On my speed trip to Utah I was able to go with my brother to BYU campus. It's always interesting to walk across campus, because I feel differently about it every time.
For a while BYU stood for hope and change and the rest of my life.
Then, after I was done with school (well, not DONE. I don't have my degree), and I was married and had a kid, I'd walk across campus and think about how it would be fun to be a college kid again. The energy. The atmosphere. I thought about how I could still pass as a college kid, holding a notebook and a pen and looking smart. I ate it up.
And then we moved away from Utah and campus became a magical place lost in time. It was like I freeze-framed my BYU experience, and every time I went back, it was those same college-age memories all over again. Some positive, some negative. My time at BYU wasn't all roses. But it was a good feeling.
I guess I've been gone too long, though, because this time I went back and felt ... nothing. I've read about my friends going back to campus and loving it. They were re-discovering campus, feeling the positive flood of emotions, checking out the new buildings, and eating up the energy and college campus vibe. I expected, then, to feel something like that myself.
I walked across campus, near the library, and searched around inside myself for that section set apart for BYU emotions and found the place empty. We walked into the Administration building and it was just a building. It wasn't the "remember when" place. It was just an old building.
We walked back to the Wilk and went through the Bookstore and I found some emotions! Positive ones among the religion books, and negative ones everywhere else. I stood in one particular area, watched all the people walking around, and wanted to scream. All I could think was, "I hate this place." I don't know why I hate that place. It's not like I broke up with a boyfriend at that spot. It wasn't where I was forced to spend hundreds of dollars on text books (we didn't go into that section). I just hated it for no reason.
To counter the intense negative that was the Bookstore, I got a chocolate milkshake. BYU Creamery's milkshakes are still the best I've found. We walked back to the car and I ate my milkshake. The whole thing, even though I wasn't even hungry. And as we drove away I thought, "If I never come to campus again, that would be just fine."
BYU chapter closed.
Showing posts with label musings. Show all posts
Showing posts with label musings. Show all posts
Friday, January 7, 2011
Tuesday, November 16, 2010
Life Has Meaning
Some days that's obvious to me. Some days, for all my searching and pondering, it's just not.
When I was a teenager, and feeling completely lost, I couldn't wait to be an adult so I would Know things. I felt like there would come some distinct time when I Understood and had it All Figured Out. I imagined that time would be when I turned 21. ... If you're older than 21 years old, I don't need to tell you that it just didn't happen.
I struggled with that for a long time. About half the time I assumed that I was possibly crazy. Didn't other people have things Figured Out? What was wrong with me?
Anyway, long story too short, I've come to terms with the fact that I probably won't ever Know things and have things All Figured Out. I can see, as I age, gradual changes. Tiny improvements, so that I can see over the course of a decade or so that I'm a better person than I was. But there isn't ever going to be a time when I think, "Ah ha! Now I Know things." Not when I'm 50. Or 75. Or 100. I'll still just be Tamra, trying to figure out what life is about and what I'm about.
But that's what makes life interesting.
When I was a teenager, and feeling completely lost, I couldn't wait to be an adult so I would Know things. I felt like there would come some distinct time when I Understood and had it All Figured Out. I imagined that time would be when I turned 21. ... If you're older than 21 years old, I don't need to tell you that it just didn't happen.
I struggled with that for a long time. About half the time I assumed that I was possibly crazy. Didn't other people have things Figured Out? What was wrong with me?
Anyway, long story too short, I've come to terms with the fact that I probably won't ever Know things and have things All Figured Out. I can see, as I age, gradual changes. Tiny improvements, so that I can see over the course of a decade or so that I'm a better person than I was. But there isn't ever going to be a time when I think, "Ah ha! Now I Know things." Not when I'm 50. Or 75. Or 100. I'll still just be Tamra, trying to figure out what life is about and what I'm about.
But that's what makes life interesting.
Wednesday, June 16, 2010
Summer, Sun, and Sterility
I have learned that sun hates me. Okay, I already knew that. Sun bounces off my skin and lands on the next closest object: usually Rob or my kids, who all have fantastic tans while I have perpetually shockingly white skin.
But even though the sun manages to not deepen my skin tone, it still manages to drain the life out of me. I spend a few hours outside and come home with a headache and the need to nap. And no tan. (Are you sensing the bitterness of this non-tanning thing?)
What I have really learned, though, is that the combination of too much sun and not enough sleep makes me feel pregnant. This freaks me out every time, because I'm surgically sterile, thank you very much. Being pregnant would be grounds to sue my OB-GYN. Or at least make him pay all the medical bills associated with such a pregnancy.
