The first time I got accepted to BYU, it was a very quiet affair. I took the letter from a stack of mail and walked slowly to my room. I opened the letter in private, and I may have held my breath. I did not feel excited. I felt afraid, and any betrayal of excitement was giving into that fear, giving it power to snatch something away from me. I lived with too many disappointments, which is why I opened the letter alone and why I did not smile when I calmly told my antsy mom and dad that I had gotten in. By the time I had finished opening the letter, I was already bored by the news of my admission. It was self-preservation.
This time, however, it was all different.
Oh, it started out the same, the applying last minute (though this time was a little later than last minute) and expecting a refusal. Hell, this time I got a rejection, but somehow that made it easier. What did I have to lose by submitting a letter of appeal? All they could do was tell me no, and they'd already done that. I think the whole point, for me, was seeing if I really wanted it, or if I would be content with waiting. I thought I would be. It turns out, I wasn't.
The admissions committee meets every Thursday, so I expected to wait a week for news. Maybe I could have been blase had they sent a letter the following week, but maybe not. I had already shown myself just how much I wanted this. So, while the phone call on Tuesday did catch me off guard, I think the excitement was waiting already to spill over. I was completely set up for a crushing disappointment. Instead, I heard the man bluster and stutter as he tried to sort his way through data on his desk, while I hung on his every much-spaced word. Did he say what I thought he said? The phone call ended eventually with me saying thank you a million times as he tried to repeat, again, that I was indeed admitted to BYU and could start my registration November 2nd.
I hung up the phone. Was I calm, bored, dignified? No! I laughed aloud. I danced. I was in public, and I began twirling and shouting just to release the joy and gratitude I felt. The triumph!
I got in!
Tuesday, October 23, 2007
Monday, October 15, 2007
epiphanies
Most of my decision-making is done by my subconscious. While I like to be a rational, logic-based person, I find that, really, I am directed by my feelings, almost entirely. Not my emotions, my feelings, my senses below the surface, just under the radar of my conscious. On some decisions I may appear to deliberate for a very long time--years even--coolly and collectedly, maybe even desultorily. Then sometimes I seem downright impetuous. Examples? It took me three years to pick a major. I announced out of the blue that I was moving to Texas.
I do not admit to considering a question until I know what I want. I took classes for three years without deliberating about my major. Then I set out to make my decision. I had never taken a sociology course, but I had taken classes in many fields and knew my strengths and weaknesses and likes and goals. I didn't try to make that choice until I knew what I wanted. When I one day thought to myself that I needed to figure out if I was going to move to Texas or not, it was revelatory that I wanted to go. If I hadn't, the decision wouldn't have had to be made; I would have kept on keeping on. Out loud I say, I am deciding whether or not to...while my subconscious says, I have decided that I want to do this, and now I am consulting the conscious.
I use pro/con lists only to clarify my desires. They either disappoint me or satisfy me; they do not make my decision. It is a way of understanding the value of something, to look at a list loaded with benefits on one side and to think, I still want the other option. It gives it worth. It defines the opportunity cost. To know, wow, I would be willing to give up all of that just for this? My mind is not changed, merely my resolve strengthened.
All of my research is like this. I do it quickly, thoroughly, unhesitatingly. I go online at once to see what classes are required for a sociology degree, or what apartments are listed on Craigslist. My research is not really to help me decide what I want; it is to help me know if it is possible. When I can finally admit that I want to do something, it means that I have decided to do it. When I say I want to major in sociology, it means I will. When I announced I think I want to move to Texas, I meant, I will.
And when I finally say I will, I mean I have gained confidence in my decision and know how to accomplish it.
That last part sometimes takes a while, because I am waiting for my logical side to catch up with my intuition. That is also the time when I finally stop being stubborn and consult the Lord. The latter part goes much easier, as I am usually reminded that He is the one guiding my intuition in the first place, and that my brain is being the stupid tool stopping me from listening. I think the Lord speaks to me through epiphanies and starts my intuition down these paths that my brain tries to justify.
