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:

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.) 

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!  

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!  

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?

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 

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.

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

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.  

She loves being tucked in.  It is the one moment that she enjoys having to be taken care of.  Every time I tuck the heated blanket closely under her back and up over her shoulders, she smiles at me and says, "I love that so much.  Thank you."  It is the sweetest "thank you" I have ever heard.

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.