My Little Tree, the Antique Fireplace, an Exposed Brick Wall, and a Single Strand of Christmas Lights

Christmas Lights

I love Christmas lights.  I walk around New York pausing every few blocks to say, "ooooohhhh, look at those lights."  I sit on my couch in my living room admiring the single strand of white lights that perfectly wraps around my little tree and then stretches across my antique whitewashed mantle.  As I write this, reclined on my bed in the dark, I am looking out my window at rows and columns of window air conditioning units wishing it would snow just a little thicker instead of looking like the last minute of a cotton candy machine--vague wisps of goodness meandering through the air.

Maybe it's good the snow probably won't stick; I left my boots at work in favor of wearing my heels home.  The memory of 50 degree weather this morning stuck out more clearly than the reality of wind, precipitation, and bitter cold that had transformed the day to night.  Still, I miss those nights I spent sitting on my couch in Utah as an undergraduate.  My couch nestled the window, and the window was adorned with a valence I had made in a post-break-up effort to feel self-worth and block out pain.  On top of the valence hung a strand of white Christmas lights.  I would sit there at midnight, journal and pen in hand, and allow myself to be mesmerized by the lamp post illuminating happy flakes on their way to pad the concrete.

The concrete will not be padded tomorrow morning.  Though I am hoping for dust bunnies, it looks like tonight will only bring dust.  And the whistling of my radiator.

And the Light Came Again

Readers: This is an essay I wrote while some months ago, and I just decided to reread it.  I think it is worthy of posting now.  Enjoy.

A few months ago I was walking between buildings on campus to get things from my locker before going home.  The clouds threatened, and the air loomed with moisture.  Only two blocks to the metro—I thought I could beat the storm.  By the time I was finished at my locker, the rain had started to fall.  I attempted to use my umbrella, but after half a block, my umbrella had been hopelessly, irreparably warped by the wind.  Soon my jeans were heavy, my glasses splattered, my mascara blinding, my flip flops—a slick liability.  I think I moved my arms in a breaststroke motion, trying to combat the wind as if it were a rip tide.  I prayed in vocal sobs that I would make it to the metro safely, and eventually, I did.  Some companion riders suggested, “I think your backpack is leaking.”  “Did you see the rest of me?  I’m drenched head to toe.” 

Earlier this week, clouds of discouragement, burden, frustration, and emotion threatened a similar storm.  And then it happened.  The storm broke, the rain came, and the same vocal sobs uttered a prayer, not for my physical safety this time, but for every other kind of safety—spiritual, mental, emotional.  One of my friends recently said, “Behind the bright smiles and warm handshakes, there is often deep pain.”  While I do not doubt the sincerity of many bright smiles and warm handshakes, I am equally confident that any person who has experienced growth in this life has done so at great cost, at the hand of many storms, and with the strength of many prayers.

Around the beginning of my second year of law school, I began to think significantly about what is required to attain perfection—what is required to be like Christ.  I had completed a personal inventory and found that I liked and was generally nice to my roommates; did not steal, lie, or commit other affirmative sinful acts; and tried to be an all-around good person most days.  I could not pinpoint anything specific to repent of but realized I was far far far from perfect.  And I concluded that perfection requires a refined character.  Not necessarily in the sense of appreciating fine culture, but in embodying every good thing: honesty, kindness, patience, humility, faith, hope, charity, and all forms of virtue.  These were not traits I could concretely and measurably practice in my daily life.  They were not attributes for which I could define a goal, pick a project, and discretely work on.  Rather, they were, and are, character traits which require a lifetime or more to develop.

In the year that followed this realization, and this desire to somehow be better, I was presented with ample storms to change me.  After a week of particularly difficult events, including the death of my grandfather, I read A Grief Observed, by C.S. Lewis.  His characterization of God’s influence in our lives struck me: “[So God is, then, something like a divine physician.] A cruel man might be bribed—might grow tired of his vile sport—might have a temporary fit of mercy, as alcoholics have [temporary] fits of sobriety. But suppose that what you are up against is a [wonderfully skilled] surgeon whose intentions are [solely and absolutely] good.  [Then,] the kinder and more conscientious he is, [the more he cares about you,] the more inexorably he will go on cutting [in spite of the suffering it may cause.  And] if he yielded to your entreaties, if he stopped before the operation was complete, all the pain up to that point would have been useless…”  (C.S. Lewis, as quoted by Jeffrey R. Holland in “The Bitter Cup and the Bloody Baptism”)

At times, I felt that I was undergoing the exact same surgery over and over and over again.  With each ordeal, I turned to the Lord, knowing I could not face the circumstances alone.  It was a choice, a very real and tempting choice between being absorbed by bitterness and shutting myself off versus reaching out to the only Being who could understand.  I often felt alone, and I often was alone, but not entirely.  Christ was alone, so I would never have to be.  Each time I prayed, there was relief.  He was there.  Each time I sought assistance, it was granted.  Never in the form of a vanishing problem, but rather in the form of strength to take one more step or to try one more alternative or to make it through one more day.  Often I found myself praying again within the hour because for whatever reason, my faith had faltered, but again the comfort came, and it was enough to get me through.

This week, as the sobs subsided, the storm parted, and the light came again.  Peace washed over me.  My muddled thoughts were clear.  My knowledge of the power of Christ’s Atonement became that much more certain and sure.

A friend recently described a mutual friend of ours as seeming to have “a perpetual buoyancy that only comes from a joy in Christ, whether he recognized it or described it in that way.”  Whether we recognize it or describe it as such, the power behind the bright smiles and warm handshakes, the ability to serve in times of turmoil, the hope of something better is a joy in Christ and His Atonement.

Also recommended: “The Inconvenient Messiah” by Jeffrey R. Holland

In Whom I Am Well Pleased

Yesterday while a group of us were discussing our plans for Thanksgiving and Christmas, a colleague of mine said, "The best part of Christmas is the presents."  Earlier that morning, I had just finished reading, The Life of Our Lord by Charles Dickens.  One of my favorite parts of the book was, "and His name will be Jesus Christ; and people will put that name in their prayers, because they will know God loves it, and will know that they should love it too." 

My colleague's statement reminded me of a time when things were especially rough.  As I was feeling the different pieces of my life falling apart, I had decided to "count my blessings."  While my blessings were still many, I realized that at the rate things were going, the potential to be left "blessing-less" was always a possibility, and somehow I would still need to find hope and joy in life.  This realization did not diminish my gratitude for my blessings, but I shifted my focus from the "presents" in my life to the one immutable gift God has given to me and to each of His children: the sacrifice of His Son, Jesus Christ.

This morning I read from the book of Matthew, in the Bible, chapter 3 verse 17 as God the Father introduced Jesus Christ: "This is my beloved Son, in whom I am well pleased." (emphasis added)  I thought about how beautiful it feels to know one of my parents is pleased with me.  I thought about the confidence I gain knowing that my Heavenly Father, of all persons and beings, is pleased with me.  What a gift the Father gave to His Son in that declaration!  God loves Him and we should love Him too.

As we approach the holiday season, first Thanksgiving, and then Christmas, I am filled with gratitude for my Savior, Jesus Christ.  Whether I am down in the dumps or on top of the world, the gift of the Atonement--Christ's sacrifice for our sins, our trials, our sorrows, our struggles, our pride, and every other challenge we face--is always there.  It cannot be removed.  It is infinite and eternal.  It lifts me and grounds me at the same time.  Jesus Christ is the ultimate gift, for which I give thanks, and the best part of Christmas.

Another year without him

It's Veteran's Day again, and I'm restraining tears as I sit at my desk.  It has been just over a year and a half since my favorite veteran passed away.  Last year, I wrote this tribute.  In 2008, I likely celebrated Veteran's Day with the following conversation.

Grandma: Hello?

Me: Hi Nana, it's me.  Is Papa there?

Grandma: Oh yes, let me get him.  (Yelling...)  Reid, pick up the phone, it's Megan.

Papa: Helllllloooooo-oh!

Me: Hi Papa.  Hey guys, guess where I am right now?

Nana: Oh, where, honey?

Me: I'm at the Pentagon.  I was just thinking of you and wanted to call to wish my favorite veteran a Happy Veteran's Day.

Papa: Well, I'll say...

That's not quite an accurate account.  By the time my commute between school and home required me to wait for the bus at the Pentagon, Papa was rarely at home.  He lived in a nursing home most of the time those last few months and I could hardly ever reach him.  But we had several chats while I waited for the 10 E at the Pentagon, and I always asked him to guess where I was.  They were so proud of me being in Washington D.C. and going to law school. 

