The Fear of a Thing

"I've just had an apostrophe." I am hands down terrified of a lot of things. I'm scared of snakes and spiders, large predatory animals, long free falls. I'm quite afraid of the miles of water below me as I swim and I'm not keen on getting lost in either a foreign country or a legit wilderness. I almost tremble with fear when a big failure seems inevitable. I even forbid myself to look stupid unintentionally. Really you could say I'm just a pansy. A good, old-fashioned pansy.

I think we're all scared, and it's not just of one or two things. We each have a list. Some things we don't realize are on the list. Some things once were not anywhere near the list but now cling to it greedily. I know this about you and you know this about me, without us really knowing each other. It's an assumption we make for all humanity because fear is a gigantic (that's right, bringing the original back) part of humanity. So why is it that we hide it?

For me, it's because I don't want to be thought weak. My opinion of myself says I should be able to do anything because so-and-so did it and he had no problem. That doesn't mean I WANT to do everything. I just like to know that I can, if required. But this has all had years to settle in my head, and the answer slowly coming to me is one I don't much like so far.

I am not invincible. I am not bulletproof. I don't have indestructible armor for skin, nor does my mind have a cool, objective view of what surrounds me. I am not what I pretend to be. I'm not perfect.

But I so want to be!

How do we deal with this? I say "we" because I know I'm not the only one with progress hindered by fear. It's a constant part of life, yet I ignore it and avoid it. But that doesn't make it disappear or blast it from existence. It's safe to say I think I'm safer when I don't think about my fear at all. If I never stopped thinking about snakes, I'd seriously be in a nut house, curled up on that little metal-frame bed in the corner. I wouldn't be able to do anything. Most fears are small enough that they give a push of adrenaline, which usually helps me get through pretty well. But the big ones? They can inspire enough terror to paralyze. People deal with this in three ways.

• First, they don't. They can't get a grip on it and so end up on that little metal-frame bed I mentioned earlier with someone constantly caring for them.
• Second, they forget it. At some point, if they can remember that at this very moment nothing is wrong and nothing can hurt them, there's a better chance that they'll focus on other things. And a lot of those other things are actually things they're pretty great at.
• Lastly, they face it. Think of this as the thrill-seeker option. For instance, I find sharks decently intimidating and horror-inspiring. But I absolutely love them, partly because they scare me. People feel a need to make weaknesses strong, and this is one way they can do so.

Let's talk a little more about that last one. Obviously, if you're mortified of heights, you're not going to book a skydiving gig for the next morning. It takes more than that. Here is a perfect moment to utilize the ever-popular phrase "knowledge is power". And it IS power! With my lovely shark fear, I watched documentaries. I not only made sure to learn how to deal with them face-to-face, but I learned about their anatomy. I learned which ones live where. Which are most/least dangerous. I essentially made them that celebrity you stalk who should probably be your best friend. I know them backward and forward without being one step nearer to them. And you know what? I admire them now. Knowing can be a wonderfully empowering feeling.

Maybe you won't come to admire the view from an airplane window or embrace the wide open spaces of prairie lands (I know, I'm getting into all sorts of old school vocabulary), but you WILL feel better! You will feel more control over your fear! You won't worry about it catching you unaware. Because you prepared yourself, you can move on and do something about what you love instead. And maybe you won't conquer that heart-thumping completely. Maybe you'll have to be like me–I watch scary movies to scare myself silly, so when the time comes to be scared I've already used the emotion up, then I simply face the battle, no fear raging. But the point is, there is life and discovery and achievement beyond fear. It's there waiting for you and me, if only we can hold on tight and worry about one thing at a time. Preferably the thing in front of us, not the one haunting the dark corners of our minds.

Awesome_

Early Mornings and How I Manipulate Them

It's 5:00 AM. Why wouldn't I be awake?

Ok, in all honesty, this isn't routine for me. I mean, I wake up this early when I have work, but having 12-hour shifts means it still happens only a few times a week and not everyday. So why am I awake? Let's tell a happier version of this story first.

I work at a hospital, which means how much I work is directly related to how many patients are admitted to the Med/Surg floor or the ICU. Now most days I go to work like always, keep my desk super organized, and enjoy the chatter of my fellow employees. But once in awhile I get this call at 4:30 AM saying, "Surprise, you're not coming to work today! Spend your time as you will, but don't go too far. You know, just in case we need you later." Usually at this point I am quite happy to oblige. I immediately roll over in bed and look at this next session of sleep as a redo for the night I just tossed and turned, worried about missing my alarm go off and being late.

This is not that day. This is the day where, after I hang up the phone, I'm suddenly insomniatic. Hard as I try, there's no way my mind is letting go of consciousness. So I get up anyway while the town around me sleeps a precious few more hours. It drives me crazy. Granted, I never get tired of pointing out in later conversations how much earlier I have to wake up, giving me a false but very satisfying sense of importance and productivity.

