!!!
Monday, April 7, 2014
Here comes the Bride
Remember how an eternity ago I said I made a wedding dress? Well, friends. I didn't lie. So the catch is they didn't do a bridal shoot like I thought they would so you can't really see all the details that I did. I tried to go through the photos enough to find ones that showed as much dress as possible. My dear friend Sarah was sick as a dog in all of these photos. Her wedding started an hour late. Poor dear. But she still looked stunning and danced her heart out.
Wednesday, February 26, 2014
What does she even do all day?
Oh to be 27 and completely unmarried.
Sometimes, I read all your blogs and realize that I never really write about my daily life/what I do here/what I hope for my future . . . etc. And then I pretend that all of you are wondering the answers to all of those questions. Oh beloved blog world of one way communication. I can imagine all of you reading and make up whatever reaction I want to.
My daily life is always different. My goals of late have been to establish a routine to accomplish the important things. This has been great. Monday: Volleyball. Tuesday: Grocery shop and cook meals for the freezer. Wednesday: Recuperate from the really hard client I see on Wednesday, usually by eating and running. Thursday: Run and then whatever the heck I want (has included nearly anything you can imagine--sewing, biking, reading, painting, singing, ukulele-ing, hanging out, hot tubbing, teaching english to refugees, meetings about church stuff, 7:00 naps that I regret, etc). Friday: Repeat Thursday. Saturday: Get whatever I didn't do on Thursday and Friday done.
The rest of the time is spent trying to figure out the big questions. Where am I going? Why am I here? Who am I?
See, when you are single, you are 100% alone in figuring out what your life is going to hold for you. At all times. When you think about your future, you have to make really hard decisions completely by yourself. The amazing thing is, that even with the support of amazing bishops, friends, family, peers who have already figured it out, and even the spiritual inklings and guidance, you still have to choose and you still have to trust yourself. You also start to see life in a less transient way. As a college student, everything is moving all the time. But some of my friends here are in their lifelong careers. Weird. They start to buy houses and take real vacations. It gets a girl thinking. You may remember that I have never really had a great career path in mind. It has always been an abstract concept, never a solidified idea. I had hoped to go to grad school when I graduated from BYU-Idaho, but I knew I needed time. So, I worked for the old lady, worked for the sex therapist, did the Italy thing, did the "come home from Italy, lost but found" thing, took care of my grandpa, discovered that grieving is a life long experience, worked at the day care (so glad that one is over), Temple Square (miss this one), and now I work with the most incredible humans I have met (almost all under the age of 5). Somewhere in all of this, I decided Social Work was the path forward. My last post showed you a smidgeon of how hopeful, yet also anxious I felt about finding out if I got into the program here at the University of Utah for a Master's in Social Work. Last friday, I got the email that held the fateful news.
Dear Megan,
Congratulations! . . .
I GOT IN!!!! I START IN THE FALL!! Can anyone understand how amazing it feels to know that I will be here for another 2 years at least? How grateful I am that I get more time with my friends? That I have a career path in mind that I think is true to me? That I was granted the desires of my heart? I know Trevor, I have already written a lot, but I feel like there aren't enough words in the world to explain all that I have learned in my 27 years of being Megan Whitlock. I am so grateful for all of you. I look back at 113 and I am not always proud of how I chose to treat all of you, but I am always grateful for how you all chose to treat me. I am so grateful for your hopes for me and helping me realize my potential. I owe so much to you and to all of my incredible friends here in SLC. So, I guess I wasn't ever 100% alone . . .
Love,
Megan
P.S. Being single also means no one takes glamorous photos of you and your cute . . . anything. Sorry. I am pretty photo-less.
P.S.S. My friends and I also are really smart. Our smartest venture is the Lunch Bunch. There are 10 of us in a group. 5 people make 10 lunches each one week. The other 5 make 10 lunches the next week. You cook 1 lunch every 2 weeks, divide it between 10 people and you have earned lunches for the next 2 weeks. I tell you this so you wish you had 10 friends and so you realize that we are the smartest and so you realize we are practically living in Zion. We are all really modest here.
P.S.S.S. I lied. Here is a photo. But I think my smile is the WORST. And it makes me laugh.