Today is probably the sort of day when I would try to go for a run from my apartment to the Memorial Bridge only to find out that the trail along VA-27 was closed to foot traffic.  I would resign myself to jogging up to the Air Force Memorial and taking in the view of our nation's Capitol.  After class I would probably find myself wandering the three miles between school and Arlington National Cemetery to read the same quote I would have read earlier at the Air Force Memorial: "just as fire tempers iron into fine steel, so does adversity temper one's character into firmness, tolerance, and determination." (Senator Margaret Chase Smith, Lt. Colonel, United States Air Force Reserve)  I would have searched for a tissue while making my way to the Blue Line.

But I don't live in Virginia anymore.  So instead, I'm sitting on the 37th Floor in a sea of skyscrapers with pictures flooding my memory.  Pictures of Papa standing in his driveway waving to us, his hand in a flapping motion and blowing us kisses until our car turned the corner; pictures of Papa reading the Christmas story to all of his grandchildren out of the Bible; pictures of him with IVs and a breathing tube; pictures of him from a dream I had just a few weeks ago, dancing at a wedding.  Oh how I had hoped he would live to be at mine.  Memories overwhelm my self-restraint; I am reaching for a tissue.

Reading the Last Page First

My grandma and I have a couple things in common.  Fourteen years ago, she gave me a book with the following note inscribed in the cover:

Dearest Megan,


This is my very favorite book.  I am so happy that you are old enough to share it with me.  Read it and tell me what you think.  Be sure to read it before you watch the video.  Have a Merry Christmas.


Love you,
Nana


I have since read To Kill a Mockingbird four times. Since my grandma gave it to me when I was eleven years old, it has also become one of my very favorite books.  My grandma and I also share the habit of wanting to know how the story ends so badly that we frequently read the last page or chapter of a book after reading the first few.

Shhh... don't tell, Meggie, but I read the end already.


Living in New York City, working in a skyscraper, and meeting all sorts of new people is more exciting than any book I've read.  If I were to write a novel about my life, I would have to write a series.  Childhood, undergrad, and law school each deserve their own binding.  New York would be at least the fourth book in my series with chapters such as:

Chapter 1: The Joy of Having Professional Movers
Chapter 2: Ten New Facebook Friends after a Church Dance
Chapter 3: A Broken Escalator and a Pedestrian Traffic Jam

And the current chapter: Implied Warranty of Habitability.  I really wish I could see if our landlord turns on the heat in chapter 5, not to mention the other story lines I'd like to know the end of.  But this author hasn't figured out the end yet.  She's still waiting to write the last page.

Anchor

Life, like these blogs posts, has taken some twists and turns.  If you look back through the months of postings there was the "Name that Memorial" series focused exclusively on running and tourism, the "studying for finals and the bar exam" series, and now I seem to be in a series on faith.  It's amazing how even wonderful life changes prompt faith-developing experiences.  And it's ironic how the things I worried about 12 months, 10 months, 6 months ago related to my move to New York are the things that seem to be working out perfectly and there are all sorts of other things that leave me with a weird empty feeling.

For the past two weeks I've felt some weird combination between floating and drifting.  Those are two very different feelings.  Floating is being above it all in a place where you wonder if things are real because they are too good to be true.  Drifting is being tossed--being smashed against the woman who has a dog in her purse on a urine infested Subway car, being exhilarated through an eddy of adrenaline that comes from finishing a last minute assignment before leaving the office, being propelled northward on Broadway by some extra-human force at the end of a day when you forgot to eat and failed to sleep from a mixture of anticipation and nerves.  The combination of the two feelings is something akin to hitting a meteor.

I had a mini-identity crisis today.  I longed for someone to laugh at me and say, "Meg...." for doing something that is "so Meg."  Like the picture one friend took of me cooking enchiladas with my blue "birdie" apron on and my Blackberry in hand, or the time I confessed being a worrier in front of the entire congregation at church and then totally called out the smile on my roommate's face as if I could see her sitting on the stand behind me.  I tried to reassert my identity today--I planned a small dinner party.  As former roommates know, I went through a phase where I planned so many dinner parties I had to swear them off, but I loved throwing dinners so much that I started rationalizing by calling them "gatherings."

While simultaneously floating and drifting in the exosphere over this clean slate of an identity, I have felt an incredible need for an anchor.  Something to keep me grounded in reality and what is really important.  So tonight I went to the temple.  It was my anchor.  The temple workers were practicing American Sign Language, so I sat through ordinances in silence watching them speak with their hands, and something amazing happened.  I knew (rather was reminded of knowing) that our Heavenly Father knows us individually.  Our identities are grounded in the fact that we are His children.  He knows us and loves us so much that there is room for each of us to participate in His house and in His work--even if we don't speak.  And His house and His gospel are the same, whether you are with family in Southern California, or with friends who may as well be family in Washington D.C., or with 8 million anonymous faces brimming with potential friendship in New York City.  He knows me and He knows what is "so Meg."

Wind

In the Book of Mormon, there is a story about a group of people called the Jaredites who came to the Americas in ships at the time languages were confounded when the Tower of Babel was destroyed.  This small group of righteous people were blessed by God not to have their language be confounded, and by a prophet referred to as the Brother of Jared, they were led to the American continent, a promised land.  (See the Book of Ether for the complete story.)

One part of the account of their journey describes: "And it came to pass that the Lord God caused that there should be a furious wind blow upon the face of the waters, towards the promised land; and thus they were tossed upon the waves of the sea before the wind. ... And it came to pass that the wind did never cease to blow towards the promised land..."  (See verses 5-8.)

Have you ever been on a boat for a long period of time?  I love short adventures with any kind of watercraft, but after about 24 hours at sea, I'm ready to be done.  I feel sick, cagey, and restless, even if the whole point is to be relaxing and have nothing to do.  I've never been on a ship that has encountered a furious wind, but I have tried walking to the metro during one of D.C.'s near hurricanes.  It's not easy, and it's not fun.  I certainly never feel like the wind is assisting me in reaching a better place.

I don't think of the story of the Jaredites as an allegory--I believe it literally happened.  However, I see it's allegorical value.  At times in my life I have been stuck on a figurative ship, in the middle of a difficult situation with no easy way out.  Sometimes it feels the way I felt on a hike several years ago in Canyonlands National Park.  My group had hiked down into a gorge, was running out of water, and the only way to get back to our cars was to keep pushing our way up.  The prospect of climbing the wall of the gorge was incredibly unappealing, but we had no other option.  Once the Jaredites boarded ships to the promised land, there was no other option--they had to keep going or get out of the boat and drown.  When I came to this earth, I had made the decision to stay faithful through all trials in order to reach the promised land my Heavenly Father is preparing in heaven.  The only other option is to metaphorically drown--to succumb to Satan's temptations, particularly of discouragement and defeat, abandoning the hope of Heavenly Father's promises.

The amazing thing is that the harder the winds that Heavenly Father frequently designs just for me and my ship, the better the end result.  At the moment life feels like being riding a jet ski on the glassy morning Pacific with dolphins and sea lions.  (I'm not making this up; I really did this and it was amazing.)  On the other hand, the past two years had some lengthy bouts of furious winds.  I have no doubt there are more furious winds ahead, but instead of pushing me back, they will be pushing me forward to solid ground.

True Prophets

A few weeks ago, The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints held it's 180th Semi-Annual General Conference at Temple Square in Salt Lake City.  (Archives of the conference can be found here.)  Listening to General Conference was a peaceful way to spend eight hours of my weekend.  Questions I had been pondering were miraculously answered, and subtle points of confusion were made clear as I listened to God's prophets share His message for the world.

A couple weeks before General Conference, I was at a gathering of LDS Single Adults in New York City.  I attended a break-out session discussing sacrifice, and there was some discussion regarding the differences between laws of sacrifice and consecration.  After that break-out session I had been contemplating what consecration really means and seeking a clear explanation.  During the first two-hour session of General Conference, Elder Todd D. Christofferson, one of the modern Twelve Apostles, gave a talk entitled "Reflections on a Consecrated Life."

In his talk, Elder Christofferson explained and clarified things I had been pondering for quite some time.  He said, "our life on earth is a stewardship of time and choices granted by our Creator.  The word stewardship calls to mind the Lord's law of consecration, which has an economic role, but more than that, is an application of celestial law to life here and now.  To consecrate is to set apart or dedicate something as sacred, devoted to holy purposes."  Then Elder Christofferson listed five elements of a consecrated life: purity, work, respect for one's physical body, service, and integrity.

