The Flaw of Comaprison

I was going to apologize for posting so many serious posts recently, but then I looked over them and decided there is a good mix, so... no apology for you!

Here I would like to address comparison.

In the words of Elder Uchtdorf, "Stop it."

I hate the constant urge in the world to lift oneself up by shoving other people down.  I'm aware that in order to be a well-informed voter, I should have watched the presidential debates.  I couldn't stand them.  So little time was spent showing how qualified each candidate was, and far too much time was spent throwing dirt at the other person.  By the time it was over, I really didn't like anyone at all.

The thing is this: it is possible to lift yourself up while lifting others too, and if we could all learn to do that we'd probably be able to climb higher together and be happier too.

I have three examples of these comparison annoyances from college life.

Exhibit A:  I've heard a lot of people recently who have to remind themselves frequently that "everyone poops."  And they didn't tell me this in jest.  First of all, what kind of crazy weird pep talk is that?  Second, do you really feel that threatened by the people walking by you?  Third, why?  You don't even know them.  They didn't do anything to you.  Leave them alone.

Exhibit B:  "Jealous." I'm not kidding, if someone wants to instantly make me the most annoyed person in the world, I triple dog dare you to use that word.  I've heard so many girls say, "I'm so jealous of her."  "I bet she's jealous of me." "People are probably jealous of my hair." etc...  Really? Really??  Who the flip even cares?!  Why do you try to fabricate what other people are feeling?  Why does that even matter in your head?  Stop it.  Just... stop.

Exhibit C:  I was in Women's Chorus one day two years ago.  As we were waiting for class to start, one of the first sopranos walked into class wearing the sauciest bright pink top I have ever seen.  It was very, very flattering, and she was rocking it.  I go shopping in Women's Chorus.  I look around and think, I love her shoes. Oh! and her necklace.  Wow! Those earrings are awesome!  So, when she walked into the room, I leaned over to my folder partner and said, "Wow!  Do you see her shirt? She looks super cute."  My folder partner replied with a grimace, "Yeah. I hate her for looking that cute."

I kid you not.  That happened.

Do any of these situations and examples make the world a better, brighter, happier place?  No.  No they do not.  Why do they even happen?  And why do people say things like that around me?  It's not like I'm gonna look at them and say, "Wow.  Congratulations for saying the snootiest thing I've heard today! I just loved that!"

I was recently chatting about this with one of my Women's Chorus friends, and she brought up the following scripture:

Matthew 22

36. Master, which is the great commandment in the law?

 37. Jesus said unto him, Thou shalt love the Lord thy 

God with all thy heart, and with all thy soul, and with all thy mind.

 38. This is the first and great commandment.

 39. And the second is like unto it, Thou shalt love thy neighbour as thyself.

 40. On these two commandments hang all the law and the prophets.
(emphasis added)

Does anyone think God has any room in his life for A, B, or C listed above?  I can assure you, he does not, and I'm sure he doesn't want you to waste your life, feelings, and words like that.  That's not following his plan at all.

Also, the scripture says "Love thy neighbor as thyself."  Not more than thyself, not less than thyself, but as thyself.  We shouldn't have to put everyone on a relative level above or below us.  We should be able to see their value, their talents, and their good attributes while still being able to see our own.  Someone else being amazing at something does not lessen our value in any way.  We are all blessed with different gifts.  Love and appreciate others for what they are blessed to bring to the table.

How boring and awful would the world be if we were all equally and ridiculously fantastic (or horrible) at everything?  What makes us amazing is that each of us is a child of God, and He blesses everyone with gifts and abilities.  Please, don't wish others were uglier, or less talented, or anything less than they are.  Let them grow and be all that they can be.

And as you do that, commit to grow and develop alongside them.

Tall Tales VIII: In Women's Chorus

Today while I was walking out of Women's Chorus, I had the funniest experience.  The conversation went like this:

Folder Partner:  (animatedly) Did you know BYU has a tall club?

Me: Yes!

Folder Partner:  We should totally join!

Me: Yeah we should!

