Things To Do Before I Die #32 completed. Four Corners.


I have nothing against staying at home. Goodness, I love being home! I love being safe and comfortable and unbothered by people and responsibilities and dress codes. But there is something to be said for going out, I think. For doing things picture-worthy, whether you're taking a picture of it or not. There's something unarguably exciting about going places you've never been before, or going places you've been many times but seeing it all with new ears. Eyes. I meant to say eyes.

I hear of people's travels, see photographs of adventures, and think, "How lucky. How lucky they are to be having adventures." And then it struck me just today: I'll be having adventures soon. Sure, I'm having a grand ol' time now, but I mean real adventures that I even I can call adventures. You know, things that shout at me, "The grass is actually greener here! Dummy."

As much as there is to say about the good in staying home, Bilbo and Frodo only had adventures when they ventured out. Am I right? Of course I'm right. I feel like Sabrina (gosh, I love that movie) when she is walking from the apartment above the garage to the Larrabee's garden party. "I promised myself, years ago, all of those years, hundreds of times, thousands of times. And now, I'm invited."

Or, rather, I'm going. Now I'm going.



Let me tell you something: Reliving the past? Not such a good idea.

I've kept a journal since the second grade. Age 7. That's eighteen years we're talking about, of hand-written, first-person accounts of my life. And it's all stored nice and neat in a collection of books in a gray plastic tote in my parents' attic. And every time I come home — yes, every time — I go looking for that box and open its lid like it's the Holy Grail, golden light showering my face as I peer inside. Then I sit, like the masochist that I am, and pull out one of the books at random. I flip open to a page and begin to read, often without even looking at the date. It usually begins quite pleasantly, as I recognize names of friends or laugh at how I am, and always have been, a horrible speller. And then I read too far, for too long, and I get sucked back to 2003 and my ridiculous sophomore behavior of liking this boy and disliking this girl and trying to make sense of things that I still haven't made sense of. And instead of shoving the box back into its dark attic corner, I pull out another book, hoping this time it'll be more like a Disneyland ride instead of a middle-of-nowhere-mining town carnival ride from Hell. Luckily I bi-passed that bit, but unluckily I opened to what is sure to be the script for High School Musical 4: The College Years. How many boys could I like in the span of 3 months? I'll tell you: Four. Yes, four. And how many dates can end awkwardly? I'll tell you: All of them. And let me tell you another thing, Zac Efron wasn't even close to being in this script. Not even close.

I don't want to relive the past, not until I'm 94 years old, in a nursing home, afflicted with horrible memory loss and dementia and somebody pulls out those mismatched journals and begins reading them to me as if they are someone else's life and then I can laugh and laugh and ridicule that poor, pathetic person completely unawares of my self-deprecating comments.

That is how to relive the past, my friends. Otherwise, don't do it.

Unless Zac Efron was part of it. Because, well, then, maybe it's worth a shot.



I've been a bit distracted. You know, moving. Christmas. New Years. Mission. But I realized the other day as I, in the middle of a 4-way conversation, burst out with, "Loves it like a thorn in the eye!" that my metaphors are better confined to the page, not to any audible scenarios. And then I realized, that wasn't a metaphor at all, but something entirely different that I can't remember the name for, which would make me sound either incredibly smart or incredibly pretentious if said in normal conversation. I am also too lazy to Google it right now in order to tell you. Yes. I'm currently that lazy.

And so, here I am, awaiting the lightning to strike so I can dump my metaphors, similes, conjectures, conjunctions, adverbs and pinafores onto an appropriate stage.

As it happens, I have nothing to write really. It's a new year, this is true, and I should be writing something about New Year's Resolutions, or reporting on last year's, or spewing some nonsense about the absence of resolutions and how hipster I am by doing so.

I have but one goal for 2013: Be the best missionary I can be, and don't slaughter the Spanish language.

That was actually two goals, if you'll notice. But neither of those are goals, actually, since they cannot be measured, nor really attained. But I'm gonna leave it, because if I don't have goals, I can't fail trying to achieve them. And failure is one of my least favorite things, along with oatmeal raisin cookies and clogged drains.

Did you click on the link to my last year's "resolutions"? Good on me, I accomplished them all except the Europe one. Bummer. In January I did, in fact, rock climb a 10c and would go on to climb an 11a as well. I can't remember what I got Catherine, except that it had something to do with a ticket to Disneyland. No, wait, that was the present. I remembered. We went to Disneyland in February, I ran a 10k in July, I believe (I was a few months off, so sue me) and actually ran the Red Rock Relay in September. I didn't go anywhere like Canada in April, but I did go to Texas in May and Oregon/Washington in November and Disneyland again in October. I didn't go to Europe in August but Cath and Mom came to Utah which was just as good (brownie points, whaaaaaaat!) and the rest of the year you can figure out by perusing my blog archives.

That whole paragraph was pretty unnecessary, in hindsight.

Oh hey, I went through the temple for myself last week. It was a special experience. The gospel is true, and the temple strengthens my testimony of it.

Dallas Texas Temple of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints

Not sure what Dad was doing ...

Jessica, Catherine, me, Kelsey and Thomas

Wish all my family could've been there, but it was great to have these peeps there with me.

I was especially happy Jessica could be there. She's basically my sister.