When I first learned about the law of consecration, I viewed it as limited to the United Order--essentially an economic welfare system.  Later experiences taught me that consecration can involve more than money, but also time and talents.  But Elder Christofferson's talk helped me understand how the law of consecration is inextricably linked with the Atonement of Jesus Christ.  To live a pure life, we must follow Christ's example and rely on the healing power of the Atonement through repentance.  Work frequently stretches me as an individual and requires me to rely on the Atonement to grow and develop in ways that I would not be able to on my own.  Respect for our physical bodies stems from an understanding that through Christ's Atonement and resurrection we too will be resurrected and our spirits will be reunited with the physical bodies we possess on this earth.  Christ's Atonement was the ultimate act of service, and as we perform service for others our characters are changed to become more like Christ's perfect character.  By living a consecrated life we continue to change and develop to the point where our integrity is perfect. The gospel is a gospel of change.  Gospel means good news.  Changing from our human and imperfect states to a Christlike one is the best news.  And it is through the Atonement of Jesus Christ that this change is possible.

The power and beauty of change was further highlighted to me in President Boyd K. Packer's talk, "Cleansing the Inner Vessel."  Though President Packer explicitly addressed the dangers of pornography and other forms of immorality that threaten the family, I realized the truth of one of his statements as applied in so many contexts.  He said, "Some suppose that they were preset and cannot what they feel are inborn temptations toward the impure and the unnatural.  Not so!  Remember, God is our Heavenly Father."  He continues to discuss agency and Paul's instruction to the Corinthians that not one of Heavenly Father's children will be tempted beyond his or her capacity to overcome that temptation.

Many people who heard or read this talk applied this quote specifically sexual sins, and understandably so considering the context of the talk.  However, the truth of President Packer's statement resonated as I noticed the subtle ways in which Satan is currently attacking the idea of agency.  I was in Barnes & Noble where I read the cover of Scientific American Mind: "The Making of a Psychopath, Why They Don't Care: They Can't."  Later this week I was reading The Tipping Point, by Malcolm Gladwell.  He stresses over and over that people are the product of their environments, insinuating that our actions and reactions are outside our individual control.  These more subtle attacks on the supremacy of personal agency are incredibly dangerous. How grateful I am for an apostle of the Lord who through modern revelation made it clear that agency is a real and true principle, that we are each free to choose what we will do.


President Packer's remarks resonate with a statement made several years ago by the prophet, Ezra Taft Benson.  He said, "The Lord works from the inside out. The world works from the outside in. The world would take people out of the slums. Christ takes the slums out of people, and then they take themselves out of the slums. The world would mold men by changing their environment. Christ changes men, who then change their environment. The world would shape human behavior, but Christ can change human nature."  


About a year ago I saw someone I had worked with a couple years prior.  She made a comment about the type of person I was when we worked together, and the description was by no means flattering.  I realized that I had changed significantly in those years.  That my Heavenly Father had carefully directed me toward experiences and challenges that helped my character to develop for the better through reliance on the Atonement.  I was still me, but I was also a different person.  The same is true today.  The experiences of the past year have challenged me, caused me to fall to my knees in humble prayer and plead for the help to become a changed individual.  And in that change, that growing to be more similar to my Savior, I have been surprised that I am still an individual.  Too often we define ourselves or allow others to define us in terms of our negative qualities or what we lack.  Everyone possesses some degree of imperfection.  Everyone struggles with something that will undoubtedly be heart-wrenching and heart-breaking at some point in time.  I believe that everyone's trials at some point will have a "make-it or break-it" potential when it comes to being faithful to God and receiving the highest degree of His glory.  The whole point of this life is to stop defining ourselves by our negative characteristics or those temptations that have the potential to hold us back.  As we do that, and as we rely on the Savior's Atonement, we can focus on our gifts, talents, and unique characteristics that allow us to be more perfect and live a more consecrated life.  I thank God for prophets who preach the doctrine of the Atonement and fill the world with truth in a time of doubt and darkness.

From Sea to Shining Sea

Since June I have wanted to have a Hundred Mile Month. I thought about doing it in July, but a stress fracture and the worst summer heat I have experienced since living in Houston got in the way. So September became my Hundred Mile Month, and I am happy to report it was a relatively injury-free, good weather month of running on both coasts! I logged miles 93-100 today and reached my goal!


Travels made it possible for me to run here:

And Here

And Here

And to the top of this mountain overlooking the ocean.

When Is Enough Enough?

Today I took a standardized test. I studied for it, but not as much as I "should have." So I prayed an exceptional amount before the test. And my family prayed for me. Friends wished me luck. During the test I was making mental notes of topics that were difficult for me so I would know what to study if I failed and had to take the exam again. I was certain that my efforts at studying were simply not enough to pass the exam. But I was shocked when I finished and the screen said: "preliminary results indicate you have passed..."

Tonight, I attended a Relief Society activity. The theme was "Got Oil?" and the message was based on the parable of the ten virgins. Five of the virgins were unprepared for the wedding feast/party because they didn't have enough oil to keep their lamps burning all night. They didn't get to go to the party. Moral of the story: keep a reserve of oil and be prepared.

This got me thinking: How did the "wise" virgins know they would have enough oil? What if the bridegroom had taken so long to come that even the wise virgins ran out of oil? How does anyone ever know that enough is enough?

Answer: The wise virgins did their best to be prepared. They knew that doing their best included having a reserve. And they didn't know when enough would be enough, but they moved forward with faith that Christ (the bridegroom) would make up the rest.

No one (or maybe I should cover my bases and say "very few people, if any") knows they have "made it" in this life. I'm speaking spiritually here, but you can apply this to other areas of life as well. There is no quota we are directed to meet for scripture study, church attendance, or prayer that will automatically guarantee us entrance into God's presence. Similarly, there is no guaranteed number of hours to study for an exam that will ensure a particular score or outcome. No, instead we do our best and put our faith in Christ that He will make up the difference. We evaluate the state of our hearts and gauge how our personal supply of oil is doing. We don't know with certainty what the outcome will be for us, but I believe that the faith we exercise by filling our lamps despite the lack of certainty is exactly the sort of preparation we must have to be among the wise.

Recognizing the uncertainty and frankly, our personal inability to be prepared without some outside help, prepares our hearts to recognize the Savior when He returns to the Earth. As we fill our lamps with oil, we bring Him and His Atonement into our lives, and by doing so realize our need for greater light and knowledge so that when He returns we will know that our enough is enough because He is infinitely enough. It's passing the ultimate test you weren't sure you could pass on your own but you knew someone with all the answers would be helping you finish.

Waiting Room

She took me in during the morning news--political pundits exchanging crossfire of jabs intermingled with plesantries. I settled in a corner on one of the couches. At nine Regis and Kelly hosted David Boreanaz. Seeing him was worthy of a retreat from my corner. Neither Martha Stewart's consommé lesson, nor the grating prattle of Barbara Walters and Whoppi Goldberg could draw me from my retreat like Agent Seeley Booth did.

Local news at noon and Who Wants to Be a Millionaire? made surprisingly good background for reading, but by the end I welcomed a personal update from the doctor. We had anticipated leaving after the consommé lesson. The doctor was kind enough to show me through the twisted corridors to the coffee shop and wait while I purchased water and a bagel. Had I attempted such an adventure on my own, I may still be wandering those corridors.

Earlier in the morning, such wanderers had passed thorugh the waiting room with sheets of paper guiding, "Go to room 2516 E. Look for the desk in the corner. Find the phone, pick it up, and wait to be admitted." But the phone in 2516 E didn't reach anyone. We, ourselves, had scavenged for orange detour arrows and succeeded in finding a buzzer, which unlocked a door, leading us to human beings who promptly whisked us in opposite directions. The only thing to do was stay there and wait for the next clue for how to exit.

The bagel revived me enough to survive All My Children without completely losing my intelligence. Despite a new-found appreciation for the lack of drugs, blackmail, murder, and sex in my life; One Life to Live was too much to bear. I roamed the halls in search of cell phone service.

The morning had provided people watching, but when the volunteer receptionist threatened to leave me solitary with soap opera stars, necessity found me standing on a chair searching for the power button on the mounted flat screen. Aside from the occasional page on the PA system, it was quiet. Sitting there had made me so tired I thought of napping but each sound of doors and every footstep in the hall made me wonder.

My mind drifted back to sitting on a bench in front of the school, craning my neck to search for my mom's Suburban. I knew she was coming. I knew she was coming today. I knew she was probably even coming within the hour, but I did not know when. Certainty was never so uncertain as on that bench or on that couch, in the corner.

Growing Up

Recently a newspaper or magazine had an article about growing up. I think it was the New York Times, but I can't remember. The article talked about how 20-somethings are not growing up as quickly as they used to--specifically more of us live at home with our parents, haven't finished school, and are still single.