Girl walking in front of us turning around to tell us we wouldn't be tall enough to qualify:  You have to beee . . . (her eyes fall upon me and almost pop out of her head) . . . yooouuuu. . .

She looked super bashful, and hurried away.

I cracked up.

Yes, I'm taller than 5'10"

Yes, I qualify to be in the tall club.

. . .

I was later talking to my little brother who said, "You know.  I think someday the short people will retaliate and form a club."

I replied, "They already did.  It's called the whole university."

Ha!

An Offering of Reason

Once I was walking home from institute with a friend and a boy from her ward.  As we walked, I started discussing some car problems I'd been having.  This conversation ensued:


Her:  Well, I hope you get that figured out.  I don't know anything about cars.

Me:  Really?  Nothing?

Her:  Nope.

Me: You don't know how to jump a car?

Her:  Nope.  I don't even know how to change a tire.

Me:  Well shoot, girl!  I'll give you lessons!  You should know that kind of stuff!

The Boy:  ...and thus the need for men grows less and less.


He said that.  And I wanted to punch him in the face.

That last statement really burned my biscuits, cooked my grits, singed my whiskers,--okay, you get the idea...  . . . and I don't have whiskers. . .

I didn't say anything about it then, but I really wish I had.  Could someone please explain to me exactly how a girl knowing how to change a tire or jump a car makes anyone less of a man?  Or her less of a lady for that matter?

I personally believe--and my male family members agree with me--that it is very wise for a woman to know how a car works and have a general understanding of what to do about any problems she might encounter.  I believe it's wise for her to know which tools are which and how to use them.  Women should be capable.

Why would it ever be a good idea for a woman to be stuck in the dark on the side of the road with a broken-down car?  The last thing I'd want is to have some creepy guy stop along to "help" me with my car and have random strangers find me murdered in the barrow pit the next morning.

Okay, okay… I realize that's a pretty extreme example, but helplessness is not desirable in any circumstance and should not be encouraged.  I am not saying women should go out and seek to be exactly like men—we all have our gifts, talents and purposes—, but we need to know how to do things.

There are women who never have the opportunity to get married in this life.  Others who do lose their husbands for a variety of reasons.  Even those women who have spouses aren't constantly within their presence and can't always call upon them at a moment's notice.  And even when boys have been around to help me, I've had to teach some of them how to use their own jumper cables.

(Heck. I once met a guy who didn't know how to use an allen wrench.  Seriously?!?  It's a hexagon.  You put it in the hexagon hole, righty-tighty, lefty-loosey.  And he had a super fishy handshake.  Seriously.  ...but I digress.)

What I'm getting at is this: help when you need it is never guaranteed.  Problems with pretty much everything (including cars) are inevitable.  While it would be nice to have someone to help, no one can depend on that.  It would be far wiser to be able to figure it out by oneself.

You know.

Just in case you need to.

Tall Tales VII: Just College Stuff

Okay, so there will be two things I'll talk about in this post, and the reason being because I've dealt with them every day of my college career.

Okay, so this one is actually kind of funny.  Luckily, I sleep like the dead, but sometimes—when I'm just drifting off—Alissa-Fred will walk around my bed to get to hers and trip over my feet.  She always feels so bad, but I honestly don't mind it so much.  I'm used to having the bed drop off mid-calf.  This one's really only a hassle when I go home because this girl does not fit between a headboard and a footboard.  No sir-ee, Bob.

Even at home it's alright, though.  I just move the mattress to the floor where all the snakes and spiders can get me.  No worries.  Next problem:

I love going home because this is a non-issue there.  The shower head is adjustable so Lizer-Lou (at a giant 5'4") can make it fit, and so can I! Woo!

This is however a big problem at school.  I've never had a shower head taller than me in an apartment.  Or at a friends house.  Or at a hotel.  They really just don't exist.  And to top it all off, I also have some preexisting conditions that make this even worse.

I have a bad lower back, and I get disoriented really easily sometimes.  So!  I can't just slouch and lean to the side.  It hurts, and I get dangerously close to falling over.  (And how embarrassing would it be to be the only 22 year old I know with a hip replacement?! I mean really!)  