Sometimes, I read all your blogs and realize that I never really write about my daily life/what I do here/what I hope for my future . . . etc. And then I pretend that all of you are wondering the answers to all of those questions. Oh beloved blog world of one way communication. I can imagine all of you reading and make up whatever reaction I want to.
My daily life is always different. My goals of late have been to establish a routine to accomplish the important things. This has been great. Monday: Volleyball. Tuesday: Grocery shop and cook meals for the freezer. Wednesday: Recuperate from the really hard client I see on Wednesday, usually by eating and running. Thursday: Run and then whatever the heck I want (has included nearly anything you can imagine--sewing, biking, reading, painting, singing, ukulele-ing, hanging out, hot tubbing, teaching english to refugees, meetings about church stuff, 7:00 naps that I regret, etc). Friday: Repeat Thursday. Saturday: Get whatever I didn't do on Thursday and Friday done.
The rest of the time is spent trying to figure out the big questions. Where am I going? Why am I here? Who am I?
See, when you are single, you are 100% alone in figuring out what your life is going to hold for you. At all times. When you think about your future, you have to make really hard decisions completely by yourself. The amazing thing is, that even with the support of amazing bishops, friends, family, peers who have already figured it out, and even the spiritual inklings and guidance, you still have to choose and you still have to trust yourself. You also start to see life in a less transient way. As a college student, everything is moving all the time. But some of my friends here are in their lifelong careers. Weird. They start to buy houses and take real vacations. It gets a girl thinking. You may remember that I have never really had a great career path in mind. It has always been an abstract concept, never a solidified idea. I had hoped to go to grad school when I graduated from BYU-Idaho, but I knew I needed time. So, I worked for the old lady, worked for the sex therapist, did the Italy thing, did the "come home from Italy, lost but found" thing, took care of my grandpa, discovered that grieving is a life long experience, worked at the day care (so glad that one is over), Temple Square (miss this one), and now I work with the most incredible humans I have met (almost all under the age of 5). Somewhere in all of this, I decided Social Work was the path forward. My last post showed you a smidgeon of how hopeful, yet also anxious I felt about finding out if I got into the program here at the University of Utah for a Master's in Social Work. Last friday, I got the email that held the fateful news.
Dear Megan,
Congratulations! . . .
I GOT IN!!!! I START IN THE FALL!! Can anyone understand how amazing it feels to know that I will be here for another 2 years at least? How grateful I am that I get more time with my friends? That I have a career path in mind that I think is true to me? That I was granted the desires of my heart? I know Trevor, I have already written a lot, but I feel like there aren't enough words in the world to explain all that I have learned in my 27 years of being Megan Whitlock. I am so grateful for all of you. I look back at 113 and I am not always proud of how I chose to treat all of you, but I am always grateful for how you all chose to treat me. I am so grateful for your hopes for me and helping me realize my potential. I owe so much to you and to all of my incredible friends here in SLC. So, I guess I wasn't ever 100% alone . . .
Love,
Megan
P.S. Being single also means no one takes glamorous photos of you and your cute . . . anything. Sorry. I am pretty photo-less.
P.S.S. My friends and I also are really smart. Our smartest venture is the Lunch Bunch. There are 10 of us in a group. 5 people make 10 lunches each one week. The other 5 make 10 lunches the next week. You cook 1 lunch every 2 weeks, divide it between 10 people and you have earned lunches for the next 2 weeks. I tell you this so you wish you had 10 friends and so you realize that we are the smartest and so you realize we are practically living in Zion. We are all really modest here.
P.S.S.S. I lied. Here is a photo. But I think my smile is the WORST. And it makes me laugh.
Tuesday, January 28, 2014
Dream a little dream
Last night I had this dream. Despite attempts to not dwell on it, the fact that I could find out about the graduate program soon has been on my mind. So, along with a number of other things that I don't have any control over in my life, I was thinking about that and I had one of those really long dreams last night.
The bit I want to share because I am bored and like to pretend like people read my blog, involved a number of my friends here in Salt Lake. Along with hundreds of people, we were in this building like you would see in a futuristic movie where everyone has to live together.
