Tall Tales III: Apparently It's a Fixation

My sister informed me that I never post anything about being tall on my blog...

Well that's because being tall is everyday life!  I don't tell you about how I brushed my teeth this morning either!

Don't worry, I'll give her what she wants.  I'll be sure to post a million tall things in the future.  You wait and see, but for now we're gonna stick with a story:

This weekend, I went with some friends up to Rigby/Rexburg area in Idaho.  It was a great trip, and I rather enjoyed it.  While visiting one night, a friend of mine ...>ahem< Eric Richard >ahem<... told me that I had a fixation with height.

It's true.  I can't stop talking about it.  I'm pretty sure I talk about height every day.

But I swear it's not my fault!

I went from kindergarten to twelfth grade with the same 85 kids, and every day someone would say something about my height.  I mean, for heaven's sake!  We've known each other for 13 years, and you still don't think I know I'm tall?!

And even still, my height is my driving motivation for why and how I do things from moment-to-moment.

Like... I can't wear heels to church today because I'm singing harmony with my sisters. (They're are much shorter than I.)  

Or... Ouch! I totally did not see that cupboard door coming. 

Sometimes it's a... Yes, I can get that box of cereal down for you.

Or an... I'm going to sit by myself at DanceSport so I can drape my legs over the chair in front of me.
Sometimes I think Okay, I'll have to slouch a little.  I can't hear them.

Or sometimes, while walking around campus or scanning the crowd leaving an event venue, I look around, sigh and think to myself:
Yup. Yet again. No one taller than me for as far as I can see...

Do you kinda see how I can't stop thinking about it?

So!  To feed my fixation, I'm going to give you people a few facts about tall people. (And yes, I look these up from time to time to see how the data has changed.)

For those wondering, I'm 6'2"

• 0.7% of U.S. women are 5' 10" or taller  (Average is 5' 3.7")
• 3.0% of U.S. men are 6' 2" or taller  (Average is 5' 9.1")
• Optimum height for a female fashion model = 5' 9.5"
• "Average height is increasingly used as a measure of the health and wellness (standard of living and quality of life) of populations."*
• Think about this one in the context that Americans are shrinking
• The Netherlands have the tallest national averages with men averaging out at 6' and women at 5' 6.5"
• Tall people have a higher risk of cancer (more cells that could potentially mutate) while shorter people have a higher risk of heart disease
• Tall people earn more money-- about $789 more per year in the U.S.

And that's all I'm gonna give you for now.  Oh, and this.  Because it's hilarious.

And it's happened to me.  Twice.

Courtesy of: http://tall-girl-problems.tumblr.com/tagged/tall+girl+problems

P.S. ^^That's a pretty funny blog.  Especially when most of them have happened to you...

*Wikipedia Article

Another interesting article about height...

An Alarm Clock's {Inevitable} Demise

My phone is my alarm clock.

Lately, when I wake up in the morning, I'm clutching my phone with some kind of white-knuckle death-grip.  As I've groggily tried to monitor how this happens, I've come to realize I have developed a strange habit.

Each morning, when my alarm goes off for the first time, I grab it with ninja-like reflexes.  However, because I'm not quite awake, I don't push the buttons to turn it off.

I don't have the time to find the buttons!!!

(Or the brain power...)

So, to turn it off, I just squeeze it.  Really.  Hard.  In the hopes that one of my fingers will eventually find and push a button.

Sometimes, though, they don't find a button.  At these times, I shove it under my pillow and keep squeezing it harder and harder--sometimes adjusting my grip.  When it finally turns off, my grip relaxes a little... until the second alarm comes on.

I'm afraid that as my six (count them--six) alarms ring every morning, the grip of my right hand isn't just going to remain static.  Like all muscles, it has to be getting stronger with each time I use it.  I'm afraid that some morning, I'll wake up and look like some kind of fiddler crab with a Hulk-sized right arm.

And on that morning, when I wake up after my alarm-clock struggle, I'm gonna realize that my Hulk-sized muscles subconsciously demolished my phone.

