P.S.

And Sara? Escapism is a perfectly acceptable solution in small portions. Just think how refreshing it was to watch Lara Croft, so that you didn't have to think so much. And you felt so much better afterwards!

Note to self:

Being extremely preoccupied with something I can't control is not an excuse to pout.

It's a reason to get crackin' on something I CAN control.

It makes me happy when I...

...make "real food."
...spend time outside.
...give really good advice.
...am responsible about paying my bills.
...listen to uplifting music.
...read the scriptures.
...clean my kitchen.
...think realistically - but positively - about situations in my life. 
...call my dad.
...write clever and pithy things.
...pray. 

Bitter and Elitist...

Being a recent transplant, I’m always looking for ways to make my new life in the Salty City feel a little more like home. That’s why when a friend invited me to go swing dancing, I didn’t ask when or where - I just said yes.

Turns out, U of U’s swing club hosts a free dance every Thursday starting at 9. The free lesson starts at 8, if you've never done it before, or if you’re like me and forget everything when faced with a new (and/or attractive) partner. Yes, two years of swing dancing and I still worry I’ll embarrass myself.

I shouldn’t have worried so much. 

Described as a whole, I’d term the event as “socially-awkward”. Don’t get me wrong! Some of the people were nice, some of them were cute, some of them were even employed(!).  But there’s a certain charisma you need on the dance floor in order to not come off as a skeeze, guy or girl. And nobody had it.

Dancing is the human body made into art, and put into motion, you know? This was more like taking the David and rolling it downhill. Body? Check. Art? Check. Motion? Check. BUT WHY THE HECK ARE YOU DOING THAT TO A MICHELANGELO????

You’re probably thinking, “Oh come on, Sara! You can’t compare a free university event to a classic sculpture.” And you know what? You’re right. I guess I got what I paid for. But I just couldn’t get over how uncomfortable the whole thing was. 

Bless your collective heart, U of U. Let's stick to football in the future.

What do you think, SLC? How do you keep dancing classy? Where do you go to get your groove on? Must "free" always mean "lame"?

Sara Lord always gets over it, and finds hope in that today.

Jan. 31:
Sara Lord  hears a call to arms.

Feb. 2
Sara Lord  thinks -- hopes -- she'll look back on this and say, "Hey...that was actually really cool."

Sara Lord  ‎: hmm. Well, okay then.

Sara Lord  ‎'s cell phone is much quieter now.

Feb. 3
Sara Lord  ‎: After 2 months of this mess, I think it's officially in the running for "Most Epic Miscommunication Ever." Ouch.

Sara Lord  couldn't tell that she was secretly p&%$#-off until she realized how loud her headphones were.

Feb. 4
Sara Lord  has many tears left to shed...but she is simultaneously too exhaused to cry and too exhausted to make herself be numb.

Feb. 6
Sara Lord  figured out the problem: she's a grown woman who believes in fairy tales.

Feb. 9
Sara Lord  won't know for sure how she's doing for probably another month. Ask her then.

Feb. 10
Sara Lord  has lost too many good things because she needed them to be better.

Feb. 13
Sara Lord  just keeps pushing forward, 'cause she doesn't know what else to do.

Feb. 23
Sara Lord  begins to see that no matter how hard it was making those mistakes, it was essential. Past mistakes prevent her from making even BIGGER mistakes in the future.

Mar. 11
Sara Lord  has the blues tonight. You'd think she'd be over it by now, as it's over a month later. C'est la vie... :-P

Sara Lord  ‎: when you see my face / hopes it gives you...

Mar. 16
Sara Lord  ‎: smiling-and-sweet meets chip-on-her-shoulder. It's a good day today.

Sara Lord  is a future mother in Zion. Boneheads need not apply.

Mar. 29
Sara Lord  is still figuring things out.

Apr. 8
Sara Lord  jaded [jey-did], adjective. 1. Worn out, wearied, exhausted or lacking enthusiasm, due to age or experience. 2. Made callous, cynically insensitive, or even conceited, by experience or age.

Apr. 13
Sara Lord  ‎: "Give me patience to wait until I can understand it for myself."