This morning my mom packed my lunch. My "first-day-in-over-20-years-you-have-not-started-school" lunch. Even though my mom packed my lunch this morning and I am as single as can be, a few things have happened recently that have made me pause and think, "Wow, this is grown up."

-- I bought my own bed, by myself, and it's not a twin
-- Only 40% of my grandparents are still living (I had five grandparents)
-- I am experiencing the grief and shock that comes with the death of a friend and mentor
-- My younger sister is getting married
-- I realized the other day that I remember my brother's life in its entirety from a relatively adult perspective
-- I'm moving across the country and my mom isn't coming to help me
-- Being the fifth-wheel to two married couples is actually pretty fun
-- I sit on committees and boards with people in their 40s, 50s, 60s, and 70s and call them by their first names

Real

Seventeen years old and still sitting in the front row. Ms. Walsten was perched on her stool peering through her glasses at her seating chart. A.D. and M.C. conveniently felt the need for a tissue from the back of the classroom during our pop quizzes on books they hadn’t read. It afforded them a walk back to their seats past the quizzes of several unsuspecting students. During the class breaks on block schedule days, I hurried to Ms. Walsten’s podium to peer through my own new glasses at the seating chart speckled with check marks to reassure myself that I had safely achieved 150% of the possible participation points for the month. My new glasses and the restored gift of sight failed to persuade me to vacate my front row seat in AP English, or any other class for that matter.

We spent a quarter reading what I will term “classical literature.” Oedipus, Homer, and yes, I know I’m mixing titles and authors. Third quarter was satire: Gulliver’s Travels (painful), Pride and Prejudice (a significant improvement), and The Importance of Being Earnest (laugh out loud hilarious). Somewhere between the classics and satire we read The Once and Future King, but fourth quarter sticks out most clearly in my memory.

Until that last quarter of my last year of high school, I had generally accepted what was printed on a page as true. I knew I was reading many works of fiction; but the ideas were true, the people were somehow real, and I was enveloped in their world. It made sense that Oedipus would gouge out his own eyes in the moment of horror upon discovering he killed his father and married his mother. It made sense that girls would daydream about officers and plot ways to run into eligible young men of good fortune on afternoon walks. And for some reason I can no longer remember, it even made sense that Lilliputians would seize and tie down a normal human being. But existentialism did not make sense. During that fourth quarter, I not only disliked reading a book, I had a particular, curiously unfamiliar distaste for a particular genre of literature.

We read The Awakening, by Kate Chopin and Mrs. Dalloway, by Virginia Woolf; but the most shocking was Waiting for Godot, by Samuel Beckett. It is quite remarkable that this play could be shocking or offensive to anyone when you think about it. The entire play can be summed up in the following lines:

Character 1: “What are you doing?”
Character 2: “Waiting for Godot.”

Rinse and repeat for approximately 100 pages. Godot never shows. As far as I can recall, the characters never actually accomplish anything. Though I was completely undisturbed by the lack of action or accomplishment in Pride and Prejudice, it was a sore subject for me when we discussed Godot in class. I remember being furious, disturbed, and uncharacteristically silenced all at the same time. As I pondered why we had been assigned such a pointless book, Ms. Walsten suggested to the class that Godot represented God and that Beckett was attempting to show God’s absence from the world and the lives of his characters.

But I knew that was wrong. It couldn’t possibly be right. God was there; He was here; and He is still here. I had felt His influence, His Spirit. Beckett was wrong. An author could be wrong. A publisher could be wrong. The words on the page were wrong. Their meaning was wrong.

Twenty-five years old and still reading disenchanted post-war literature. I sat on the bed in my hotel room in Albany, New York, counting the minutes until the second day of the bar exam would begin and I would be that much closer to freedom. I got up to turn the air conditioner on; settled back in the bed for an episode of Law & Order; got up to put on a sweatshirt (that air conditioner was really working); settled in for a phone call with my mom; got up for room service; and finally settled back into bed, covers on, air conditioner blowing, perfectly curled up with my book: One Day in the Life of Ivan Denisovich.

“Can a man who’s warm understand one who is freezing?” Pause. I reread the words a few times. “Can a man who’s warm understand one who is freezing?” Can a girl, recently graduated from law school, in the middle of the New York Bar Examination, curled up reading a book on a semi-comfortable bed with semi-comfortable pillows understand life in a Soviet labor camp?

Alexander Solzhenitsyn had been there, in the very labor camp he was describing. He did not concoct some fictional freeze, he had felt it. The words were real—true—and yet, they seemed like a movie. Vague specters, mere shadows, of freezing cold men with wrapped feet and holes in their boots passed through my mind as my eyes glanced over the words: “Can a man who’s warm understand one who is freezing?” Could I, wrapped in my blankets and hoodie to protect against the cool air streaming from the vent understand or even conceive of negative 40 degrees Celsius? Not even a shudder or shiver of recollection of sprints from my apartment to my car in 7 degree Fahrenheit weather crossed my mind with the shadows of Soviet prisoners. This real account had no bearing on my reality, no analogy to my experience.

Why exactly did I reread that line over and over and over again, getting up one more time to find my journal and copy the line there? Why did this line remind me of my senior year of high school and Samuel Beckett?

I still submit that not all written words are truth. Perhaps my experience with Godot made me more dismissive of written words in general. If not Godot, then certainly three years of mind-warping legal realism has twisted my sense of reality. Somehow the ability to argue almost any point either way inhibits even an ability to sense the veracity of unbearable cold. Not in the sense that I would deny such horrors were ever experienced, only in the sense that reading about laying bricks fast enough so the mortar will not freeze first no longer gives me goose bumps.

But something else bothered me—the presumption that a person cannot understand another without physically feeling the same experiences. Is Solzhenitsyn correct? Is it impossible to feel empathy for another without experiencing exactly what they have? Perhaps perfect empathy requires perfect understanding of another’s experience, and without actual experience there can be no perfect understanding. But Solzhenitsyn would not have written, or at least would not have published, One Day in the Life of Ivan Denisovich had he not believed that it may offer some glimpse of understanding into his life and experiences for those who were previously unaware of such conditions.

The written word has the power to move the reader. The written word not only informs, but prompts and prods and pricks the reader’s conscience and heart. Mere knowledge of a condition is the first necessary ingredient for empathy. Working together with instilled moral values and remembered—though different and perhaps unrelated—experiences, a story, complete with detail and description, may cause the reader to feel rather than simply know. That feeling is the beginning of understanding.

The written word possesses an incredible power to transform. Such transformations may be for better or worse, toward truth or falsity—the fact that something is written is no voucher for reliability. But written words and carefully crafted language can and do plant the seeds of understanding and empathy—the catalysts for change. Whatever Beckett felt and however I may disagree, his feelings were real and his words help me understand him if I will choose to be an engaged reader.

Name that Memorial Part 8 or something like that

Well, seeing as how I am moving to California on Friday, this will probably be my second to last or last "Name that Memorial" post for awhile. I am pretty sure I've blogged about this memorial before, but the run was so beautiful this morning it is blog worthy. Thankfully the dreadful humidity and heat broke and I actually felt COOL (temperature-wise and because of my running partner) during the run!

So, here are clues...

1) I saw a gorgeous sunrise over D.C. The sun was blocked by clouds in an otherwise clear sky (as in, there were no visible water particles in the air and any dust was similarly washed out by yesterday's storm). The sun's rays were shining down directly on the Capitol building.

2) Three. Think three.

3) This memorial has free concerts every Wednesday and Friday evening during the summer.

Guess away!

Good Reminders

My dad likes to send me the monthly stake* missionary newsletters from my home stake. One of the missionaries wrote the following this month. He's 19 or 20 years old and spending two years of his life teaching the people of Australia about The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. I was really touched by what he said.

"A testimony cannot be stationary- it's either growing or shrinking. There is no solid ground. We must be doing our part to help that testimony grow, and that involves reading and praying daily. If you have a testimony of the Book of Mormon, then reconfirm it tonight."--Elder Zachary Ward, Auckland New Zealand Mission

Here's one from a missionary serving in the Dominican Republic:

"If you don't believe in revelation its because you haven’t received it, and how would you be able to receive it if you don't believe in it? I believe in it."--Elder David Bentz, Santiago Dominican Republic Mission

*A "stake" is a geographical group of congregations called "wards" in the LDS Church. Usually a stake has about 6-10 ward units.

When your name dictates your profession or hobbies...

I got an e-mail from Runner's World.

"Amby Burfoot, executive editor of RUNNER'S WORLD magazine and Boston Marathon winner..."

