I check the stats like a crazy person, so I know that nobody reads here anymore. But because I am a crazy person, I’ll continue to post here. Which suits me fine, because I get plenty of attention whore fulfillment on my more private/public blog. Talk about the irony!
Anyway, while I was moving, I found a list from a few years ago of 100 things to do before I die, which was really only 50 items long. It was interesting to read, because I could cross a few off the list because I had accomplished them:
- Beat Bret at Pinochle
- Embrace my Inner Geek
- Be Comfortable in my own Skin (hey, almost there!)
And some I could cross off because I just don’t want them anymore:
- Serve a Mission
- Recieve my Endowments
I guess it’s time for a new list.
Heck, I love adding new pages, even if no one reads them but me.
Fall is my favorite season. It’s cold enough for sweaters, but not cold enough for snow. The leaves turn countless shades of beautiful–my favorite being that deep red that almost looks purple, and the streets become lined with the leaves that have floated down in farewell until the spring comes and they cling to branches once again.
And did I mention the extra hour of sleep?
But of course, no sleep in happening here, because my brain won’t shut off. My life has become much more complicated, now that I am being all open to new ideas and trying to grow emotionally.
Deciding to be a big girl about life doesn’t mean that I don’t still get my feelings hurt; it just means that my emotional response should be more proportional to the stressor. And I think so far, so good. Most of the time. I’m still going to be very emotionally sensitive. Whether that is a result of the abandonment or the abuse, or just a perfectly healthy character trait, I’m not sure.
I do know that I am much better at coming down from my irrationality rather quickly, after some time to think things through. This is progress for a girl who usually reacts to any small emotional wound as if the world were truly ending.
Somewhere out there, is my happiness.
Maybe it will come dressed in a deep red sweater.
Yesterday, I tried a little experiment.
Usually, when I listen to my iPod, if a song isn’t one of the chosen few of the moment, I skip right past in to one of my favorites. I don’t even give it the time of day.
But last night, I decided that as long as I didn’t absolutely hate the song, I was going to listen to it and give it a shot. It was quite enjoyable.
I’ve also been doing the same with thoughts. Instead of just pushing away everything that didn’t fit into my pre-concieved, narrowly defined paradigm, I entertained thoughts that often leave me uncomfortable.
A lot of these thoughts have to do with God and divinity in general. I’ve been questioning my conception of God, and where I fit in the scheme of things in a much different way lately.
In the past, God was just GOD and I was just this completely insignificant, unworthy creation who would simply never be worthy–Atonement or no Atonement.
And I’ve come to some conclusions that many in my life, culture, and religion would find completely disturbing. But this is my journey and my struggle. My path to enlightenment is simply going to be different than yours, but that’s okay.
Now that I’ve accepted that, my next post on the nature of God and the inconcievibilty of sin will be much easier to write.
It’s difficult to capture poignant moments in words and tell stories about them, when there aren’t really stories to tell, just moments and insights that one doesn’t really know how to share.
A single moment of an ordinary day can change a life, so long as the potential changee doesn’t lose the lesson in the hustle of building a life.
It breaks my heart that we live in a world overrun by destructive moments; that callousness seems to be the order of the day, and that I often help callousness on its way.
It reminds me of when Elder Holland gave a talk in General Conference about Speaking with the Tongues of Angels. I remember how convicted I felt, because I am nothing if not biting and sarcastic.
How do I reconcile my cynicism with my quest for Christianity? It causes such cognitive dissonance that I often despair.
How can I decry the cruelty of the world, when everyday, in some way, I contribute to it?
It almost makes life feel vain. What is the point of lofty goals and pretty creeds, if not accompanied by integrity and character?
No wonder we need the Atonment; if only I could cast off pride, let go of doubt and surrender.