And when that morning comes, my friends, you can reach a much happier Hulk Abi by snail mail.

Or carrier pigeon.  Those work too.

As of right now...

All I want to do is...

Hug my parents a million times

Cuddle with my little siblings to watch a movie

I'm so grateful for eternal families, and I love them so very much.

On Loneliness...

This past week, I had a bout with loneliness.  The worst I've had in a long time.

It seems silly to me now, but the whole thing was triggered by a statement that was part of a survey I had to complete for class.  It was a very good survey and an awesome assignment, but while I was taking it, I started thinking very deeply.  And not in a positive way.  The statement looked like this this:

I am the most important person in someone else's life

Very Like Me           Like Me          Neutral         Unlike Me          Very Unlike Me

As with most questions on the survey, I gave a decent amount of thought to it before I checked the radio button next to it.  "Unlike me" is the one I checked.  I didn't put that there because I was being pitiful.  I think it was--and still is--the right answer.  My friends love their families more than me.  Each of my family members has someone they love more than me--a spouse, children, parents, etc.  Even my parents--as they should--love each other more than they love me.

After I answered that question, I moved on and continued to finish my survey.  The next day, however, I couldn't stop thinking about that statement.  It didn't help that I felt completely separated from all friends and family.  I just didn't have the time to really interact with anyone.  It was a rough, busy, home-work filled day, and the next day was even worse.

I felt so tired, so sick, and so alone.  There's nothing like a single, college lifestyle to magnify any sad or lonely feelings you have.  I woke up to get ready for work, and decided that, more than anything, I needed to go to the temple.  I donned a skirt and blouse and headed off to work unsmiling.  When I got there, I had four hours to myself to work.  Usually, during that time, I listen to music as a work, but I didn't want any of that.

I went to lds.org and in the search bar at the top, I typed in "loneliness holland."  Elder Holland is my favorite apostle, and I wanted to listen to every talk he had ever given to, for, or about people who were lonely.  It was a good thing to do.  I felt very comforted.  I still wasn't happy, but I wasn't on the verge of tears anymore.

After work, I went to my only class of the day--Women's Chorus.  Usually, the girls who aren't feeling well sit on the stage in front of the choir instead of singing.  I decided I wasn't feeling well enough, so that's where I went.  When Sister A. came in to start class, she walked up to me, put her hand on my shoulder and asked how I was doing.

I have always been amazed at how in-tune Sister A. is to the needs of her choir.  There are almost 200 of us, and I have always felt like each of us meant more to her than simply just a girl in the choir.

Class started, and I began fighting with myself whether I should stay for all of Women's Chorus or whether I should leave early.  Tuesdays and Thursdays, I have permission to leave at 3:30 to get to another class--one that was cancelled that day.  3:35 hit, and I decided that if I hadn't left already, I wasn't going to.  Our grad student started to lead a run-through of Loch Lomond, and Sister A.--though she had been helping lead up to that point--stepped back to let the grad student lead the piece.  She then came up to me, and quietly rested her hand on my shoulder.

That one gesture meant so much to me.  I had been looking down at the music in my lap, and tears came to my eyes as I listened to Women's Chorus sing Loch Lomond.  That little gesture of care and concern helped me even more.

Then I went to the temple.  There are many times when I am grateful the Provo Temple is so busy.  In other temples, you don't always get to sit in the temple for such a long time while waiting to do baptisms.  I waited and thought and read and prayed, and I felt less and less sad as more bits of knowledge were recalled in my mind.

I remembered that everyone on this earth should love someone more than I.  Everyone should love Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ more than they love me, and I don't want that to change in anyone--even a spouse.  The two hours I spent in the temple helped me to remember that even if no one is with me, I am never alone.  I have the constant companionship of the Spirit.  I have a Father in Heaven who loves me, and who watches over me in every hour.  No matter how sad, lonely, or miserable I get, I have a Savior who has suffered more so that He can give me comfort.

https://www.lds.org/media-library/images/prayer?lang=eng&start=71&end=80

When I Remembered the True Meaning of Christmas

The week of November 25th-December 1st was a very rough week.