When I first read it, I though her last name was "Barefoot." You know, when your eyes/brain only read the first and last letters of a word? Yeah. That or I'm a hick. "Those youngin's was just runnin' through them fields burfoot the other day."

Okay, back to studying for the bar exam.

Signs You Might Be Studying For the Bar Exam

1) You don't know when the sun sets, just that it's sometime between going into the library and coming out.

2) You listen to the same song over and over and over again to break up the monotony of sitting in a room by yourself.

3) You read articles on Yahoo! News about Khloe Kardashian and Eva Longoria (and didn't know who they were before starting to study for the bar).

4) You get excited that Paula, Freer, and Schecter are the final three lecturers.

5) The acronyms MBE, MPT, MSE, NYT, and MPQ1 have meaning.

6) All of your (rare) conversations with other human beings somehow revolve around the bar exam, and you are incapable of forming coherent sentences on any other topic.

7) You eat chocolate chips for dinner. Just chocolate chips.

8) You crave a good run, even if it means running in the pouring rain. (Warm rain is actually quite pleasant, I learned. Shout out to MJ.)

9) You hallucinate the little red light on your Blackberry going off because you hope to have some contact with the non-Barbri world.

10) Spell-checker goes crazy when you type your outlines because it doesn't recognize half the words you are typing and auto-corrects the other half. (I really did mean settlOR, thank you. Not settlER.)

Only 18 more days until it's over.

Dear Anne:

Bren and Sterling are the type of engaged couple who will invite you in to read Architectural Digest with them on a Friday night. They are the type of people to whom you bequeath your beloved Tupperware that you bought yourself for your 19th birthday because you won't have room for it in your New York apartment. And in turn, they are the type of people who would loan you their* copy of Anne Fadiman's Ex Libris.

I first picked up Ex Libris during Bren and Sterling's engagement party because Nate is the type of person who will let you peruse his books when you are too tired to socialize. Nate is the type of person who would marry Anne Fadiman if she weren't already married with two children. He is the type of person who would have Anne Fadiman sign a copy of Ex Libris for his sister.

I am the type of self-proclaimed literary snob who will not read a bestseller unless it comes highly recommended by people I trust or I have never heard of it despite its bestseller status. Anne Fadiman came highly recommended and I had never heard of her until March.

Anne Fadiman is the type of person who would walk around town proofreading advertisements with Lynne Truss. She is the type of person who grew up building with her father's books instead of blocks. She is the type of person who knows words like sesquipedalian and uses them. Ms. Fadiman is the type of person who writes in a voice I rarely have the courage to use.

On Saturday, I was discussing moving with my parents, and my dad asked, "Why are you keeping your books? Can't you just give them away?" I was shocked. Get rid of my books? I knew my status as a member of my family was questioned for years when I insisted I did not like guacamole, but my dad's words confirmed what my mom has been telling me for years: "Megan, you are the odd one."**

So on Sunday, I spent some quality time with Anne Fadiman, and I felt kinship. If I am odd, I am not alone. And I am inspired. Inspired to visit secondhand bookstores and purchase a real*** bookcase.


*The book actually currently belongs to Sterling, but Bren and Sterling are the type of engaged couple for whom it is completely appropriate to apply plural possessive pronouns even before they are officially married.

**My mother does love me. So much so that she spent 40 hours in labor when I was born. But apparently not everyone plans their entire life while in high school.

***A real bookcase is made out of real wood. You don't assemble it yourself at home. You buy it in one piece and it lasts your lifetime, the same way it has lasted through the lifetimes of several other people.

Favorite Words

Have you ever had a favorite word? When you are studying for the bar you start to think about random things like your favorite word. No, let's be honest, I thought about my favorite words way before I started studying for the bar. I probably even started thinking about my favorite words before I played Boggle.

For example, in high school, my biology/chemistry lab group was fascinated with the word "ignoble." How many other negative words do you know with the prefix "ig-"?

I love the word "paraphernalia." Fortunately Google Chrome has a spell checker because I just spelled it incorrectly and had to change it. Say it a few times. It's pretty cool.

During the second semester of law school, my little study group had a few favorite words. Ben's was "ostensibly." He used it in almost every sentence. Mine was "comport." Thank you, Julie Cohen, for permanently fixing the word "comport" in my day-to-day vocabulary. Professor Cohen can also be thanked for affixing in my mind the concept of the 30,000 foot view of property law. Right now that's about as close as I want to get to property law, but sadly, I must return to studying.

Readers, any favorite words?

Back to Asics: Name that Memorial Part "I Can't Remember What Number We're On"

So, it has been awhile since I have blogged about running. For that matter, it has been awhile since I have blogged about anything. Here's the update: I study for the bar, run, study for the bar, study for the bar, spend time with friends, and study for the bar some more. About a week and a half ago was the half-marathon, which went well but resulted in a week of non-running. The heat in D.C. has been nearly unbearable, also making it difficult to run outside (thank goodness for trips to Utah and California in the past month), BUT GOOD NEWS! It's not 90 yet today, so I went for a run this morning. In fact, I went on my favorite run in D.C. (at least my favorite run that doesn't include a trip to Georgetown Cupcake) and I found a new memorial. Here are your clues:

1) My favorite run is a now 10-mile loop (used to be 9 miles before I moved) from my house, to Arlington Cemetery, to the Lincoln Memorial, down Ohio Drive, around the Tidal Basin, past the Jefferson Memorial, across the 14th Street bridge, down the Mt. Vernon Trail, and back home again. The memorial described is located near the Lincoln Memorial on Ohio Drive.

2) This memorial is honoring a Swedish-born mechanical engineer who designed various parts of ships.

3) During the Civil War, he designed the iron clad ship, the USS Monitor, for the Union navy. His ironclad design contributed to the North's victory in the Civil War.

4) He also worked on torpedo boats, in particular the Destroyer, which could launch torpedoes from an underwater port.

Guess away!

Amendment: I ALSO saw the news cameras filming in front of the Riverhouse this morning. I wondered what was going on, and just found out that's where some of the Russian spies were living! Crazy stuff.

Purge

I'm moving this week. And again in two months. And again two months after that. Such circumstances have left me with a near insatiable desire to purge. Trips to Goodwill with car-fulls of kitchen supplies, clothes, and books. Leaving unwanted magazines on the table by the elevator. Chucking textbooks in the dumpster behind my building because both the school bookstore and Goodwill rejected them.

It's not just tangible things I want to purge. Sometimes it's the people and places too. When I first moved to D.C. I was anxious to see the sites and eager to meet everyone. But yesterday was graduation. If I wanted to, I could avoid ever returning to campus. I may never see a lot of people from my class ever again. And part of me felt fine with that. Part of me was consumed by the anticipation of what is next, breathing a sigh of relief that the past three years are finally over.

But last night I walked into my building lobby, passing the chairs where Harry and Tom and Janine and Mickey sit every evening chatting with the residents coming home from work. And my anticipation paused, and I remembered a night when my college freshman self took out a piece of green engineering paper and created a Mathematical Theory of Life.

Part I: Circumstance vs. Time

The sine curve below represents life's ups and downs. My experience informs me that most people have about an equal amount of ups and downs. Some days are good, some are difficult. Some minutes bring ecstasy, followed by shocks of disappointment. Some years pass in a flash and others drag on. But the change never changes. Broken heart, fun family time, a funeral, Christmas caroling to a home-bound friend, falling on your tail bone, getting published, sitting at home on a Friday night, creating a new recipe with your roommates, a rejection letter, a great date.



Part II: Memory vs. Time

For all life's ups and downs, our experience is not futile. In fact, even the difficult experiences produce long-term positive results. The y-values on this parabolic curve represent our memories over time. The derivative (instantaneous slope) is also positive and continuously increasing. This is perspective. The integral (area under the curve) is experience. This graph represents the retrospective, which has the capacity to inform the prospective, easing the load of difficult circumstances. The retrospective is shrugging your shoulders at a past insult or rejection, laughing at being late because you were locked INTO your apartment, and forgiving.



We don't always get to choose our circumstances, but when the circumstance has passed, we choose what we purge and what we keep. It's harder to move when you have a lot of junk, and it's harder to live when you carry a lot of baggage. It all gets easier when you rid yourself of the excess. And getting down to the essentials helps you not miss the little moments of joy--like stopping to chat with the 80-year-olds in the lobby, absorbing the love and support of the family and friends all in the same room at the same time, and introducing your favorite professor to your parents. Here's one for the memories.