June 2
Sara Lord  ‎: I don't know, but I believe in yesterday and what it means to bleed and know that you're OK.


I'm so grateful that I'm over him. You know, I'm not even really mad about it anymore, which is kind of a big deal, 'cause I was soooo angry at the time. Another 6 months and it will be just another funny, oh-Sara-you-should-have-known-better story. Rock on.

Inevitable

Giving God your life doesn't mean that you don't want anything that He didn't prescribe.

It means that you accept the pain that will INEVITABLY come, without questioning His love for you when it does.

I'm in pain right now, a dull haunting lonely ache that says I am a long way from home. However, just knowing that I have a home is a beautiful thing.

There will always be dangers to loving people...but that's not going to stop me. Not anymore.

I'll tell you what I want, what I really, really want

Telling people what I think they want to hear makes me crazy.

Sharing my feelings honestly yet sensitively makes me happy.

"Oh friend, I don't want to criticize you! I just worry that..."

"I'm sad that _____. But I love you and will be interested in and supportive of what you love."

This is so much better than trying to agree with people and make them happy when really, I don't agree with them at all!

If you can't beat 'em, join 'em

Attempting to control all of my circumstances makes me crazy.

Choosing who I am going to be makes me happy.

Swearing I will never make brownies ever, ever again? Crazy. Saying to myself, "I don't want to be that person," and having a salad? Happy.

Scratching friends off the list because they stress me out sometimes? Crazy. Deciding that Heavenly Father kinda designed me to be "the mom" right now? Happy.

Throwing my computer at the wall in disgust and never looking at facebook again? Crazy. Exercising because I'm tired of sitting in the same place? Happy.

Who I am right now does not have to be who I am in the long run. Some things will progress toward the better. Some things will change, not because they were bad, but rather because something else was needed, and I could offer it. 

I graduate in five and a half months. (oh boy, that makes me feel faint.) That creates a lot of Big Decisions, which will determine the circumstances I am in. But I don't think who the Lord wants me to become will change very much based on where I work or live. He will shape me as He always has, and I will do my best to let Him. 

Dependence: When other people do things for you, based on your self-depreciation. Your connection to other people prevents you from doing things you can do yourself. Your actions and opportunities are determined by others, to your detriment. 

I know people who are dependent. This is for a lot of reasons, ranging from emotional abuse to addiction to mental illness. I flat refuse to be one of these people, so being independent comes fairly naturally.

Independence: When other people could do things for you, but your pride or distrust prevents you from allowing them to do so. Your relationships are limited as you disconnect from others.

My father insists this is a good thing, because it means that I don't need anyone. I guess this is true, since it means I get to pick and choose who I have in my life. They're there because I want them, not because I am dependent on them. 

But today, I learned the hard way what interdependence is.

Interdependence: When you could do things yourself, but you allow others to do them, recognizing the efficiency thereof. You are free expend your energy on your own particular kind of excellence, rather than only your (independent) survival.

---

My glasses are broken. The earpiece is loose to the point of falling off at the hinge (no, it's not the screw; it's not that simple.) My glasses sit crooked on my face, and their weight is mostly on my nose instead of my ears. It's terribly uncomfortable. So, I looked up directions the closest Lenscrafters, copied down the insurance information my parents recited over the phone, and drove to Murray.

Anyone that knows me knows that I don't do well with finding new places. Lenscrafters was no exception. Oh, I got to the street fine, but made an assumption that lead me not to the mall, but to the similarly named strip mall just before it. The strip mall, by the way, had several optometrists, none of which were Lenscrafters, or for that matter open. So I maintain that between the name and the plethora of almost-but-not-quite places, my confusion was justified.

I parked in the strip mall to get my bearings, next to one of those little decorative parking lot islands. You know the kind -- they slap a tree and a couple of rocks in the middle of a parking lot, with a little curb around it. Well, I misjudged how far I needed to pull forward before I turned out of the space. My car rolled onto the curb. No big deal ordinarily, but then my car jostled and made the most horrifying crunchy, scraping noise you can think of.

"Oh geez."

Instantly, I stopped the car and put it in reverse. Touch the accelerator - repeat awful scrapey noise. But I was off the curb at least. My caution was extreme as I pulled forward some more. That's surprising considering my blood pressure in that moment.  Did I have a flat? (Done that before.) Did I bend the rim? (Done that before, too.)

The car didn't seem to be handling poorly, so I didn't think so.  That's when I noticed the great big ROCK placed in just the right place to produce that gut-wrenching sound. As I drove, there was a new noise.

Great, I thought. I broke something essential on the underside of my car. I pulled into the mall just across the way -- ironically, in that moment I realized it was where I should have been to begin with.

Parking once more, I decided I'd just have to get out and look at it. I shut off the car. Now I'm going to be stuck in Murray, and have to call someone to pick me up. 

I got out, and closed the door behind me. Dad is going to be so sad. He just gave this car to me, and it was in such good shape. His other kids break cars. Dah, I hate that apparently I'm no different. I'll have to get into my savings to pay for the tow truck, and fix my car, and WHY THE HECK DO I EVER LEAVE THE HOUSE? I rounded the front of my car, and looked down.

"Oh."

It wasn't as bad as I expected, but it was certainly more obvious. A strip of red, somewhat mangled plastic that used to border the passenger side hung down to the ground. I dropped my purse and sat on the asphalt to take a closer look. My glasses fell apart again as I leaned over, so I snatched them away from my face and folded them into my purse. The question at hand -- literally at hand, as I shifted the abused plastic a bit -- was whether or not I could fix my car. The glasses would just have to wait.

Laying down on the ground, I tucked the purse beneath my head and examined the underside of my car more closely. There was a plastic bolt that would have held the piece up, but the piece had cracked at the hole, allowing the bolt to slip out. Could I slip it back in?

The answer was no, I found after I dirtied my hands and made the cracked hole into a broken curve. However, that curve fit excellently around the bolt. The misfit fix held up to my tests (banging on the already battered piece of plastic, grabbing it and shaking, etc.) Therefore, I came to the only conclusion I could, given my broken car and my broken glasses: I need to keep duct tape in my car.

A gas station seemed as likely a place as any to find the tape, so I pulled into one nearby. No such luck though, just Scotch tape. I bought it anyway, plus $20 in gas, and returned to my car. The glasses are now a barely-tolerable fix with the tape. The car went from barely-tolerable to silly-looking,-but-may-hold-together-a-little-better. Until, that is, I get up the nerve to tell Dad and ask what I ought to do.

I keep hand sanitizer and tissues in my car, so I cleaned up my hands the best I could before I left. As I drove away, I realized I really wanted to cry.

Hold it together, I told myself. It's fine. Crying about it won't help anything.

In an effort to "hold it together," I analyzed why exactly I wanted to cry. I didn't just want to cry, I decided. I wanted to hide my face in some good man's neck, and feel his arm around my shoulders, and inwardly lament of how infernally stupid the whole stinking mess was, dang it.

I can't do that, I reasoned. I have better things to do, like get myself home in one piece. There's no guy here anyway, Sara. So suck it up!

But I wondered what the situation would have been if there was a guy around. That's when it call came flooding to me. If there was someone there to have my back, I wouldn't have to drive home if I didn't want to. Or get out and get on the ground and look at my poor car. Or try to navigate a new town all by myself. Or drive myself to get my glasses fixed as they break off my face every few minutes. In short, every disaster of the evening could have been prevented if someone else were around who was willing to look after me a bit.

I'm not saying that I can't manage by myself. Obviously I did just fine given the circumstances. I'm usually really proud of myself for handling situations appropriately. Not this time. I was mournful that I had to handle it at all. I may be an independent woman, but I am also a traditionalist. I love when men take charge, when they make sure I know I'm allowed to be fragile.

I felt fragile today, and I didn't like it. And for the first time in my adult life, "kicking trash" and fixing my fragility myself wasn't the solution I craved. The idea disturbs me because I don't have a lot of options for not taking care of myself. But I think it's a good thing that I'm no longer out to prove that I can take care of myself. I already know I can. I just don't want it to be an unremitting requirement of my life anymore.