Some of the biggest epiphanies have come on airplanes, in the same revelatory emotions that accompany a pro/con list. Leaving one place for another grants clarity.
The most profound experience was when I left Tarythe's wedding a year ago July. The excitement on the way there was expected and rather trite. What I didn't see coming was the feeling of leaving home when I got on the plane to leave. I watched Austin fall away beneath me with the distinct impression that I would be coming back, soon for an extended period. Returning to Provo felt temporary. That, combined with what followed a month later, began the subconscious decision-making process that led to my eventual and seemingly-spontaneous move to Texas.
All of this ties together.
Two weeks ago I mentioned carefully to a few people (only those from whom I needed information) that I was trying to decide if I wanted to move back to Provo. Even as I voiced it, it came as a shock to me, because I knew what that meant. It was a repudiation of the life I had been living, backward-facing, paying for the past; it was a reprieve. It meant that I valued my life there more than being immediately debt-free, than a trip to Africa, than having savings when I returned in August per my previous plan. It made taking a trip to Provo dangerous, a risk to the status quo.
The trip is now behind me, along with much research quietly conducted. And if nothing else had clarified my feelings, the plane rides today certainly did. I felt a weight descending on me the closer I got to Austin, until, when I disembarked, I had the distinct impression of pulling an all-nighter. It was fatigue in advance, and a determination to get the worst over with. It was the gearing up for the final battle. It meant my heart was no longer in it, just my time.
So now I can definitely say that I want to go back to Provo, if I can.
I do not admit to considering a question until I know what I want. I took classes for three years without deliberating about my major. Then I set out to make my decision. I had never taken a sociology course, but I had taken classes in many fields and knew my strengths and weaknesses and likes and goals. I didn't try to make that choice until I knew what I wanted. When I one day thought to myself that I needed to figure out if I was going to move to Texas or not, it was revelatory that I wanted to go. If I hadn't, the decision wouldn't have had to be made; I would have kept on keeping on. Out loud I say, I am deciding whether or not to...while my subconscious says, I have decided that I want to do this, and now I am consulting the conscious.
I use pro/con lists only to clarify my desires. They either disappoint me or satisfy me; they do not make my decision. It is a way of understanding the value of something, to look at a list loaded with benefits on one side and to think, I still want the other option. It gives it worth. It defines the opportunity cost. To know, wow, I would be willing to give up all of that just for this? My mind is not changed, merely my resolve strengthened.
All of my research is like this. I do it quickly, thoroughly, unhesitatingly. I go online at once to see what classes are required for a sociology degree, or what apartments are listed on Craigslist. My research is not really to help me decide what I want; it is to help me know if it is possible. When I can finally admit that I want to do something, it means that I have decided to do it. When I say I want to major in sociology, it means I will. When I announced I think I want to move to Texas, I meant, I will.
And when I finally say I will, I mean I have gained confidence in my decision and know how to accomplish it.
That last part sometimes takes a while, because I am waiting for my logical side to catch up with my intuition. That is also the time when I finally stop being stubborn and consult the Lord. The latter part goes much easier, as I am usually reminded that He is the one guiding my intuition in the first place, and that my brain is being the stupid tool stopping me from listening. I think the Lord speaks to me through epiphanies and starts my intuition down these paths that my brain tries to justify.
Some of the biggest epiphanies have come on airplanes, in the same revelatory emotions that accompany a pro/con list. Leaving one place for another grants clarity.
The most profound experience was when I left Tarythe's wedding a year ago July. The excitement on the way there was expected and rather trite. What I didn't see coming was the feeling of leaving home when I got on the plane to leave. I watched Austin fall away beneath me with the distinct impression that I would be coming back, soon for an extended period. Returning to Provo felt temporary. That, combined with what followed a month later, began the subconscious decision-making process that led to my eventual and seemingly-spontaneous move to Texas.
All of this ties together.