Success

"To laugh often and much, to win the respect of intelligent people and the respect of children, to earn the appreciation of honest critics and endure the betrayal of false friends, to appreciate beauty, to find the best in others, to leave the world a bit better, whether by a healthy child, a garden patch, or a redeemed social condition, to know even one life has breathed easier because you have lived, this is to have succeeded!" -Ralph Waldo Emerson

Poetry ala Ingrid

Happy is the heart that still feels pain
Darkness drains and light will come again
Swing open your chest and let it in
Just let the love, love, love begin

~Ingrid Michaelson, Everybody

Love that poetry...

Name that Memorial-ish Part 6

Today was nine miles, followed by a one mile walk back to the metro because there's no metro in Georgetown. My turn-around spot, and the location for you all to guess, required me to trek up Wisconsin Avenue, which is quite the hill. Along the way, I passed a brand-new Safeway store, which almost convinced me to move to Georgetown. It was beautiful and sold cold water bottles for only 50 cents, making me fall in love with the store even more. After reaching my turn-around point (clues to follow) and getting lost in some residential parts of Georgetown, I emerged on M Street next to Georgetown cupcake. I decided that after running 9 miles, I deserved a cupcake, so I got a chocolate peanut butter chip one, which I promptly devoured at 11am. Great breakfast. I walked the rest of the way to the Rosslyn metro and made it home with only a few terrible blisters.

So, in addition to the clues embedded in the above description, here a couple more:
1) This building has a variety of gargoyles, some modeled after Star Wars characters.
2) No public funds could be used to construct this building because that would have violated the Establishment Clause.

Happy guessing!

Isn't it about time?

So, I figured after several posts of quotes from my professors and quizzes about where I have been running, it is time for me to post something more substantive. Yesterday, my roommate sent me the following e-mail regarding graduation and my family coming to town: "It's coming up! You excited????????" My gut reaction was, "No, not really." I wrote back something a bit more upbeat, but the bottom line is--life is busy, and there isn't a whole lot of time to enjoy the exciting things that are happening. It's tough to be excited about graduation when you have two finals left and pre-BARBRI classes looming with bar classes starting the very day after graduation. It doesn't really sound that exciting when you have so much to get done. Most days, I'd rather have a day to sit at home and watch Law & Order instead of going to hear someone from the highest court of Britain speak at a ceremony, but hey, my family isn't flying to Washington, D.C. to watch Law & Order with me, so we're going to graduation; I'm wearing the gown; and we'll take lots of pictures. Yay...

Ironically, in the midst of all these "exciting" and unquestionably busy things happening in my life, I feel a little hole. My mailbox seems to be stuffed and my refrigerator is peppered with wedding announcements. Not just the invitations that you and every other single Mormon living in the 2-mile radius received, but real wedding invitations for friends whose receptions I might actually attend if I didn't live on the East Coast and didn't have to study for the bar exam this summer. (And on that note, I am actually attending some of these weddings... bought a ticket and everything.) It's the first time that a large number of the friends who have significantly shaped my life are all getting married AT THE SAME TIME. And I'm here having this conversation with my grandma: "Grandma--So are there any young men in your life? Me--No, not really." (This is not entirely accurate, but last time my grandma heard I went on a first date with someone who had met President Obama, she asked my mom if President Obama would be at my wedding. I'm operating on the less is more theory when it comes to discussing my love life with her.)

Then last night I spent a few hours away from studying, and I was pondering the life-changing blessings that have come into my life in the past year. Particularly things I had wanted for several years and suddenly they were mine and the experiences were beautiful. I realized that spreading out the exciting and wonderful events of life can help me appreciate and enjoy them more. If my wedding invitation were up on the fridge along with all the others, and along with my graduation announcement; and if my own wedding invitation were in my mailbox with my benefits package and my relocation materials and everything else I have to take care of to start my new job and move to a new city, I don't think I'd enjoy it as much as I hope to later on. Perhaps this post is lacking in eloquence, but I have been reading the U.S. Tax Code all week... The bottom line is, it can be really nice to pause and enjoy the present and the recent past. So much of life is timing and taking the time to enjoy what you already have.

Finals Prep Quote of the Day Part 3

"Don't squander your reputation. At least not too soon. There could be big advantages to squandering your reputation later, but you have to choose the right moment." -- Prof. Salop

Name that Memorial-ish Touristy Spot Part 5

This morning I went running in a different city. I passed Wollman Ice Skating Rink and Belvedere Castle. Any guesses on which city I'm in and where I went running?

Next question: I'm studying for my Tax I final in the Rose Main Reading room in a building that has two statutes of lions in front. Where am I?

Have fun!

Finals Prep Quote of the Day Part 2

Professor: In the mafia, if you go to jail, they'll protect your family, take care of them, and hold your job for you so you have something to do when you get out. It's like law firms and clerkships. With lockstep you can come back as a fourth year associate and they'll even pay you for it.

Finals Prep Quote of the Day

When reviewing for finals, I always come across some good quotes. Some are funny, and some resound with truth. This one falls into the latter category.

"Our desires do have corrosive effects on our moral sense, and our moral sense is profoundly impacted by our legal norms. If we redefine our moral obligations by reference to our felt desires, we will eventually come to lack the feeling of having obligations that are in conflict with the desire." -- Robin West

Name that Memorial Part 4: Allergy Style

Today's seven-and-a-half mile run took me past a few memorials and brought back the allergies I worked so hard to get rid of on Wednesday and Thursday. (It's hard to run seven and a half miles in D.C./Virginia and not pass multiple memorials.) Despite allergies, the run was worth it, and the company was excellent (shout out to MJ).

I have selected one memorial for this week's contest. Here are your clues:

1) This memorial features a founding father with legs crossed, leaning his weight on his left hand.

2) This founding father has a bridge named after him near the memorial.

3) This founding father, along with James Madison, is sometimes known as the "Father of the Bill of Rights."

Name that Monument/Memorial Part 3

Tonight's run included a stop at a memorial for a president who emphasized the connection between light and liberty. Besides saying "Light and liberty go together," this president also said, "I know no safe depositary of the ultimate powers of the society but the people themselves; and if we think them not enlightened enough to exercise their control with a wholesome discretion, the remedy is not to take it from them, but to inform their discretion by education. This is the true corrective of abuses of constitutional power."

Any guesses? I suppose a "no googling" rule would be difficult to enforce, but it's less fun if you google the quotes.

The Science of Conversation

I just had a discussion about this with my roommate earlier this week. Turns out the internet really does have answers to just about everything. See this link.
Stay tuned on Friday for a "Name that Monument" post.

Happiness

On Monday I went for a run (just through the neighborhood, hence no "name that memorial" post) and to the gym in my building afterwards to stretch and lift some weights. As I was stretching, an old bottle-redhead European woman decided she wanted to stand where I was standing. I was absorbed in listening to "Break Your Heart" by Taio Cruz (feat. Ludacris--"ain't nobody as bomb as me"), so I didn't hear her screaming at me to move. From that moment on, she wanted to be wherever I was in the gym. I went to the weight rack; she came and started swinging a 35 pound dumbbell over her head and too close to my face for comfort. I went to do sit-ups on a mat; she followed and almost gave herself a concussion with her vigorous, though short ab workout. I returned to the weight rack; she bypassed an entire row of ten pound weights to reach in front of me and then throw the weights in front of my feet. That was enough. Considering this woman literally pulled the plug on the treadmill when my roommate was running, I left the gym valuing life more than exercise.

Fast forward to today. I came home, stopped to chat with Harry, Tom, and the other lobby regulars, then rode the elevator up with a woman who had overheard my conversation about my last week of classes. She asked me (her very first question) if I would be practicing family law. I said no, patent litigation. In a voice full of pity and edge she informed me that patent litigation is suffering these days but family law is booming: "Divorces are very lucrative, especially when you have ex-husbands like the one downstairs..." (She works for a graphic design firm...) We reached her floor. As the doors closed she half-heartedly apologized for her sarcasm. This was sarcasm in the strict wikipedia sense ("A characterization of something or someone in order to express contempt"), not the mere irony we typically call sarcasm. In all fairness, one of her young twin daughters was crying loudly while she was waiting for her ex-husband to come get the girls, and then one of the twins spilled dirt from a plant on her. Not her favorite mothering moment, I'm sure. But I got the impression she would have been equally open about her divorce with a perfect stranger absent the stresses of motherhood.

Abraham Lincoln supposedly said, "Most people are about as happy as they make their minds up to be." Being upset takes so much energy. I do my fair share of horn-honking and hitting my head again the steering wheel. The New Yorker inside this LA-native/DC transplant comes out whenever tourists stand on the left side of the metro escalators. But I can't imagine spending so much energy hating the people I interact with day to day. I purport that happiness, patience, and love are really easier than the alternative anger, intemperance, and hate. But even if the short term costs of these noble goals exceeds the short term benefits (that instantaneous gratification we human beings get from insisting on fairness, efficiency, and strict adherence to the rules), the long term costs of developing a happy and patient, merciful and kind character are far surpassed by the long term benefits. Whoever said the quote attributed to Abraham Lincoln, got it right. We can be happy if we decide to be. Every time we decide to be happy, our nature becomes more prone to choose happiness more easily.