It wasn't a bad feeling but I had no idea what we were doing there. One by one, my friends were called to go do this test. They were all chill about it and acted like they knew what it was all about. The only reason I wasn't freaking out was because Krista Kendall was so confident about it. And I thought, "If she isn't worried about all the millions of things this could be then I definitely don't have to be." And while I hung out, I saw some of them come back. I had no idea what we were doing. When it was finally my turn (curse alphabetical order . . . ) I went forward and was led to this floor that opened into the ocean. I was supposed to climb into this one-man submarine and be taken hundreds of miles away and dropped off. Alone. As I was about to shut the door, I asked "So will I make it back here alive?" And the guy said, "If you make it back, it means you are in the graduate program."
Fully feeling like I was going to either drown because the submarine would be faulty, or die of suffocation, I nodded and shut the door and let them take me. When I was dropped off in the middle of the ocean the last thing I heard was someone back at the main building saying through my gadgety sub "Now don't worry, we will control your machine. You just sit tight."
So I just floated through this endless sea for hours while someone controlled my fate. The thing is, I didn't know what the alternative was if I didn't make it into the program.
Claustrophobia?
Death by marine animal attack?
Davy Jones Locker?
Or that the controllers would forget me. Or all of my friends would never see me again, that I would somehow fail where they hadn't. But mostly, I just felt weird that I didn't know about this in advance and that I was in my pajamas, without a bra--which always unnerves me in a dream. But REALLY, I felt peace. And this resolve to die if it was asked of me or to live if it was asked of me. After that, my mind became as still as the sea around me and lost in the hours.
This peaceful, mindless floating, finally ended, and I emerged from the depths. The controllers opened my door and I met the same guy as before. He told me that I was admitted into the graduate program and that my scores were among the highest. He said I had never had anything to worry about, there was no way I would have been rejected. My other life problems (besides being braless) were also seemingly resolved.
So I am privileged to be in my own mind all day, and let me say, it hasn't been calm for months. And I feel crazy, unsettled, panicked, and exhausted at most hours of the day. And then it switches to elated, joyous, hopeful, and just accepting the rest of the time. From this dream one may learn that despite my extremely vacillating mind when I am awake:
I have got
the
MOST
hopeful,
kick-butt,
"nam myoho renge kyo"
sub-conscious.
The bit I want to share because I am bored and like to pretend like people read my blog, involved a number of my friends here in Salt Lake. Along with hundreds of people, we were in this building like you would see in a futuristic movie where everyone has to live together.
It wasn't a bad feeling but I had no idea what we were doing there. One by one, my friends were called to go do this test. They were all chill about it and acted like they knew what it was all about. The only reason I wasn't freaking out was because Krista Kendall was so confident about it. And I thought, "If she isn't worried about all the millions of things this could be then I definitely don't have to be." And while I hung out, I saw some of them come back. I had no idea what we were doing. When it was finally my turn (curse alphabetical order . . . ) I went forward and was led to this floor that opened into the ocean. I was supposed to climb into this one-man submarine and be taken hundreds of miles away and dropped off. Alone. As I was about to shut the door, I asked "So will I make it back here alive?" And the guy said, "If you make it back, it means you are in the graduate program."
Fully feeling like I was going to either drown because the submarine would be faulty, or die of suffocation, I nodded and shut the door and let them take me. When I was dropped off in the middle of the ocean the last thing I heard was someone back at the main building saying through my gadgety sub "Now don't worry, we will control your machine. You just sit tight."
So I just floated through this endless sea for hours while someone controlled my fate. The thing is, I didn't know what the alternative was if I didn't make it into the program.
Claustrophobia?
Davy Jones Locker?
Or that the controllers would forget me. Or all of my friends would never see me again, that I would somehow fail where they hadn't. But mostly, I just felt weird that I didn't know about this in advance and that I was in my pajamas, without a bra--which always unnerves me in a dream. But REALLY, I felt peace. And this resolve to die if it was asked of me or to live if it was asked of me. After that, my mind became as still as the sea around me and lost in the hours.
This peaceful, mindless floating, finally ended, and I emerged from the depths. The controllers opened my door and I met the same guy as before. He told me that I was admitted into the graduate program and that my scores were among the highest. He said I had never had anything to worry about, there was no way I would have been rejected. My other life problems (besides being braless) were also seemingly resolved.