But there I find myself:
* In the grocery store, ready to vomit because of the smells coming from the seafood aisles.
* Experiencing extreme sensitivity to all dairy smells: I almost tossed some perfectly good yogurt because it smelled bad to me.
* Nearing puke stage right before bedtime.
* Not able to eat much without feeling extremely unstable in the stomach.
Apparently feeling pregnant = feeling like puking.
So there you have it. That's what I'm figuring out this summer.
But even though the sun manages to not deepen my skin tone, it still manages to drain the life out of me. I spend a few hours outside and come home with a headache and the need to nap. And no tan. (Are you sensing the bitterness of this non-tanning thing?)
What I have really learned, though, is that the combination of too much sun and not enough sleep makes me feel pregnant. This freaks me out every time, because I'm surgically sterile, thank you very much. Being pregnant would be grounds to sue my OB-GYN. Or at least make him pay all the medical bills associated with such a pregnancy.
But there I find myself:
* In the grocery store, ready to vomit because of the smells coming from the seafood aisles.
* Experiencing extreme sensitivity to all dairy smells: I almost tossed some perfectly good yogurt because it smelled bad to me.
* Nearing puke stage right before bedtime.
* Not able to eat much without feeling extremely unstable in the stomach.
Apparently feeling pregnant = feeling like puking.
So there you have it. That's what I'm figuring out this summer.
Friday, February 5, 2010
Therapy
We got news from our Water Works that the sewer rates are going up by about double and a half. Bummer. This has us thinking, again, about how to reduce our water bill. Of course, I already know how to reduce our bill: Tamra should stop taking long showers. But we all know this isn't going to happen. The low-flow shower head was the compromise.
This got me thinking about other things, though. Mainly, what I don't spend on Therapy sessions with a professional counselor. When I take a shower, my troubles wash away with the water and the world is Good. I figure it's worth an extra few dollars a month for shower therapy.
So: Therapy Cost #1 = Water Bill
Therapy Cost #2 is, of course, my soccer league. I play co-ed soccer every Friday night and it's heaven. I come home and talk to Rob or my brother about the game (since Rob only cares because I care, not because he loves the game). I don't think back to the glory days that were, because these ARE my glory days. When I was 13 years old, my competitive spirit was sucked out of my soul by a really lousy coach, and since then I've been waiting for people to catch up with my non-competitive, fair-play attitude. Turns out that age mellows people. And soccer, to me, gets no better than a friendly game.
I've been playing every week for almost 2 years now and I'm addicted. Family circumstances will demand that I skip next session, and I might go into withdrawals.
Therapy Cost #3 is high-speed internet. It allows so many wonderful things that low-speed didn't (like blogging), so it's totally worth the extra $15/month that we pay for it.
And that's about it. Books used to be a therapy cost, but I abuse the library system these days, so it costs me nothing. And talking to Rob is wonderful therapy, but thankfully he doesn't charge me for it.
...
I don't feel bad that I'm not paying a professional counselor for therapy sessions. They over-charge anyway.
This got me thinking about other things, though. Mainly, what I don't spend on Therapy sessions with a professional counselor. When I take a shower, my troubles wash away with the water and the world is Good. I figure it's worth an extra few dollars a month for shower therapy.
So: Therapy Cost #1 = Water Bill
Therapy Cost #2 is, of course, my soccer league. I play co-ed soccer every Friday night and it's heaven. I come home and talk to Rob or my brother about the game (since Rob only cares because I care, not because he loves the game). I don't think back to the glory days that were, because these ARE my glory days. When I was 13 years old, my competitive spirit was sucked out of my soul by a really lousy coach, and since then I've been waiting for people to catch up with my non-competitive, fair-play attitude. Turns out that age mellows people. And soccer, to me, gets no better than a friendly game.
I've been playing every week for almost 2 years now and I'm addicted. Family circumstances will demand that I skip next session, and I might go into withdrawals.
Therapy Cost #3 is high-speed internet. It allows so many wonderful things that low-speed didn't (like blogging), so it's totally worth the extra $15/month that we pay for it.
And that's about it. Books used to be a therapy cost, but I abuse the library system these days, so it costs me nothing. And talking to Rob is wonderful therapy, but thankfully he doesn't charge me for it.
...
I don't feel bad that I'm not paying a professional counselor for therapy sessions. They over-charge anyway.
Friday, September 25, 2009
What Love is Now
"Love changes, and in change is true." - Wendell Berry
Right now love is:
Rob calling to say he'll be late and me saying, in all honesty, "It's okay. Take the time you need."
Ironing Rob's shirts at 10:00 p.m. while upstairs Rob types away at his computer, trying to get things together for his class.
Reading a book on massage.
Telling Rob he needs to play with his kids, just to try to get him to relax a little.
Rob telling me he appreciates all the extra things I'm taking on so that he can focus.
Going to bed, feeling eager, and looking over at Rob who looks like he's about to cry because he's so worn out. Telling him it's okay and going to sleep in his arms.
Not worrying about formal date nights, cause I know right now it'd just be too much for our family.
...
At other points in my life, most of these things would have been completely unacceptable. They wouldn't have said love at all. But right now they do. It's a quiet, soft kind of love, and it's alright. It adds depth to the chaotic, passionate love that tends to be my favorite kind.
Right now love is:
Rob calling to say he'll be late and me saying, in all honesty, "It's okay. Take the time you need."
Ironing Rob's shirts at 10:00 p.m. while upstairs Rob types away at his computer, trying to get things together for his class.
Reading a book on massage.
Telling Rob he needs to play with his kids, just to try to get him to relax a little.
Rob telling me he appreciates all the extra things I'm taking on so that he can focus.
Going to bed, feeling eager, and looking over at Rob who looks like he's about to cry because he's so worn out. Telling him it's okay and going to sleep in his arms.
Not worrying about formal date nights, cause I know right now it'd just be too much for our family.
...
At other points in my life, most of these things would have been completely unacceptable. They wouldn't have said love at all. But right now they do. It's a quiet, soft kind of love, and it's alright. It adds depth to the chaotic, passionate love that tends to be my favorite kind.
Thursday, September 17, 2009
Just Like a Teenager
On Tuesday one of the girls in my Sunday School class, Becca, a delightfully bouncy 10-year-old, gave me what must have been a heart-felt compliment.
She introduced me to a friend by saying, "This is her! This is Sister Thacker!" By her friend's response, I could tell Becca has talked about me before. In glowing terms. And it made me feel very uncomfortable. I can do respect, but unabashed admiration is harder to cope with. I said, "What's up?" and gave her my by-now-signature upwards nod and Rock On sign.
As her friend stared at me in something like awe and I tried to think of the best response (I wanted to run away or laugh or just say, "Stop that!", but all of those seemed inappropriate. I decided to just do nothing), Becca continued, "She's my favorite teacher ever! She acts just like a teenager and she's 29!"
I smiled at that. As Becca and her friend ran off to do whatever it is 10-year-olds do, I mumbled to myself and the other adult woman standing there, "I'm not sure that's a compliment."
In reality, I'm only 28. And I don't think I act "just like a teenager." But then again, maybe I do. Signature upwards nod and Rock On sign submitted as piece of evidence #1.
This has me thinking. About what it is I do that makes me "just like a teenager" to her. I mean, I raise 3 kids and cook dinner and clean house and organize 5 people's lives. I don't send text messages or "speak" text languages. I don't attempt to dress immodestly and call it acceptable. And I have long ago stopped worrying about if Joe and Jane Cool think I'm in the "in" crowd. Clearly: not a teenager.
But I make it a point to be ridiculously casual when the time does not call for it. I'm just as random as the girls I teach (as evidenced by the fact that we often get nothing accomplished for an entire hour), and I refuse to take a hard line on discipline towards them. And while I don't speak text, I do say a lot of non-professional words and phrases like, "what up?" "sup?" "whatever" "it's cool" "rock on" and "hey". I sometimes show up to class and say, "I didn't feel like preparing a lesson this week, so I didn't," and then we'll just goof off and have a brief spiritual thought and call it good. Clearly: teenager.
While I'm trying to take it how she meant it--as a sincere compliment, maybe one of the best compliments she could think of--I'm wondering if I should "grow up" a little.
Oh well. So long as no 50-year-olds start saying that I act just like a teenager, I guess I'm okay.
She introduced me to a friend by saying, "This is her! This is Sister Thacker!" By her friend's response, I could tell Becca has talked about me before. In glowing terms. And it made me feel very uncomfortable. I can do respect, but unabashed admiration is harder to cope with. I said, "What's up?" and gave her my by-now-signature upwards nod and Rock On sign.
As her friend stared at me in something like awe and I tried to think of the best response (I wanted to run away or laugh or just say, "Stop that!", but all of those seemed inappropriate. I decided to just do nothing), Becca continued, "She's my favorite teacher ever! She acts just like a teenager and she's 29!"
I smiled at that. As Becca and her friend ran off to do whatever it is 10-year-olds do, I mumbled to myself and the other adult woman standing there, "I'm not sure that's a compliment."