Tribute to the Farm

There aren't many places where I am comfortable with silence, not many people I'm content to be quiet with. But the happy, contented silence and quiet has a way of standing out in my memory longer than most conversations. To honor the farm, this picture and this song will suffice.

The Killers, Coldplay, and Six Miles: aka Name that Memorial Part 2

Congratulations to Joyce Tam for winning Round 1 of "Name that Monument." She posted the correct answer (Iwo Jima/Marine Corps Memorial) on my facebook wall. Are you ready for Round 2?

This morning's run was themed, "Hills." The monument/memorial offers a beautiful view of Washington D.C. Here are your clues:

1) This site was high on my list of places I would like to go on a date, and I recently actually did go on a date to this place.

2) "There will be demands upon your ability, upon your endurance, upon your disposition, upon your patience...just as fire tempers iron into fine steel so does adversity temper one’s character into firmness, tolerance and determination."
-- Senator Margaret Chase Smith

Good luck!

Name that Memorial: Part 1

What do you get when you combine half-marathon training with tourism and blogging? "Name that Memorial!" Here's how it works--I go for a run to a local memorial or monument. Then I come home, write a blog post, and readers guess where I ran based on quotes or other random pieces of information about the memorial. We will play as long as readers participate.

So, yesterday I ran to a memorial that 1) has the quote: "Uncommon Valor was a Common Virtue," 2) has by far the best drinking fountain of the three I passed to get there (measured by water temperature, taste, and pressure), and 3) is close to a tulip garden I wish I had discovered a week earlier.

First one to get it right wins! (What you win is yet to be determined.)

Ain't Nothin' but Love Here

We walked half-a-block from school toward the homeless shelter. A woman came out to greet us waving her hands and exclaiming, "You must be the volunteers!" How did she know? Was it because more than half our group was white, and we were the only white people in that square block? Was it because we were walking with purpose rather than loitering or hanging out?

She walked us to the back of the building, to a room where we waited for our orientation to begin an evening of work in the D.C. Central Kitchen. Another woman, a large black woman, came into the room. "Who has been here before?" A few people raised their hands, unknowingly volunteering to share what they knew about the history of the D.C. Central Kitchen (DCCK). When the volunteers ran out of tidbits of information, our orienter added, "When I first came here, I had been incarcerated. They gave me trainin' and they gave me a job. These people are amazin'. They can take a... a potato, off the shelf, and they... they can turn it into a gourmet meal. A gourmet meal. And not just that. The people here, they care. Ain't nothin' but love here. Ain't nothin' but love."

We washed up, donned gloves, and received assignments. Greg, aka "the G-ster", was my boss. He told me how to blanch broccoli, made me change my gloves anytime something dropped on the floor, and told me how to use the vacuum-pack machine. After a few hours of work, I gathered the courage to ask, "Greg, what's your story? How did you come to the DCCK?"

"Do you want to know the real story?" he asked as if he thought my blue eyes, pale skin, and Gap outfit couldn't take it.

"Yeah, I want to know!" I replied.

"Well, I was incarcerated in the federal prison in Butler, North Carolina..." he began in an accent typically heard on green line metro trains. He told me stories about the DCCK training program, excelling, and being hired full time at DCCK. He emphasized his skills--his creativity, his strict adherence to high standards of quality and cleanliness, and his success in progressing through positions at the DCCK.

At the end I walked back to school, pondering how an ex-felon had been my boss for the past few hours. By the time I gathered my backpack from the locker room and started walking to the metro bullets of rain were pelting my body and armies of winds blew and twisted and bent my defenseless umbrella while making it impossible for me to walk. The people sitting on the street corner just hours before had vanished. By the time I reached the metro, my clothes and my body were as wet from rain as my eyes were wet from tears of fatigue and concern for how I would get home with wind and rain pushing against me. As miles of underground tunnels brought feelings of safety and reprieve from the elements, I began to think how fortunate I am to have a home to go to, another pair of clothes to change into, and leftovers waiting in my refrigerator. I have constant access to a refrigerator! More than that, I grew up in a home that allows me to say, "ain't nothin' but love here."

How to Take a Social Vacation

Compliments of Nate J.

1) You just stop
2) You don't go to things
3) You don't call anyone
4) You don't return a lot of calls
5) You leave right after church
6) You get a pile of books
7) You do some rude things to your roommates so that a coolness develops between you
8) You might want to trash the bathroom... and then be unresponsive when someone says something
9) You don't do your dishes
10) You eat someone else's food

There were a few others, but these were some good ones that made me laugh.

Woman up!

"We want to be ladies in very deed, not according to the term of the word as the world judges, but fit companions of the Gods and holy ones. In an organized capacity, we can assist each other in not only doing good but in refining ourselves, and whether few or many come forward and help prosecute this great work, they will be those that will fill honorable positions in the kingdom of God. Women should be women and not babies that need petting and correction all the time. I know we like to be appreciated, but if we do not get all the appreciation which we think is our due, what matters? We know that the Lord has laid high responsibility on us, and there is not a wish or desire that the Lord has planted in our hearts in righteousness but will be realized, and the greatest good we can do to ourselves and each other is to refine and cultivate ourselves in everything that is good and ennobling and qualifying for those responsibilities." -- Eliza R. Snow, as quoted by Julie B. Beck

Listen to Sister Beck's talk here.

Question for my readers: What do you do to become refined and cultivated?

Flip Flop Degree Days

The energy industry uses "heating degree days" and "cooling degree days" to predict anticipated energy costs for large buildings in particular locations. The way it works is, you pick a temperature, say 65 degrees Fahrenheit. If the temperature outside falls below 65 degrees, then a building will have to turn on its heater. The "heating degree day" could be calculated by taking a particular day of the year in a particular city--let's say January 20th in Chicago. Pretend the average high for January 20th in Chicago is 20 degrees F, and the average low is 14 degrees F. So the average temperature for that day would be 17 degrees F. A building in Chicago will have to heat up air from the outside 48 degrees F in order to reach the mark of 65 degrees F. So for that one day of the year, there are 48 heating degrees. You could do this calculation for each day of the year (in summer you set a bottom temperature and do a "cooling degree day" calculation). The sum of all the heating degrees for all the days in the year gives you the "heating degree day" value, which can then be used to anticipate the energy demand for a particular region for the year. Brilliant.

Well, today I was thinking about heating degree days and cooling degree days because I noticed that our air conditioning had been turned on in the apartment building one month earlier than planned, I'm assuming because we are supposed to get 80 degree weather this weekend. And then I thought about how awesome it was to wear my flip flops for the second day in a row. And then I thought, how awesome would it be to keep track of how many days out of the year I wear my flip flops in any given city!? What a great measure of quality of life?! Unfortunately, I have not taken advantage of past opportunities to measure my flip flop wearing days thus far in life, and I will soon be exiting the student phase of life to become a professional, who will likely be unable to wear flip flops even when the weather is appropriate. (Don't remind me or bring this up, this whole transition and all it entails is a sensitive subject.) So, absent scientific data collection, I think it is safe to rank the cities I have lived in in the following order (from most flip flop degree days to least): Los Angeles > Houston > Washington, D.C. > New York > London > Provo (brrr...).

However, I lived in Los Angeles prior to discovering the joys of flip flops (thank you, Andrea). So, I have no long-term experience with Los Angeles (though I frequently take ONLY flip flops and running shoes home for visits regardless of the time of year). On the other hand, I have probably worn flip flops the highest number of consecutive days in London, seeing as how I wore flip flops almost exclusively for two months (May and June, not exactly warm months in London), and even had one of my flip flops rescued (thank you, Tiffany) from the Tube tracks. Yes, it is important to "Mind the Gap," but that's a story for another day. This much I know: Higher frequency of flip flop wearing leads to greater happiness. Welcome Spring!

Tourists are God's Children Too (or Secrets to Self-Confidence Part 3)

I listened to Coldplay's song, "See You Soon" exactly three times driving from my house to Safeway to buy more strawberries today. (See the lyrics here.) I was having one of those "lost-your-trust--bullet-proof-vest--windows-all-closed" sorts of days. I am pretty sure that in the first eight hours of my day I only spoke to two people.