I literally have to bend over backwards to wash my hair.  And because I'm not just tall--I'm pretty dang tall for a girl--I have to bend over pretty dang far.

It makes hair washing a huge hassle.  And sometimes, I just don't want to do it.

Thank heaven for dry shampoo and baseball caps.

The {Actual} Demise of My Phone

Sooo a while back I posted about how I thought my phone would die.

This is the true story of what actually happened.

. . .

It fell in the sink.  That's all.  I went to check my lipstick, the automatic sink was running, and when I grabbed my jacket, the phone that was on it fell into the running sink.  The end.

Well, not the end.  It lived just long enough for me to go through and type up all the notes I've written on it.  It happened to be a very large number of notes which included:

• Random questions like why people hiccup and whether or not people with acromegaly have red or yellow bone marrow
• Note: I already know hiccups are caused by an irritated phrenic nerve that causes the diaphragm to spasm.  What I'm wondering is why it happens?  What is the function?
• This quote: "Dare to be a Mormon; dare to stand alone.  Dare to have a purpose firm; dare to make it known."
• The memory of going on a super long, shoeless walk with Hannah one Sunday.  We passed a man who told his granddaughter, "We should have a telethon so we can get these girls some shoes!"
• Lists of songs I love and movies I should buy

But my favorite part was a list of "simple things in life that make me happy." It read as follows:

watching yeast act in warm water

muddy fields - everything about them

the feeling of a clean bathroom

a full fridge

the sound of tennis shoes on concrete

rainy sidewalks

dirt and sugar beets (or any crop for that matter)

tractor grease

a good rapid

driving through nowhere at night

driving a stick-shift

old books

photographs

journals

making a stranger laugh

glow-sticks

good high-fives and handshakes

mountain bike battle wounds

fiddling with the folds in fabric

changing a lightbulb

The Post in which I Complain About Being Sick

I have a cold.

Not just any cold.  This cold has pretty much left me incapacitated for the week.  I think I’ve been to… one class.  All week.  And I fell asleep in it.  I’ve worked a grand total of five hours.  I’ve been drinking orange juice, slurping soup, popping pills, and I still feel disgusting.  Just in case you still don’t have an idea, let me describe it to you:

I’m pretty sure Satan with all his hellfire and brimstone is in my sinuses,

My face feels like its covered in the thickest, itchiest wool ever made,

And if the whole of the Black Death plague could be confined to one area of the body, I’m pretty sure that’s an accurate description of how my stomach feels.

And I’m soooo tired.

Too tired to watch a movie, but in too much pain to fall asleep.  I thought I might write in my journal, but then I realized any memory I could possibly try to pen right now would end up jaded by my current circumstances.

So I thought I’d write this little story about my sickness—a story in which I am entitled to sound a little pessimistic, and I’m succeeding at it, by the way.

I’m so sick and so tired.  And I’m so sick and tired of being sick and tired.  I’m bored stiff, and I don’t ever get bored!  I’m so bored, in fact, that I texted random people in my phone asking them to send an assassin to my apartment to put me out of my misery.

I thought it would brighten my day.  Until I realized that all the people I texted are out living lives, enjoying the cloudy, Fall day, and actually accomplishing things.

I hope that assassin comes...

I Know That Was You

Once upon a time, I was driving down a backroad on my way home from the store.

I was in mozie-mode.  Chill.  Slow.  No rush.

And it's a good thing, too.  Or else I wouldn't have been prepared for what happened next.


A chicken crossed the road.


True story.  This happens.

I stopped, and the car in the other lane stopped as we watched the chicken sprint from one side to the other in front of us.

In that moment, I was hit by the hilarious irony of it all.  I looked at the other driver who had not missed the irony of the moment, and we shared a driver-to-driver moment of cracking up together.

And then we both continued on our merry way.

And I realize it's kinda goofy, but I remember thinking, "Wow.  Heavenly Father knew that would make my day."

And He did.  Because He's hilarious.  And He cracks me up all the time.

And that when this happens: