life goals

Once upon a time I found this piece of paper, in a folder, in a drawer in my bedroom. I am now bemoaning the fact that I didn't write a date, but my best guess tells me that I was between the ages of 16 and 18, a. because I wrote it in marker, and b. because I said I wanted to go to Canada.


And while my modern "life goals" list would be different, I'm glad that I can check off at least some of these things.

3 a.m. is the new midnight.

The last three nights I have gone to sleep 3 a.m. or later. Bless grad school (or something like that).

Recent Reads

Since Boston, I have read:

Reading now:

I am not Kierkegaard.

I want to be, but I am not.

To read things that are whole, and beautiful, and sometimes heart wrenching.

To read them by myself among strangers—on a bus or on a train, or waiting for a bus, or waiting for a train—alone yet not alone. I do this everyday.

When I first came to Boston I was rereading the History of Love. (I first read it because of Sam Dickens). I needed to read something familiar, to be comforted by words that were not altogether new when everything else around me was. I carried that book with me everywhere, and felt braver somehow, and more like me, even on the days when I was lost. As I reread the words I remembered why they first touched me so deeply. It came down to the humanness of it, the text and its characters which seem so true and rich, because of their beauty but also their pain.

Most recently I finished East of Eden. I bought it one day when I was with Elizabeth and Max. Elizabeth told me how much she loves it, and I was sold. While this book broke my heart, and made me sob uncontrollably at the end, it also left me feeling inspired, in humanity and in general. She told me this would happen, and was right. Completely, completely right. I found the writing to be beautiful and compelling, which was none too surprising. The characters here are also so full and moving in their breadth. I loved Samuel and Lee for how kind they both were, and how compassionate, and how wise, but I loved Cal the most. I loved him for his personal discovery of something that William Jame's also knew and wrote about, that “the freedom of the will is true.”

I love the conversation Cal had with Lee, when this discovery was made, when he realized that he didn't have to be his mother. He didn't have to be mean like her, and even if he was mean, it would be his own mean, of his own choosing and making. Even in that meanness then, there is freedom. Its that principle of agency that allows us to not only be human but to become like God.

I love Abra for her warm personality and because she also struggles but makes choices to love, and care, and be genuine. I love that she and Cal both have a good and an evil, because their dual nature is what makes them normal--like humans and like me. And then there is Kate, who is portrayed as something less than human because she seems without a heart, but even still, Steinbeck is not without some measure of compassion. It was interesting as we learned how hurt Kate really was, as a child and even later, and thus how lonely and how afraid. It doesn't make the things she did better, but helps us understand, if only somewhat. I am immensely grateful that I read this book, and so grateful to Elizabeth for recommending it to me with such passion and ardor.

The next book that I have begun to read, but not yet tackle is No Country For Old Men. A gift given to me by Evan the day I left Provo. I have also read a few pages of another book recommended by Elizabeth called Drown. It's by one of her favorite authors: Junot Diaz. We heard him speak last Thursday at MIT, with her friend Lisa, who is now also my friend.

Boston is Beautiful and Other Observations.

For starters:
-The grass and trees are very green.
-The accent is not a myth.
-Dunkn' Donuts on every corner is also not a myth.
-It is muggy. Not all of the time, but sometimes.
-Everything is very small here and close together, everything meaning the buildings.
-Most of these buildings are fancy, including the 7-11's.
-The close proximity is made possible by Boston's complete lack of belief in parking lots.
-While most cities love their sports teams, Bostonians really, Really love the Red Sox.
-There are a multitude of bicyclists, and every one of them makes me jealous and/or really want to buy a bike here.
-Most of said bikers are wearing helmets, which is probably wise since the streets are narrow and the cars are fast.
-Traveling 3.7 miles is bound to take at least an hour, regardless of the mode of transportation.
-Boston does a marvelous job preserving and living with its history.
-My ward looks more like a BYU ward than my BYU ward.
-People are kind and helpful.

Things I like here:
-Max and Betty
-Veggie Planet
-Harvard Square
-The Brattle Theater
-the North End/bay
-the historical sites
-the delicious lemonade I had at Boston Common
-the museums
-The Boston Public Library (which looks like a museum)

Things I don't like here:
-the humidity
-what the humidity does to my already wildly curly hair
-being able to count the number of friends I have on one hand

Words that are starting to take on meaning:
-Inbound/Outbound
-The T
-Greenline
-Fenway
-GSLIS (Graduate School of Library and Information Science)
-Reference Interview

Everything I own is packed.

Yesterday this made me feel sad and empty. Today I feel strangely fine. Tomorrow I fly to Boston to begin a new life.