Two weeks ago I mentioned carefully to a few people (only those from whom I needed information) that I was trying to decide if I wanted to move back to Provo. Even as I voiced it, it came as a shock to me, because I knew what that meant. It was a repudiation of the life I had been living, backward-facing, paying for the past; it was a reprieve. It meant that I valued my life there more than being immediately debt-free, than a trip to Africa, than having savings when I returned in August per my previous plan. It made taking a trip to Provo dangerous, a risk to the status quo.
The trip is now behind me, along with much research quietly conducted. And if nothing else had clarified my feelings, the plane rides today certainly did. I felt a weight descending on me the closer I got to Austin, until, when I disembarked, I had the distinct impression of pulling an all-nighter. It was fatigue in advance, and a determination to get the worst over with. It was the gearing up for the final battle. It meant my heart was no longer in it, just my time.
So now I can definitely say that I want to go back to Provo, if I can.
red dress
I went on a shopping spree. It was a planned and budgeted shopping spree, but still just a little bit wild. I handed my card over at a seeming whim. But Oh--the pretty clothes! I wanted to stop feeling frumpy, and the biggest part of that lately are my shoes. I bought four pair, plus an outfit for each. I'd forgotten how much I love Maurice's! And that I still had a coupon for $20 off. I really don't think I'll have any buyer's remorse, mostly because I went with Joyce and Nora and got feedback on every item. I really like my new clothes.
But I love my new red dress.
This is a dress to top all dresses, the perfect shade of red, scarlet but not quite so orange. A delicate calf-length dress with a double waist, a ribbon sash and eyelets. I feel so completely feminine in it, lady-like and sexy all at once. With the perfectly matched red heels, the ensemble screams to be taken dancing, to be taken anywhere, as long as it's seen.
It's the kind of dress I've always wanted. Someday, I said. Someday, I will own a red dress.
There are certain achievements in life, like a wedding or a graduation, that mark a moment in time. There are also acquisitions that display certain quality of life: a new car suggests independence; a new computer, perhaps dependability; new pans, stability; insurance, security. Possessions are a reflection on the owner's character: a bicycle for an athlete, books for a reader, shoes for the fashion expert.
The red dress is a little of each. It's statement is of fun, elegance and a willingness to embrace life. I have always wanted to be a person who owned a red dress. And now that I do, I will probably try it on every night, just for a minute or so, just to relish in my ownership of it and to experience the moments of forward-looking when I wonder where I'll wear it.
But I love my new red dress.
This is a dress to top all dresses, the perfect shade of red, scarlet but not quite so orange. A delicate calf-length dress with a double waist, a ribbon sash and eyelets. I feel so completely feminine in it, lady-like and sexy all at once. With the perfectly matched red heels, the ensemble screams to be taken dancing, to be taken anywhere, as long as it's seen.
It's the kind of dress I've always wanted. Someday, I said. Someday, I will own a red dress.
There are certain achievements in life, like a wedding or a graduation, that mark a moment in time. There are also acquisitions that display certain quality of life: a new car suggests independence; a new computer, perhaps dependability; new pans, stability; insurance, security. Possessions are a reflection on the owner's character: a bicycle for an athlete, books for a reader, shoes for the fashion expert.
The red dress is a little of each. It's statement is of fun, elegance and a willingness to embrace life. I have always wanted to be a person who owned a red dress. And now that I do, I will probably try it on every night, just for a minute or so, just to relish in my ownership of it and to experience the moments of forward-looking when I wonder where I'll wear it.
Friday, October 12, 2007
home
Ah, here I am blogging on a computer in the Cannon Center. It feels like the two years of my life that have passed. I feel like I am home. There is my family here, whom I love more than air, and so many familiar faces. The smells get to me the worst. It smells like home, peace, enthusiasm, and innumerable other things. Who'd have thought that peace smelled like mountains and enthusiasm like the cleaner used in the Canc. Home smelling like Nora--that's predictable. It makes me want to chuck it all and stay. You can't force me on that plane on Monday! Everything I need I have in this backpack. I put off coming back too long, or not long enough. I am interested to see the lasting results from this weekend.
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