So I am privileged to be in my own mind all day, and let me say, it hasn't been calm for months. And I feel crazy, unsettled, panicked, and exhausted at most hours of the day. And then it switches to elated, joyous, hopeful, and just accepting the rest of the time. From this dream one may learn that despite my extremely vacillating mind when I am awake:
I have got
the
MOST
hopeful,
kick-butt,
"nam myoho renge kyo"
sub-conscious.
Monday, January 6, 2014
Sometimes . . . I think
So I LOVE TED. I have a few videos that I watch over and over as coping strategies for when my brain needs help. I also have a lot of journals. And I almost started a new one today just to write down a few things about this TED talk and I said to myself, "THIS IS GETTING OUT OF HAND! YOU CANNOT HAVE A TED JOURNAL." So I went to the blog instead. But I still might start a TED journal.
The talk called Who am I? does not have anything to do with the numbers 24601 or Jean Val Jean. It is a great, short talk about one of the ways we discover who we are. He talks about imitation. Children are programmed to imitate, it is how they learn to become. All of Hetain Patel's artwork deals with the concept of identity. His discovery is that identity is "an ever-shifting game of imitation." As children, who did we imitate? As students, workers, adults? As humans, who do we imitate and whose identity did we want from the beginning?
He also uses a word that is very significant in my life: failure. To me, sometimes failure is like this giant rock that is constantly with me, magnetically engineered to stay by me. It is heavy and I am scared of it. I have tried throwing it away from me, leaving it behind, climbing over it, hiding under it, dragging it, kicking it, ignoring it, romanticizing it, philosophizing it, embracing it . . . The reality is that failure is a fact of life. And I really love life. I liked this video because he talks about failure in a way that I have never considered. Sometimes, or always, the human conditions that seem to weaken us the most are the ones that lead us to the discovery of who we truly are. And when we know who we are, I believe we can overcome anything.
The talk called Who am I? does not have anything to do with the numbers 24601 or Jean Val Jean. It is a great, short talk about one of the ways we discover who we are. He talks about imitation. Children are programmed to imitate, it is how they learn to become. All of Hetain Patel's artwork deals with the concept of identity. His discovery is that identity is "an ever-shifting game of imitation." As children, who did we imitate? As students, workers, adults? As humans, who do we imitate and whose identity did we want from the beginning?
He also uses a word that is very significant in my life: failure. To me, sometimes failure is like this giant rock that is constantly with me, magnetically engineered to stay by me. It is heavy and I am scared of it. I have tried throwing it away from me, leaving it behind, climbing over it, hiding under it, dragging it, kicking it, ignoring it, romanticizing it, philosophizing it, embracing it . . . The reality is that failure is a fact of life. And I really love life. I liked this video because he talks about failure in a way that I have never considered. Sometimes, or always, the human conditions that seem to weaken us the most are the ones that lead us to the discovery of who we truly are. And when we know who we are, I believe we can overcome anything.
Thursday, December 5, 2013
Everything I am I owe to Lindsey?
If you think I am grateful I have friends . . .
It is because of my relationship with Lindsey.
If you think I am brave it is because . . .
Except for Lindsey. She would always get a camera ready. But I wised up. Last time, I did a potentially floppy dive into the pool AFTER I forced her to turn her camera off. But seriously, she encouraged me to do a lot of good things too that made me brave. I guess in a twisted way all the dumb stuff I did that she told me to do helped me shake off failed attempts at other good stuff. ??? Right??
The real reason I went to BYU-Idaho . . .
Lindsey & I were full of these principles.
Why I play the ukulele?
BECAUSE I HAD ACCESS TO AMAZING MUSICAL ABILITIES FOR YEARS AND NOW I SUFFER WITHDRAWALS DAILY FROM IT. YOU HAVE RUINED ME.
I could go on forever. Trevor would love it. But basically . . .
Happy Birthday Lindsey Pie.
For the rest of you . . .
Throwback thursday? I am just really proud of this post
http://mags-rags.blogspot.com/2011/12/another-birthday-post-to-lindsey-who.html
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)