I don't mean that in an I-had-two-tests-and-it-was-kinda-hard way.  It was more of an I-was-so-busy-and-stressed-that-I-only-had-time-to-eat-three-real-meals-and-the-rest-of-my-sustenance-consisted-of-carefully-rationed-Andes-mints-and-ginger-cookies way.  True story.  I did not eat enough that week.

The week of death was scheduled to end with a dress rehearsal Thursday night and three performances Friday through Saturday of "Celebration of Christmas"--the annual Christmas concert of the four auditioned choirs at BYU (BYU Singers, Concert Choir, Men's Chorus, and Women's Chorus).

On top of the stress, the shortage of time, and the lack of any real kind of nourishment, it was a very rough week emotionally.  I had been deeply hurt that week--not intentionally.  No one had deliberately done anything that could or should have hurt me, but I was hurting, and I was struggling.  ...More than I would ever like to admit.  It was one of the few times in my life that I have seriously doubted my self confidence and my knowledge that I am a daughter of a Heavenly Father who would always love me.

I worked very hard to finish my schoolwork early in order to spend what energy I had left on the rehearsals and performances.  Even so, I was struggling to pay attention, and I had not yet found any meaning in the music to convey the audience.  (Sister Applonie encourages us each to make it our priority to uplift and convey messages of the Spirit to those in the audience.)  I just couldn't do it.  I wasn't feeling the Spirit to begin with, and the words I was singing had no meaning for me.  The feelings I had were not feelings of love, comfort, and joy--they were feelings of tiredness, loneliness, and an overwhelming sadness.  Those certainly weren't things I was supposed to share with the audience.

I didn't find the answer to my problem until the very last performance on Saturday night.

That day had been particularly hard.  I don't think I cracked a smile the whole day, and I was having a difficult time finding the strength to do what I was supposed to.  When I got to the HFAC  for the final performance, I--still unsmiling--went through the motions of warming up, and last-minute polishing of our pieces.

Right before we went on, Sister Applonie gave each of us an assignment.  She said:

"If you haven't yet found a meaning for this music or performance, let me suggest this:

What you need, give."

It struck a chord within me.

Women's Chorus was ushered onstage.  I stood, looking out at the audience, still unsure what to think or do or ask for.  We finished "Ding Dong Merrily on High" without a hitch, and I was waiting to start the second piece when a flood of thoughts hit me like a tsunami:

What I need is forgiveness.

I also need to find it within my heart to forgive.

I need to feel loved.

I also need to love those around me--even those that hurt me.

I need to know that I am not alone.

I also need to help others see that they are never alone.

As I sang and sang, tears streamed down my face.  I finally found what I needed to share with the audience and what I needed for myself.  I finally sang with an open heart.  As we sang the last verse, a feeling of deep love and reverence came over me.

What can I give Him?

Poor as I am?

If I were a shepherd, I would bring a lamb.

If I were a wise man, I would do my part.

Yet, what I can I give Him;

Give my heart.

I thought of the baby whose birth we celebrate at Christmas time, and as I did I thought of something I hadn't before.  Yes, it is wonderful that He came to the earth, just as it is with every child who does.  However, the greatest miracle is in why He came.  He came to teach us, to lift us up, and most of all He came to redeem us.  He is the Savior, my Savior--the Prince of Peace.

Because of Him, I can find the strength and comfort to cope with every trial.  When I was trying very hard, but still couldn't find it within myself to completely forgive, He filled my deficit.  I can be, do, and become so much more because of Him.

At that moment, a great weight was lifted from me.  I was so grateful I could almost feel the comfort hugging me.  I was not only reminded of the Savior, Jesus Christ, and who he is, I was reminded who I was--a daughter of God.

The rest of the concert was swell except for the final song.  It was glorious.  As we all sang "The First Noel," I imagined what it would have been like to be in the chorus of angels that sang the real first noel.  What would it have been like to participate in that heavenly choir and see the glorious event of the Savior's birth?  In my little, mortal mind, I can't even begin to imagine, but I'm sure it was wondrous.