New Birth

I have a new niece. Her name is Alice. Alice Aglaya Hunt. I like the name, especially the middle one. Apparently Aglaya was a Greek goddess, but I like it for the character in Dostoevsky's Idiot- the most moving book in all the world.

It is also a miracle this baby was born in a hospital. They were meeting my oldest sister and her family at Lake Tahoe. When they got in the boat Sarah's water broke, spurring a quick evacuation and drive back to Reno. Crazy, and probably stressful, but they made it.

Congrats, Joe. Congrats, Sarah.

List maker, list maker, make me a list.

things I like:
bicycles. photographs. lip gloss. scarves. t-shirts. brown hair. stars. sundays. crepes. canoes. sleeping. art. film. music (especially the indie or folk variety). spring. kites. parachutes. picnics. swing sets. grilled cheese. hammocks. philosophy. nature. Christian existentialism. sincerity. truth. museums. libraries. eye contact. the ocean.

things I don't like:
waiting. alarm clocks. making telephone calls.

June 1st

Just a few things.
1. For some reason I remember dates and for some reason they're important to me. On this date three years ago I walked into the MTC, one step at a time. I keep thinking about that day, and what it meant to me then, and what it means to me now. I also can't help but remember the days and weeks before that momentous occasion.
2. I bore my testimony today, primarily for myself, to help me remember the things I really do believe--to ingrain them in me more deeply. As I was walking to my seat afterward the boy who spoke next said, "That girl should serve a mission..." Looking at my friends, I said, "That girl served a mission." Later Becca told me that she said the same thing from her seat. Mainly it was just funny to me.
3. I love Meg and Becca with all of my heart. This is nothing new, just two experiences today confirmed/reinforced it.
4. I like midnight bike rides up to campus. This is also nothing new. What is new is laying on the JFSB's courtyard counting the stars. Evan counted 57. I counted 55. Derik counted 44. This was the highlight of my week.
5. Provo's skate park features some impressive 15 year old boys. Seriously.
6. Lia and Eden got back last night. Eden is sick, which is sad, but it is still good to see her/them. Already our house is not as clean or as quiet as it has been the last several, several days, but this too is okay. I would rather them be here.
7. I like my parents living in Provo and I like family dinners.

Today

This year today I drove back at a ridiculous hour in the a.m. from my friend's cabin, where I had a delightful time (thank you, Kimball). There it was discovered that Evan can persuade people to do things even when they are in great pain with a combination of chanting and clapping, David has fabulous bone structure that can withstand the most atrocious bicycle accidents, walking with a staff only causes people to look cooler, showers and saunas make a somewhat suitable substitute when hot tubs are under repair, Elaine likes her hair the way it is, Jessica makes delicious cookies (which I already knew), Elder Maxwell likes pigs (which I didn't already know), and the movie Teen Witch is still good, but creepier now that we're older. The drive home served to confirm that a certain lyric from Teitur's "Catherine the Waitress" is as David F. said, "both hilarious and addictive to say."

Upon arriving home I spent most of the day sleeping before going to a Death Cab for Cutie concert at night. It was the 4th time I've seen them. Every time was good, this time not excluded. The show was also made better for running into Sarah and Mark, and the advent that Death Cab played my favorite song very last.

It was this time last year

One year ago today I was in California for this.




It was the prettiest, fanciest wedding I have ever been to, and will probably ever go to. Half of the ceremony was in English, the other half in Farci. The latter portion was accompanied by traditional Persian customs which were extremely beautiful. Pegah looked lovely. Hyrum cried when he said his wedding vows, which in turn made me cry. Other highlights: my mom telling me Hyrum and Pegah would be releasing doves, and then being filled with awe after they let go of the two doves they were holding to see 50 or more fly off into the distance, meeting a little girl whose name is Tiger Lilly, hearing my little brother Sam giving his speech as the best man and being so nervous, but so sweet and so sincere, everyone dancing--and I mean everyone--people I would have suspected like Hyrum's band mates and hipster friends, but also Pegah's little Persian grandmas, my nieces, and everyone in between. I was with my entire family.

It was also this man's birthday. Happy birthday, Dad.

Tired

There is so much I want to write right now but I am tired. I am tired for the very reasons I want to record on this digital paper. I would write all I wanted on dreams and truth and answered prayers, how after some amount of time Professor Paulsen really did get approval for me to work for him, and how it is for 40 hours a week so I don't have to worry about getting a second job. I want to write on here about the things I am reading about in relation to that responsibility that are making me feel both the spirit and sorrow--so much so that yesterday I could not restrain my tears.

The first project is on Latter-day Saint views of the Divine Feminine, or in lay man's language, the Mormon understanding of Heavenly Mother. It is a topic that simultaneously has so much and so little written, resulting in part of my sadness and part of my fatigue. To add to these feelings, so much of what is written is mere speculation or lacking other authority or legitimization. Evan told me that when Ashley worked on this same project she mentioned to him how Sunday School teachers make it seem like an important doctrine, "but try researching it." I have tried, and will continue to, and it's hard. After doing it the first day for 7 hours I felt like I took another final, and felt scared for my summer, wondering if every day would feel like that. It is getting better, though it is still mentally and spiritually exhausting.

The second project will be my respite. It was extended me during my first staff meeting when Paulsen was filling me in on his other projects. At the bottom of his handout I noticed the initials S.K. and J.S. I hoped correctly that they referred to Soren Kierkegaard and Joseph Smith. BYU Studies commissioned him to write an article focusing on the convergence of their beliefs on Christianity. The article is written but he wants to write additional pieces expounding his sub-points. He asked me if I was interested on working on this. I gleefully exclaimed, "Yes! I love Kierkegaard." In his very kind and knowing voice, he responded, "I thought you might." Now part of my work days will be spent reading and writing about my hero. I am the luckiest.

I am still tired, though I wrote a lot after all. Good night.

Of fullmoon bikerides

I like the conversations and I like the air.

A Perfect Day

I love Sundays in general, and this one in particular.

I loved church and being there with Meg, like old times, like times four or five years ago. I loved Becca's lesson. I loved alternatively laying on a blanket on the grass and sitting on the front porch reading Bob Dylan's Tarantula. I love Eden, and we all loved playing with the parachute. I am so happy I have it. When I was little, my family had two. I'm not quite sure why, except that before my dad was a principle he was a teacher. Sometimes teachers have things like that I guess. Last year I was at my parents house in Nevada and I asked my dad if he still had them. He thought he had one. I helped him clean the garage, and sure enough, I found it. I asked if I could have it, or at least bring it to Provo with me. He kindly said yes. I vouch that it is as fun to play with as an adult as it was as a child. The pictures documenting our fun are so good, thanks to Jessica and her camera.

Furthermore, I loved the friend potluck we had, and being so hungry we didn't want to wait anymore (but really I wasn't that hungry because I kept eating Jessica's cookies). I liked sitting on Becca's porch with Jess and taking turns reading Tarantula out loud with her. It was pretty hard to do since it's just Bob Dylan's consciousness streaming, but when we got into the rhythm it was extremely interesting. I loved the bike ride we went on and the weather and the night air that made it the best bike ride of the season/year.

Summer Goals

Reading goals:
Finish Rough Stone Rolling.
Finish Pilgrim at Tinker Creek.

Begin and end:
Tarantula
Atlas Shrugged
Gilead
Interpreter of Maladies
The Alchemist
Great Expectations
One of the philosophy books Derik wants me to read
etc.

Other goals:
Get a job at a library, or at least a job that I don't hate.
Pray that Professor Paulsen got approval for me to research/write for him even though I am no longer a student at BYU.
Hope that that prayer is answered.
Picnic all of the time. Ride bikes all of the time.
Exercise.
Read scriptures better and more. Pray better and more.
Pretty much do/be better and more.

In the last four months...

-I decided to go to graduate school.
-studied for the GRE.
-took the GRE, and thankfully did well enough that I felt satisfied (at least concerning the verbal/writing portions).
-applied to graduate schools.
-began talking to librarians about their job, and their happiness made me feel better about my decision.
-got an internship in Special Collections, archiving the papers and correspondence of one Hugh Winder Nibley.
-began said internship.
-read over 4000 pages (half of them written by Tolstoy).
-wrote more in a single semester than ever before, e.g., 59 pages for finals week alone. These 59 pages do not include my 15 page research paper for "Advanced Philosophical Honors Writing" that had to be turned in a few weeks before, as many times as the teacher deemed necessary before asserting its grammatical and literary perfection.
-didn't die from such academic bulimia (which I genuinely thought I might, or at least felt like I might/was).
-got accepted to a masters program in Boston.
-graduated from college.
-never got sick, or really sick. A few mornings I woke up with a sore throat, but it went away quickly. I see this blessing as nothing short of a miracle. There is no way I could have done all of these things under less-healthy conditions.

I think I'm going to Boston

I think I'll start a new life.

I really do think I'm going to Boston. I received a letter from a private school I applied to there, for a masters program in Library Science. I was writing my Tolstoy paper on campus when my sister called. It came in the mail. I asked her if the envelope was big. She said it looked like a letter, but thought it had fancy paper inside, and that must mean something. I told her I'd be home soon. I was. While I walked a multitude of thoughts passed through my head. I was so scared/nervous. It was awful. I didn't know what I'd do if I didn't get in.

I open the door to my house. Lia and Eden are at the table eating lunch. Lia hands me the letter. It's just a regular sized envelope like she said. She tells me she thinks the big envelope theory is a myth. I open it. She asks if it does have fancy paper. I see two sheets, not one. One sheet is yellow or some other bright, non white color. I thought that was a good sign. Thankfully it was. They were pleased to report that I was accepted into their program, and I was more than pleased to read it. I couldn't contain my joy. Lia cheered. Eden followed suit. That was the cutest part. Lia gave me a hug and then made congratulatory arm gestures and shouted hooray. Eden made the same arm gestures and also shouted hooray. Then Lia did repeated the motions but shouted congratulations. Eden tried, but doesn't know that word yet. Instead she started clapping and shouting.

There still may be one school I just may, may, want to go to more than Boston, but right now I feel really good about this, and Max and Elizabeth will be there, and maybe I'll live with them, and then Kristina is from there, and Derik goes a lot to visit his sister, so I'll actually see some of my friends. Jendar and Hediyeh will be in New York, which is so close. When I talked to Tom Bell about it tonight, he said that Hediyeh alone was enough reason to want to go there. He is right.

Oh, and about the actual program, I feel good about that too. My supervisor for my internship went there and loved it. My long questioning is over. I no longer have to ask myself: law school or library school. For right now at least I plan to become a hipper brand of shusher.

Miss Missionary.

Yesterday I missed my mission so much I could hardly breathe. I wasn't expecting it. I was merely looking for something in my closet when I noticed my missionary letters. They are organized and sitting neatly on my top shelf. I want to be a librarian/archivist one day, of course they are organized. I brought a chair from the kitchen, so I could reach, and took the binders down. I sat quietly on the floor, and turned the pages. With the passing of each page I would peruse the beginnings and notice by the handwriting who each letter was from. There were birthday wishes and other wishes, wishes made more powerful for they were accompanied by prayer. My little brother called me "his dear sweet sister," and wrote that before he returned to BYU he wanted to remember to send me notes he had taken during a lecture by one of my favorite philosophy professors on my favorite philosopher, Soren Kierkegaard. Faulconer said he misinterpreted the story of Abraham and Isaac, and that had repercussions not only for his philosophy, but for everyone after him. I probably disagreed, but still loved reading the words. My older brother Joe would send me his poetry. Hyrum wrote me only once, despite all of his promises that he would be my best letter writer. He gave me money with a note that said, "promise to spend this irresponsibly, or send it back." The letter began, "here are a few things that may or may not have happened," and had things listed, like, "Pegah's still Pegah," and "Mom got a haircut. It is cute." I turn the pages further. My sister Charity, of sad news and good news. I didn't find this letter in there, but I remember when she wrote me that our dog died. I hated that dog, but for some reason cried and cried when I read her words, I think that it is because I heard it from her, and I know she loved that dog, and she was hurting. There were wedding announcements and letters of crushes from Davis, until he told me of his final crush, who is now his wife. There were letters from Meg and Becca during their own missionary journeys, looking forward to the day that we would be reunited, and still sisters in the gospel, akin to Alma the younger and his friends, who remained strong through fasting and prayer. I turned the pages still further. There were pictures from a five year old girl in one of the wards I served in. Her name is Cora. She is the most beautiful child I have ever seen. I played her little violin once. Twinkle twinkle. That is the only song that I can still play. I remembered the day she handed me the drawings. She was so shy. It was so endearing. Finally, I came across the departing testimony and counsel from my mission president in written form. Already the tears began to stream. Nearby was the letter he sent to my parents and priesthood leaders about my service, and it was all over. The compassionate and merciful praise he bestowed upon me in that letter was enough to burst my heart. I am immensely grateful to know this man, and even more grateful to call him friend. I remember realizing even when still on my mission, that knowing both President and Sister Huff was worth every sacrifice I suffered on my mission. It was worth every hard thing, every awkward conversation, every tired day...Now I am home. I have been for over 15 months. Meg and Becca are home too. I remembered last year, when things were hard, and on the hardest days I always, always received a letter from Meg. The timing was so perfect. It could be nothing short of what Elder Bednar once referred to as "Tender Mercies of the Lord." A few weeks ago I remembered this, and while being glad that they are here, missing that particular form of love, that arrived in my mailbox or in letter form each time I needed it. I wondered how that could happen now. It didn't take me very long to find out. The week after my musings I needed that kind of love. My friend Kristina had just been visiting from Boston, but had gone back home. I missed her already. A few days passed and I was cleaning my room when I found a card she had left me. The day after that I received a box of bottle caps in my mail box from my wonderful neighbor, Sam Dickens. She knew it was my favorite candy, and also that the autistic boy my sister watches had eaten my last box. It was a seemingly small thing, but I really did feel love, and gratitude that those simple little things still happen. Anyway. I served a mission. It was hard, but I am glad I did it. I still love the people there and I still miss it. I hope I will remember the things I learned. I hope I will live them, so my mission president can be pleased with what I've become, and so I can be, and God.