A good night's rest is supposed to fix things like that, right? But I woke up grumpy still--frustrated that so many of my friends seem to be worried about what other people think about them and frustrated that I am also acutely worried about how other people perceive me. When I get too frustrated or concerned I seem to shut down and shut out. I get annoyed with the tourists on the metro who stand on the left side of the escalator, talk during rush hour, and make things crowded.

But one girl who seemed to be a tourist was being friendly to people on the train. I'll be honest--she looked a little different than most metro riders. She was exceptionally small, carried an apparently empty pink backpack, and had unusually long hair and librarian-style glasses. But I don't think she was a child. She was not "cool" and she broke the cardinal rule of not talking to the stranger next to you on the metro. She tried to talk to the lady sitting across from her about her phone; she asked to see her neighbors wedding ring and said it was beautiful; and she saw someone else with something from L.L.Bean and held up her pink backpack with a smile and pointed to establish a connection with that person. She was genuine, she cared, and some people still did not want to talk to her. But I think this girl is on to something.

Most people I know are concerned that if they show genuine interest in getting to know another person it will be interpreted as, well... showing interest! And for some reason we are generally worried about showing interest in another person. And because so many of us are worried about showing interest in others, we don't ever really get to know them. And then with a bunch of people who don't really know each other, many of us start to feel like people are judging us. But categorizing and judging and differentiating are things we all do when we don't really know who another person is. Yesterday I resolved to try to chip away at some of these insecurities and actually become friends with more people, but I kind of got cold responses, which made me feel even more insecure and more judged, and the cycle perpetuated because I started judging the tourists, not caring who they are as real people, as children of my Heavenly Father, as my brothers and sisters.

It's time to shift gears, change focus, and be more like the tourist on the metro. Here's to meaning it when I say, "How are you?" and to having enough confidence not to be discouraged when someone passes judgment on me. Because the only thing that will change the tide of general self-consciousness is genuinely caring about the person next to me.

Spring Break!

Sometimes when I am walking home from the metro, I think about where I was a year ago, and almost invariably, I find myself happier now than I was then.

For instance, during this same week last year, I broke up with my boyfriend and my grandpa died. I made two trips to California in one week, and I got further behind on school, internship, and law review work. Not a fun week.

This week however has been a blast. That's not to say it hasn't been stressful (if you need help unpacking the double negatives... well, I've been pretty stressed and tired lately). But I've been having fun. Part of why I'm tired is because my roommates and I stay up late, sitting in the hallway, talking about life and boys and the fun things we are going to do with each other and planning parties.

We run to the Air Force Memorial at sunrise. We laugh about when boys tell us our hair looks great when it's just in a ponytail (and not even a cute one at that). Then we watch youtube videos and laugh some more.

I can come home excited about an economics article I am reading, and my roommates suggest I diagram it with white board marker on the mirror. And then they listen to me explain the prisoner's dilemma and how my professor applied it to dating, and they smile. Not the fake smile that expresses, "wow, I don't know what to say because I think you're a little crazy" or the real smile of "Oh, Meg..." that is accompanied by a slight shaking of the head, but instead the genuine smile of, "I love to see you so happy and excited and I'm glad the people coming over to our apartment are repeatedly making references as to how our mirror looks like a scene out of A Beautiful Mind."

Yes, life is good. It's better than it was a year ago. Welcome Spring Break!

Star Sightings

About a year ago, I was in Boston's Logan airport. As I was walking through the airport, I saw one of my favorite actors on TV--Sam Waterson (aka Jack McCoy from Law & Order) doing a TD Ameritrade commercial. This reminded me of my family because we always watch Law & Order reruns when we are together, so I pulled out my Blackberry to e-mail my parents, sister, and boyfriend about the Sam Waterson sighting. Even though I explicitly stated that I saw him ON T.V., my family was somewhat confused and thought I had seen him in person. When everyone discovered that I had only seen him on TV in a commercial, I never lived it down.

So today, I got an e-mail from my dad. He is flying from JFK to LAX. As is typical for our family, he e-mailed all of us.


Dear Family,

Sitting in the row in front of me on the plane is Detective Mike Logan (AKA Chris Noth) of Law & Order fame. This is not a TV sighting, it is a real human being. Just thought I would let you know.

(Emphasis added)

This scenario reminds me of the time I bought lactose free milk. (Read about it here.) In our family, we like to tease. And when we don't have anything current to tease about, we draw up old stories that never seem to lose their humor.

The Miracle of the Parking Spot

This morning I was on my way to the metro, when a kind passerby told me the metro was closed. No, it wasn't snowing, but the metro was closed anyway. Welcome to Washington, D.C. ... So, I decided to take the risk of driving to school, hoping the parking lot would not be full. While walking to my car, I picked up a couple extra metro-bound passengers. Traffic was manageable. My student account was at zero, but I was fortunate enough to be able to get wifi on the street next to school and deposit money in my account. Even though I arrived after 9am, the parking lot was not full, and to my joyous surprise there was a parking space available for me. Not just any parking space though--one that my car could actually fit into! The school parking structure is so poorly designed that if other drivers are not considerate, it is incredibly difficult to get into a space with cars on either side. Someone with a lot more foresight and power than I have was watching out for me. Today is a great day.

Toilets

I was very tempted to include a picture with this post, but the rules of civility prohibited me from doing so. Yesterday, I observed again the poor planning on the part of my school's engineers/architects. The bathroom on the third floor near the financial aid office was obviously designed for anorexic midgets who do not carry backpacks.

First, the doors to the stalls open inward. I'm assuming this is the case because doors opening outward pose a threat to the unsuspecting bathroom passer-by. (If handicapped bathroom stalls can have outward-swinging doors, why can't non-handicapped stalls have the same?)

Second, the stalls are incredibly small. I am not an exceptionally large person. In fact, at 5'5" and size X, I'm pretty sure I'm about average. So, it surprises me when I have trouble figuring out where to put my feet in the bathroom stall.

Combine the first and second observations: an exceptionally small stall with an inward-swinging door. This leaves about TWO INCHES between the toilet and the door when it is being opened or closed. Now, remarkably with my acrobatic skills comparable to those of a spy evading laser beams, I manage to make it in and out of the bathroom stall. But seriously! Didn't these people realize that students have backpacks that have to go somewhere? Not to mention coats (for which there are no hooks), scarves, books, etc.

Despite my frustration with the school bathroom, it was a comparatively pleasant experience when compared to my ride on the Circulator from Union Station to Wisconsin and M Street NW. Apparently, some unfortunate soul had not had the privilege of using a bathroom designed for an anorexic midget sans backpack and had decided to use the Circulator as his personal toilette. Aromatic evidence was present to support this conclusion. Yes, nauseating.

You wish you've got mail...

Yes, that's right, readers... two posts in 24 hours. You know that you've been snowed in for too long when 1) checking the mail for your mis-mailed W2 form is one of the most exciting parts of your day and 2) when your W2 form doesn't come and doesn't come and doesn't come, you start checking out what other people got in the mail as you ride in the elevator with them.

Tonight the elevator was full and the young man next to me received an envelope from Columbia University's SIPA (School of International and Public Affairs). I imagine this envelope was from SIPA's admissions office and this young man was about to receive exciting news. Good news or bad news, he was getting answers tonight. (The envelope was thick enough that it wasn't just a "hey, we're still thinking and we'll get back to you" letter.) I found myself wanting him to open the letter in the elevator (I probably would have), and I wanted to share in his respective joy or sadness.

Yes, readers, not only am I a creepy facebook stalker (another story for another day), I also read other people's mail in the elevator. Good thing school has started again.

Sage Advice

I have informally adopted an older brother who I occasionally call for advice or comfort when I don't understand things (things=boys, most frequently but not always). So last night I called "brother" to ask him about the incomprehensibility of boys, particularly "boy." One particular part of this exchange stands out to me as both enlightening and entertaining.

Brother: What did you do before boy asked you out last time?
Me: Absolutely nothing.
Brother: Why don't you try that again?

Inconceivable! What logical girl would have ever considered doing NOTHING in order to get a boy to ask her out? This is just one reason why I always wanted and have informally adopted an older brother.

Dear Mr. Enzo Angiolini

Dear Mr. Enzo Angiolini,

Today I walked through Nordstrom's to 1) buy my sister a birthday present and 2) get out of the cold for a few minutes. I passed through the shoe department. Mr. A., you seem to make only one shoe--the four inch-high pair of peep toe heels. But you make them in so many different colors, and even though I already have two pair, you leave me wanting more. You are brilliant. A true artist. Only a brilliant designer could make one shoe, splash 20 different colors on it and convince girls that they need one of every color. Fortunately I have some self-restraint, but I am tempted each time I see one of your shoes. Very tempted.

Regards,
M