In reality, I'm only 28. And I don't think I act "just like a teenager." But then again, maybe I do. Signature upwards nod and Rock On sign submitted as piece of evidence #1.
This has me thinking. About what it is I do that makes me "just like a teenager" to her. I mean, I raise 3 kids and cook dinner and clean house and organize 5 people's lives. I don't send text messages or "speak" text languages. I don't attempt to dress immodestly and call it acceptable. And I have long ago stopped worrying about if Joe and Jane Cool think I'm in the "in" crowd. Clearly: not a teenager.
But I make it a point to be ridiculously casual when the time does not call for it. I'm just as random as the girls I teach (as evidenced by the fact that we often get nothing accomplished for an entire hour), and I refuse to take a hard line on discipline towards them. And while I don't speak text, I do say a lot of non-professional words and phrases like, "what up?" "sup?" "whatever" "it's cool" "rock on" and "hey". I sometimes show up to class and say, "I didn't feel like preparing a lesson this week, so I didn't," and then we'll just goof off and have a brief spiritual thought and call it good. Clearly: teenager.
While I'm trying to take it how she meant it--as a sincere compliment, maybe one of the best compliments she could think of--I'm wondering if I should "grow up" a little.
Oh well. So long as no 50-year-olds start saying that I act just like a teenager, I guess I'm okay.
Wednesday, August 26, 2009
Collin says...
that my recent Random Tamra posts have been weird.
Which means I am now officially weird.
Not that I wasn't weird before. But now it's official.
... I was thinking about what to write about. I've had conflicting feelings about my writings. (I say "writings" like they're important.) I have an idea that's been floating in my head for about 2 years, and I haven't written it up. I should. I write positive things about motherhood and life in general, and I like that. I write up what I've done and what my family does, and that's useful (to me and my family, if to no one else). I write just for fun, just cause I like to write, just cause something inside me drives me to do it.
And yet, with everything I write, I feel like it's somehow lacking. Like I'm not quite writing something really important. Like all my writings are just skirting around something much better. Like my writings are slipping. Not what I want them to be. Which makes little sense, because they've never had a ton of direction anyway, and that's something I've done on purpose (this blog is called Random Tamra for a reason).
I DID think the other day about something I could write, something negative. It was funny, it was sharp, it was perceptive and to the point. And it was offensive. And I knew, right then, that I had some sort of obligation not to write it. Even though deep down in the "I'm negative and I like it" section of my soul, I enjoyed the idea of writing it, at least.
Bah. I've half-decided that I should just be silent for a while. And instead of writing all the time, I should start listening. Listening for ... something. Or maybe for nothing. But the listening part seems important.
Clearly, I'm doing a very good job at being silent. (Perhaps being silent and listening are two different ideas.)
Which means I am now officially weird.
Not that I wasn't weird before. But now it's official.
... I was thinking about what to write about. I've had conflicting feelings about my writings. (I say "writings" like they're important.) I have an idea that's been floating in my head for about 2 years, and I haven't written it up. I should. I write positive things about motherhood and life in general, and I like that. I write up what I've done and what my family does, and that's useful (to me and my family, if to no one else). I write just for fun, just cause I like to write, just cause something inside me drives me to do it.
And yet, with everything I write, I feel like it's somehow lacking. Like I'm not quite writing something really important. Like all my writings are just skirting around something much better. Like my writings are slipping. Not what I want them to be. Which makes little sense, because they've never had a ton of direction anyway, and that's something I've done on purpose (this blog is called Random Tamra for a reason).
I DID think the other day about something I could write, something negative. It was funny, it was sharp, it was perceptive and to the point. And it was offensive. And I knew, right then, that I had some sort of obligation not to write it. Even though deep down in the "I'm negative and I like it" section of my soul, I enjoyed the idea of writing it, at least.
Bah. I've half-decided that I should just be silent for a while. And instead of writing all the time, I should start listening. Listening for ... something. Or maybe for nothing. But the listening part seems important.
Clearly, I'm doing a very good job at being silent. (Perhaps being silent and listening are two different ideas.)
Wednesday, April 8, 2009
Inalienable Rights
Not sure how I feel about these inalienable rights of ours. The ones that our country was founded on. You know them:
"Life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness."
Not sure that's what we're still founded upon. From the looks of current events, we only like to give people liberty to pursue a form of happiness that conforms to our expectations of what that life would look like. "Yes, you are free to pursue a life of happiness. So long as it's what I tell you happiness is."
At any rate, I'm not sure that "life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness" is how I would say it, if I were making up inalienable rights for myself. It's just not meaningful enough for me, personally (for our country it's great. Would I like the U.S. to stay free from tyrannical rule? Yes. Hurray for liberty!). So I thought of what I am pursuing for myself and came up with this alternative:
"Peace, love, and a sliver of sanity."
And that's what I'm pursuing.
"Life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness."
Not sure that's what we're still founded upon. From the looks of current events, we only like to give people liberty to pursue a form of happiness that conforms to our expectations of what that life would look like. "Yes, you are free to pursue a life of happiness. So long as it's what I tell you happiness is."
At any rate, I'm not sure that "life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness" is how I would say it, if I were making up inalienable rights for myself. It's just not meaningful enough for me, personally (for our country it's great. Would I like the U.S. to stay free from tyrannical rule? Yes. Hurray for liberty!). So I thought of what I am pursuing for myself and came up with this alternative:
"Peace, love, and a sliver of sanity."
And that's what I'm pursuing.
Thursday, April 2, 2009
I Need More Values
Rob and I just finished reading a book all about caring for your soul, simplifying your life, and "[living] a life that reflects your priorities." About halfway through the chapter titled "Prune" I had a thought that started a half-crisis for me: I don't have enough Values.
I will elaborate.
A lot of books on simplifying talk about turning down committments, since we're all over-booked. And this book, called Simplify by Carolyn J. Rasmus, talked specifically with making sure the life we live reflects what our priorities are.
Well, to start with, I'm not over-booked. I'm probably WAY under-booked, actually. I just don't like to be stressed.
And let's turn to priorities. What, specifically, are my priorities? Hmm. That's a tough one. And hence my half-crisis began: What are my priorities?
The only priority I could come up with: Laziness. Okay, that's unfair to me. I don't like stress; I avoid stress at all costs; I act like stress might kill me. I don't say no to everything, mind you, but I'm not volunteering for a lot, either. I just can't handle a lot of stress, and if I stay as far away from it as possible, I'm doing pretty good. Better safe than sorry, eh?
But you know what ultra-stress-avoidance does? Nothing. It's laziness, really.
And THAT is what I decided my one true Value in life is: Stress-Avoidance. ... We should call it something better. Something that sounds like a real Value that people (real people, not just me) would actually seek. How about ... Peace. Quiet. There, those are happy words. Peace it is. Hey! I feel better about that already.
(I feel like at this point I should pay myself a few bucks for this therapy session. "You are a peace-loving person, Tamra. Say this to yourself in the mirror every morning: 'I am good enough.' That will be $50, please.")
I couldn't come up with another Value that I have. Or, at least, if I could come up with a Value, it came in second place to Peace. And it wasn't even like the race was close. Peace beat out Service, Spirituality, and Education by at LEAST a few body lengths.
It occured to me that I should perhaps get a few other Values. To balance out my life. To come up with them, though, would require some effort, and I'm not really sure how I feel about that.
I will elaborate.
A lot of books on simplifying talk about turning down committments, since we're all over-booked. And this book, called Simplify by Carolyn J. Rasmus, talked specifically with making sure the life we live reflects what our priorities are.
Well, to start with, I'm not over-booked. I'm probably WAY under-booked, actually. I just don't like to be stressed.
And let's turn to priorities. What, specifically, are my priorities? Hmm. That's a tough one. And hence my half-crisis began: What are my priorities?
The only priority I could come up with: Laziness. Okay, that's unfair to me. I don't like stress; I avoid stress at all costs; I act like stress might kill me. I don't say no to everything, mind you, but I'm not volunteering for a lot, either. I just can't handle a lot of stress, and if I stay as far away from it as possible, I'm doing pretty good. Better safe than sorry, eh?
But you know what ultra-stress-avoidance does? Nothing. It's laziness, really.
And THAT is what I decided my one true Value in life is: Stress-Avoidance. ... We should call it something better. Something that sounds like a real Value that people (real people, not just me) would actually seek. How about ... Peace. Quiet. There, those are happy words. Peace it is. Hey! I feel better about that already.
(I feel like at this point I should pay myself a few bucks for this therapy session. "You are a peace-loving person, Tamra. Say this to yourself in the mirror every morning: 'I am good enough.' That will be $50, please.")
I couldn't come up with another Value that I have. Or, at least, if I could come up with a Value, it came in second place to Peace. And it wasn't even like the race was close. Peace beat out Service, Spirituality, and Education by at LEAST a few body lengths.
It occured to me that I should perhaps get a few other Values. To balance out my life. To come up with them, though, would require some effort, and I'm not really sure how I feel about that.
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