Good People in my LIfe

I received a letter from Meg some time ago. In it she reminded me of a time when she needed help. She thought of the people in her life and the blessings they brought. In remembering an unknown peace filled her heart. It was accompanied by greater feelings of joy and of healing. It was the help she needed. I know I need help too, and though I know I can't force it, I will try her path of remembrance.

Meg. She is the first. I love her for so many reasons, I love her for saving me, for literally being my hero. I love her for concerts and holding hands. I love her for teaching me what it means to love someone enough to miss them. I love her for introducing me to Alonzo Gaskil and the Lost Language of Symbolism, dreams of book clubs, and delicious blondies. I love her for always believing that Santa and/or love existed. I love her for missions and primordial decisions to go, for the peace that we both sought in the matter and that we both found. I love her for "ridiculously reverent drawing" spaces, for 2 am conversations regarding philosophy and love and design, that she taught me to look for beauty and find it, and also that God is a designer. I love her for Pablo Neruda and "Tonight I can write..." for the beautiful book she made as a gift for my friend, her willingness to serve and share and bless. I love her smile and her laugh.

Becca. For kindnesses upon kindnesses, for watching conference together, for bike rides/tricycle rides, for holding hands and almost wrecking and thinking it would have been funnier if we really had. I love her for what she endured/learned in Japan, that her mission was also hard, but that she did it. I love her for being worthy of my trust and for being willing to listen to both my joys and my sorrows, and in her listening making the sorrows lighter and easier to bear. I love her for Easter and dropped jelly rolls and letting me share my philosophy paper with her and her sharing her film with me even in its unfinished stage. I still remember the bed and ballerinas and rain and Gordon with bleached hair (before I had even met him). I love her for Davis and Abby and California and running into the cold, cold water of the Pacific Ocean together. I love her because she wanted to marry my brother, just like Meg. I love her because of Interpol.

Kristina. For letters that begin "This is a love letter," and contain quotes from Soren K. that she knows me and loves me that much. I love her for being with Meg and I at every show, to the point that when I am at a show without her I feel alone. I love her for her New England snobbery and pride in their falls. I love her for hot chocolate on cold days and sledding together even in the most blustery conditions. I love her for conference (no one reminds me of general conference more than her). I love her for rational choice theory lists made on my computer concerning important matters and for dance parties in my bedroom with my little brother after to make all of us feel better. I love her for stationary bike rides, New York Times articles, and the word "Finished" when we were finished with our workouts. I love her for the House of the Republicans and trash cookies and Reid saying of her, "Bless her heart, but I don't think she's really a democrat." I love her for her immense wisdom and rational, that she is more logical and honest than anyone I know.

Hyrum. For being my brother, hero, and friend. I love him for setting an example before me and introducing me to much if not all that I have held dear in my life, starting from the time I was 8 when he baptized me. I love him for serving a mission in Portugal and making me love the people there and making me want to serve a mission too. I love him for his letters at that time and for his reminders to pray. I love him for coming home with more love and humility and gratitude. I love him for track and calling me the day before my meets to encourage me and tell me that I would do well, because I was a hard worker, and his demands that I call him afterward. I don't love him for the nick name he bestowed upon me in my childhood of "cryer patch baby" but am grateful that he bought me candy each time he did make me cry. I love him for introducing me to political science and philosophy and his favorite professors, for believing in me academically, and letting me know that I was smart and could be successful in school and in life. I am grateful that despite of what I choose to do he thinks I would be a good lawyer and that it would fit me. I love him for Interpol and other music recommendations. I love him for Policy and Los Angeles. I love him for Pegah. I love him for 3 am telephone conversations right before I got my mission call about his own mission and the things he learned and remembered, for telling me he was proud of me and that he knew I would make people's lives better, that the Holy Ghost is real and would give me words to say. I love him for thrown tacos and songs about Sam and the nerd patrol, and ridiculous questions like "What planet do you hate the most?" among other things. I love him for the first time he told me he loved me.