So, in the true spirit of the season, I would like to wish you all a very, very merry Christmas.  May we always remember the true reason for our celebration, and may we keep it in our hearts and minds all year--especially during times of hardship, trial, and doubt--for He is the source of the comfort and strength to get through such times.

For those of you who would like to watch the performance, here is a streaming of it:
(Women's Chorus starts at 16:00-ish, and the First Noel is 1:21:00-ish.  Come, Thou Long Expected Jesus (45:00) is also wonderful.)

When It's Nice Out

On Saturday, it was nice out.  I don't just mean it was sunny, so I wouldn't have to wear my boots--it was really nice out.  This was following two weeks of cold-ish/wet-ish/pretty-but-I-should-have-worn-a-coat-today weather.  It even hailed last week.

SO it's understandable that I was stir-crazy on Saturday.  I was sitting inside thinking about all I was supposed to do, but I couldn't stop fidgeting.  And then I did what any cabin-fevered, remotely athletic, self-respecting person would do.

I told my siblings I was going to play tennis, and they should come along.

Sam, bless his dear heart, was the only one who agreed, so we went and played.  And it was oh so wonderful.

BUT.

Sam had to be home approximately an hour after we started playing.

And that amount of physical exertion didn't quite satiate the need I was feeling.  So I did what any other human being would do when I got home.  I went on a bike ride.

And after biking, I still wasn't done.  So I asked Hannah if she wanted to go play soccer for a while.

And when we were done with that, I still wasn't done.  So we played catch with my frisbee for a while.

And when we came in from that, I looked at the contents of my duffle bag that were strewn all over my bed and I realized that I had used every bit of sporting equipment I had ever brought to college.  All in one day...

Cleats and soccerball?  -Check!
Frisbee?  -Check!
Bike, jersey, heart-rate monitor, helmet, Camelback, gloves, etc?  -Check!
Tennis racket and basketball shoes?  -Check!

And then I saw it.  There, in the bottom of my duffle bag was my baseball mitt.

I was on a roll!  I couldn't just let it be the only thing I neglected!  However, to my horror, I found I had not a baseball to catch with it.  There was only one thing to be done.

Hannah and I ran around our apartment complex in desperation trying to find someone--anyone--who had a baseball or softball to be caught.  We must have knocked on 5 doors until we finally found our man!  We took his baseball, tossed it a few times, and then went home happy.

Abi could finally say that she brought all that stuff to college for a reason.

The Computer: And other sad stories

Actually, I'm only going to bore your mind with one sad story in this post, BUT rest assured.  After the explanation of my neglecting you all for so long, I shall indeed post many a tale.  I promise.  BUT first things first...

Once upon a time there was a little girl.  For the sake of this story, we shall call her A. Christensen-- no--Abigail C.  This bright, radiant, and delightful girl possesses the misfortune of making mistakes.  So many mistakes.  So many expensive mistakes.  The kind of mistakes that you think may happen, but don't really believe will happen to you.  Those kind of mistakes.

This particular mistake happened to her computer.  And water.  And we all know that electronics and water Do. Not. Mix.  Right? Right.

'Twas one jolly night when said girl needed to clean herself up after a mountain bike ride.  One obstacle stood in her way between sweaty and aimless wandering and squeaky-clean sleep.

The light in the bathroom had gone out.

Oh well! she thought, I'll just play music on my computer, and that will be enough light.  But what if something bad happens to your computer?  You only got it last Christmas! . . .  Oh posh!  That won't happen to me!


I should have knocked on wood.

I showered.  I brushed my teeth.  I combed my hair and went to bed. And when I woke up the next morning, my computer screen would not turn on.  And through a succession of reparative action, 'twas decided that it was not worth it to fix the computer.

So, here I sit with a Macbook Pro hooked up to a monitor that my very kind, caring, and understanding father was generous enough to lend me.  'Tis a grand solution, and I'm glad I didn't lose all my stuff.  I'll just have to pay for it later.  Again.

Ugh.  Sometimes, I'm sooooo.... unsmart.