But really, I love my sleep. I absolutely adore my sleep! And this is how I repay myself. It's not even worth it because there's no way I'll start getting things done anytime before 7:00. More likely 8:00. The only things I do this early in the morning are work and jumprope. So with this unique morning occurrence, I've taken to film. Who doesn't like a good movie in the morning? I like it for several reasons.

First, watching movies is most often saved for the late evenings. At the end of the day, after working hard and accomplishing a lot of things we didn't want to do in the first place, we can finally back off and indulge in some entertainment whilst being glued to an inviting sofa. It's a classic schedule. Therefore, pretty much anytime you watch a movie, there's a sense of relief and relaxation to be received. Experiencing this in the morning before most people begin their day, well, that's priceless. You already feel like you have all the time in the world to have a nice full day. I like this because I feel like I'm on top of everything. List is made and tasks are all accounted for, unable to escape.

Second, my dear family saves film viewing for Christmas morning (when we're presented with a large stack of movies we already own on VHS) and long hours of travel. In this instance, movies create a faux air of vacation and endless time to kill. You may realize that this result is very similar to that of the example above. Well let me tell you, this is an important thing for a person who is me. Or I guess like me in some personality traits. Let's delve into my mind a bit. But not too much. No one wants to go there.

My personality is dominated by one thing: organization. Not such a big deal, you say. Now here are some terms associated with and built on that one word. Structure. Perfectionism. Detail-oriented. By the book. Mulitasker. So you see where I'm going with this? When my day starts, it's all lists and doing all the right things in the right order and in the right way. I can get easily stressed when the smallest of glitches comes along, and as if that's not bad enough, I'm now more prone to lose myself emotionally. I don't think I've ever had a day come back from that. If I start crying over something stupid, there's no saving it unless I take a nap and receive the false sense of a new day. (You may be realizing that much of my survival banks on convincing myself of positive things. So whether really there or not, by the end of the day I've made the positive real.)

This whole "Movie in the Morning" thing is actually a fantastic one for me. It creates a  sense of calm and control for the rest of my day. So no matter how crazily askew it becomes, I can fix it or simply let it go if I have to. It's like taming myself. I know it's a trick, but I go along with it anyway. You know, for the greater good.

And if I've pre-planned a nap as well, man, I'm definitely going places that day.

Awesome_

Just Pick One!

Sorry, a little bit of seriousness.

So many possibilities. To get to the point, life has an infinite amount of paths for us to pick and choose from, which is pretty much the end of someone like me who is probably the origination of "indecisive". I mean where it matters, believe me, I have an opinion, but when this good thing is just as good as the one sitting over there waiting for me to sign up, you do not want to be standing at my side expecting me to declare a winner any time soon.

Now here's where I feel like people will say I'm complaining about my having so many talents and options that other people would only dream about. To that I say, any man (or woman) can be in my very position if they have passion and motivation to do what it takes to get here. Plus, who are you to say I shouldn't complain and just choose something! It would be so much easier if there were fewer choices, then I would simply do what I knew how to do and that would be that. But when there are so many things I like to do (as it is for many people) and I don't want to give them up, I reach a standstill.

Here is what I tell myself when this happens.
Stop being a baby! Putting off a decision doesn't make it decide itself! In fact, when the outcomes mean the most to you, you tend to lose both instead of just the one. It's true, doing nothing will leave you with nothing. So the best thing you can do is just choose. Either way, good things will come to you and you'll simply have to appreciate those things you were able to experience in the end. You can't be afraid. You can't mourn the loss of what you don't have. Whatever it is, make it work for you.

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The Delight of Family Improv

Just one more reason to adore this family.

Jenna and I, upon sitting and waiting in the van for various family members to return, who were looking at sedan-like vehicles in I.F., became bored. And began to improvise our own musical, one line at a time. We sang about being home alone and the neighbor's dog calling on the phone. The dog decided we should go on a walk together to find any individuals that would play with us. And something or other with the involvement of a horse. And possibly a golf course.
At this chronological point in the re-telling of this tale, Dad climbed back into the driver's seat and propelled us to another location at which we would acquire the rest of our rag-tag band! Oh did I not mention yet that we continued to deliver lines of lyrical beauty? Tied up in the angelic vision we had painted? Did I omit the normalcy of Dad instantly providing back up (the sort of thing those lucky altos always get to sing!) for us? Repeating words and phrases in echoes and downward runs?

Yeah, you can come sing with us any time you want. But remember, rhyme and randomosity are key.

Awesome_

Lists are Dead to Me

Fact: I make lists.
Not just shopping or chore lists. I also make lists of music I like, things I plan to be better at, songs I've written, things I plan to buy in my lifetime, places I've been, and I even have a continuous list of things I like in general. That one's a long list. Pages long. Even with columns.
And that list I just made? Just the beginning of all the things I list.

The history of lists tells us that they are used to keep people organized and help them get things done. And when I say "history" I really mean that this is common sense. You don't need me to tell you what they're for. If you don't already know, you're probably one of those guys that has never made a list.
Most people make mental lists of things to do or buy, especially when the list is short. But then there are people like me. Who write everything down, even if it's only two bullets long. I assume this problem of mine comes because I'm also a writer. I write everything down. If there's a pen in my hand, ink ends up everywhere. Usually on my palms. Where I list things I can't forget. Are you seeing a pattern here?
Listing things isn't actually all that different from note-taking. Think about all those history, science and math notes you take (or have taken). Chances are that the more organized and formatted those are, the easier it is for you to study and the better you do on assignments and tests. For some people, lists are an innate skill, but the rest of us learn it by necessity in school. So if you don't think you're very good at it, don't worry. You have years of school to practice and get better. I guess you could also assume that your interest in the subject matter and your final grade also affect how well you take notes and make lists.
So the real drive behind lists is how much you care about the subject matter. The more interesting you find it, the more likely your list will be detailed and probably included doodles and drawings to illustrate what you find most fascinating.

Now here's the problem that I faced while earning my undergraduate degree. So. Many. Lists. A college student has so many things to keep track of and his method of keeping up is usually different than everyone else's. I was a planner kid. Except that I never used the layout of my planner. I adapted it to my own way of thinking. This worked wonderfully for me. So wonderfully, in fact, that it created a problem.
Remember back there how we talked about mental lists? Suddenly, those no longer worked for me. And it wasn't even halfway. Meaning that if I didn't write anything down, I would forget every single thing I was supposed to do. Not most of the things, all of them. Don't ask me how, but my memory was hashed. Defective, if you'd like. I was able to equalize the problem over a summer break, but don't think these kinds of things can't happen. And don't think they can't resurface either.
So here I am, no more crazy homework/study schedule. Just working and jumproping like any normal 4-year degree holder. And I've encountered this problem once again. But worse. Now all my lists are quite short and very unique; however, when I grab my notebook and turn it to a clean college-ruled page, I forget all but the first bullet of my list before I finish writing the list title . . . I think my mind has settled on short-term memory-loss.

And the most curious bit of this? I wonder, what was the good of becoming an expert lister if I can't even get my lists written before I forget them? Oh irony, how vicious you can be.

Awesome_

Right Music, Wrong Lyrics

Let me tell you the story of a musical adventure. No literally, it was an adventure with musicals. And since many musicals are whimsical and fairy-tale-like, we shall storybook this story.

Ahem. Once upon a time in a magically crazy-weathered kingdom lived three sisters. Well actually, only two sisters lived there. The other one visited mostly on weekends. Nonetheless, these sisters were well-known throughout the land for their musical talents. They performed classical piano pieces, added beauty to any orchestral arrangement, and surprised all listeners with their stellar vocal talents. While they often shared these talents with the greatest amounts of seriousness, they had an especial procedure for using them when cozied up in their own home on its green hill rolling away in all directions.
One Thursday evening, a brilliant idea pounced upon the sisters before they knew it was to dance them away into a world of musical wonder . . . or, probably more accurately, of musical wrongness. The Wicked music book found itself in the hands of the sisters oldest and youngest, and a strange commotion rent the air as the two began a tragic slaughtering of the beautifully written melody Popular, though the lyrics stayed in tact.
It was monstrous! But it was oh so pleasing in its hilarity! And no mind, despite the grating in each ear, would miss the performance in its entirety.
And then, another idea crept close through the African prairie brush and grabbed hold of all three girls with deathly jaws.
Several musicals were pulled out of a black filing box and the fun commenced. The lyrics of My Fair Lady sung to the memorable phrases of Les Miserables. The Little Mermaid's Les Poisson sung passionately to Tangled's I See the Light. So many combinations of The Phantom of the Opera with all those already mentioned. The girls discovered exactly how long Masquerade was when they attempted three times to match its lyrics up with another musical's music. Finally a suitable pairing was made. With Part of Your World and Part of Your World (Reprised). Yes, it only worked if both songs were sung in succession. Another favorite was Past the Point of No Return lyrics with We are the Daughters of Triton. They also crafted a slightly altered rendition of Fathoms Below with the words of Tangled's Flower Incantation.
Somehow, those invited to hear these unique collaborations in close quarters were not able to grasp the beauty in its fullness. It seemed the performers themselves were the only ones with complete satisfaction. But it was enough to simply please themselves. After all, it was just a silliness they'd never share publicly anyway.

Do you think we were crazy to do this? If so, you would be correct. Although I'm sure there are plenty of Bowman-esque people out there who would immediately do this same thing. The best part of this was the phrase match-ups and the heart-warming melodies boasting about cutting off fishes heads . . . I mean, yes there were some strange meet ups, but it made the adventure fantastic!
From pondering these moments, I have come to a few conclusions about the writing of music in general. First, and most importantly, some lyrics when heard with melodies of opposing emotion sound really freaking creepy and wrong! Or just too silly to ever be used in front of people. The rhymes become forced and childish, the rhythms thrown together. So I guess you could say that any and every song ever written is ridiculous. Any of them can be mocked, which brings me to my second point. Musicians are fantastic mythical beasts! (Credit for that description goes to Rhett and Link.) They bring life to their lyrics through so many varying melodies, and their music overwhelms listeners with its expression of emotion whether the words are there or not.
Short story made shorter: give musicians some credit and support them if you especially like them. And also, think about this. Every new song for them is another risk, exposing themselves for criticism and ridicule. Yeah, I'd say musicians are pretty tough kids.

So go to a concert or go buy a CD or something.
Oh. And they all lived happily ever after.

Awesome_

I Don't Sound Like a Ringwraith. Anymore.

(the set-up)
Once upon a time, I left cold and snowy Rexburg at the beginning of April to visit the pleasantly temperate Las Vegas with my jump rope team. Sin City over General Conference weekend, oh the irony.

(the irony)
Oh you want the real irony? I caught a cold.
Actually, half of our dozen got sick. All with something different. Or mostly different. Some with migraines, some with colds, one with an ear infection, and two throwing up for no reason. Yeah, and we still had 2 days, 6 assemblies, and 2 workshops to get through. Let alone the travel time to St. George and Mesquite, and the 8-hour drive home.
Side note: this should tell you how much we freaking love jump rope. Seriously.

(the point)
As Stephanie, I have never lost my voice. I came close at the age of twelve. I tried my hardest to succeed at the age of fourteen. I still failed. Well, fast forward to our Vegas trip.
I lost my voice the second day of being sick. And not just halfway either. No, I'm talking full on Grudge imitation. A Brother Severn sound-alike (for those in the Eastern Idaho area). A squawking, out-of-tune creature you couldn't help chuckling at (in your defense, neither could I). I also could barely hear anyone I tried to have a normally-distanced conversation with.
But still I jumped, I yelled counting for routines–I swear I'm the only one that can yell loudly, so I count everything–I sometimes breathed, and I also taught elementary school kids to jump rope for several hours. It was an amazing feat, even though more often than not I'd have to clear my throat to get anything audible to come out. And I was continuously asking nine-year-olds to repeat themselves.
I tried to sing during the car ride home. I couldn't carry a tune. Simple intervals were slaughtered in excruciating, cruel, unusual ways. Poor music. Now I know how the tone-deaf feel. They are stronger people than I am, being able to live without singing.
My only comfort was thinking, "This won't last long, right? Colds only last about seven days, so I'll be fine soon . . ."

(the twist)
WRONG!
3 weeks! I am in no way even exaggerating! Hacking cough, unable to communicate with the world, telling people to speak up.
For 21 days.
504 hours.
30,240 minutes.
1, 814, 400 seconds.
That's an unbelievable time span to not sing in. It was so agonizing! Listening to the beautiful choir in church, and even the congregation. Hearing a favorite song on the radio (the volume twice as high as normal) and banned from the belting of its words. And if the loss of song wasn't heartbreaking enough, I had no recollection of my voice. It seemed these laughable rasps were all I'd ever had. It became a habit to ask if I still sounded sick because, for all I knew, this was the loverly voice I'd developed through my years of living. Of course, when people would answer, I'd yell at them, "What? I can't hear you! You have to talk to me like I'm an old person!" (No insult intended to the elderly here.)

(the speculation)
Something I found interesting was supplied by teammate Nieka. She described a beautiful concept where there's actually a correct manner in which to yell. A procedure to follow so that, no matter the hollering time or distance, the gravel will stay out of your throat. Her suggestion was that I had this ability innately (though it could be taught), which explains my failures earlier in life (not all failures, just the voice-losing ones). So this sporadic, unpredictable cough did something to throw of the natural balance of my voice box.
But who knows how? My family, my teammates, my friends, myself, we are completely mystified. Was it really a cold I had, or was it mono? Possibly the parasitic invasion of an alien compound? Such extreme effects surely cannot be dismissed and discounted. And to simply fade away in a day or two?

It's an outrageous accusation to call this the common cold.

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