Temporary things

I was born into a family and a society that believes in forever. The concept of eternal families is not a beautiful childhood fantasy like Santa Claus, nor is it something my parents made up to smooth the hurt of untimely deaths. Forever is a real, albeit incomprehensible, thing.

I've really latched on to this idea that the things I love can last forever. I've valued things based primarily on their potential for everlastingness. I've always tried to keep temporary things in the Not Crucial pile as I've sorted through the people and experiences of my life.

But the thing is, most things in life are temporary. Even really good things. My high school choir experience--temporary. Awesome jobs and bosses--temporary. Friends--temporary. Despite my practicality, I've valued these things as much as the everlasting things. But then those things end, and I'm devastated. I feel cheated that I can't keep something that meant so much to me and that I invested so much in. I start to question why so many things are stamped with to-be-determined expiration date.

After some reflection, this is the answer I've come up with: the value of an experience isn't determined by how long you can hold onto it, but by how it changes you. If nothing ever ended, multiple worlds of new people and opportunities would be closed off. It's okay--and necessary--to acknowledge that something has changed you for the better, and then move on.

You're not left with nothing when you lose something you treasure; you still have the memories and the new self you've become through the experience. In this way, temporary things can become permanent because they contribute to the person you will be for the rest of eternity.

The best thing about Easter

Holidays are great because they usually come with traditions that you're only allowed to enjoy on that particular day (or span of days). On New Years it's driving 60 miles just to eat your favorite ice cream. On Christmas it's being surprised on Christmas morning. On the 4th of July it's fireworks. On Labor Day it's watching Lord of the Rings.

The best thing about Easter? Cadbury Eggs. So worth the wait.

Being alone on Valentine's Day

I know, I know. I said I wasn't going to rant about the insane stupidness of Valentine's Day this year. But there are a few things that really bother me, and those annoyances are just simmering inside me, setting my blood a'boiling, and pretty soon steam is going to start coming out of my ears. So, I think you'll agree with me when I say that spouting out my thoughts on my blog is a much less messy way to cleanse my system.

Understandably, the topic of choice at work yesterday was what everyone's plans were for Valentine's Day. Most of the guys were totally on top of things and had plans for flowers and romantic dinners. A few of the girls agreed to buy chocolates for each other because they had no one to buy chocolates for them. When people asked me what my plans were, I would just shrug and say, "Homework, probably." About halfway through the day, though, I got tired of the pitying and/or understanding looks people gave me, so I started telling them I would order pizza, too (which I did), in an attempt to convince people that my homework excuse wasn't just cover-up for "I'm going to go home and mope." For some reason, it worked.

Later that night I went to institute. We were operating on Mormon Standard Time, so it started almost 15 minutes late. As is one of my favorite hobbies, I sat there and listened to the conversations going on around me. One guy told his friends in an ashamed voice, "I only came today so I wouldn't have to be alone on Valentine's Day for the third year in a row." A girl later sat by me and said, in a false cheery voice, "So, how was your Valentine's Day?" the tones of bitterness literally oozing from her fake smile. I figured it wouldn't be nice to say "Who cares if you're single on Valentine's Day?" so I lied and pretended to commiserate with her instead.

I guess I should consider myself lucky, because I've never really been bothered by the fact that I've been single all 25 Valentine's Days of my life. When I reached dating age, I was determined to prove to the world that I didn't need a boy, so my lack of boyfriend on Valentine's Day was a triumph in my eyes. In college, my view was much the same, though as I slowly warmed up to the idea that boyfriends aren't all pariahs, I contented myself with thinking that next year I might have a pretty cool guy and made some pretty great memories with my roommates and sisters in the mean time. Even after spending the last two Valentine's Day without either a boy of my own or lots of spontaneous girl support, the tears, hurt, and bitterness never came, at least not on a day when America is particularly obsessed with relationship statuses.

I think most of the depression of this day stems from the fact that no one likes to be reminded that they're alone. It's perfectly normal to not want to be alone--even those of us who need copious amounts of alone time are still biologically engineered to crave human companionship at times.

But the thing is, being alone and being lonely are not the same thing. The night before I moved into my own apartment, I celebrated my new independence (and my last day of having cable) by watching One Day, a movie I thought would be a sweet love story but ended up being really depressing. However, there is one line that Anne Hathaway says that really struck me: "I'm alone, but I'm not lonely." It reassured me that I would be okay living alone, and over time it became one of my mini life mottos.

Most people never learn the difference between "alone" and "lonely." Even Merriam-Webster's Dictionary has a hard time distinguishing between the two: one means "separated from others" while the other means "cut off from others." In fact, I only learned the difference because I spent a lot of my life dealing with one or the other.

Once I figured out that it's loneliness I want to avoid, not aloneness, I began to see real power in being alone. And I'm not just talking about having sole power over the remote, noise level, temperature, and how much milk is in the fridge at my apartment, as nice as that is. No, I'm talking about the power that comes from discovering who you are, the clarity that comes when you take some time for yourself to stop and think. It is not appropriate for every aspect of life to be a group activity. Even if you love being around people, alone time is crucial to a healthy and well balanced life.

I wish more people knew this. I think Valentine's Day would be a much nicer holiday if they did.

In defense of Mondays

Sometimes I think Mondays get a bad rap. We blame them for ruining our Sundays. We spend the whole day in mourning for our lost weekend. If the day gets off to a bad start, we just say "It's Monday morning" and everyone will understand.

But in a way, each Monday is a mini New Years. They give us a chance to start anew 52 times a year. I find it especially refreshing that my school schedule focuses on something new each week--there's always a hard stop to the topics we've discussed to death so we can take a breath and switch to something else.

I feel sort of anti-human saying this, but I'm grateful for Mondays. They give me another excuse to look at the world with a different perspective. They give me a chance to dive back into things with a recharged battery--even if I'm suffering through a Monday morning headache/whiplash/hangover thing, even if the weekend wasn't as restful or as long as I wanted it to be. Despite popular belief, I don't think Mondays are actually out to get us.

Not my usual February post

It occurred to me today that I'm a sinner: February is almost half over, and I haven't once posted about the continuing bleak weather, written a snarky limerick about red-and-pink candy aisles, or mocked anyone for thinking about twoo wuv.

In fact, I've decided to step off my high horse and go with the flow this year. Or something. I'm sorry for disappointing everyone.

The nose never lies

Today on my drive home, the sun was in my eyes. I actually had to squint because the sun was so bright. And that's not all: between the puffs of clouds there were definite patches of blue sky.

But the most encouraging sign is that my nose has been itching for almost 24 hours. It's that, more than anything, that has convinced me that we're finally heading into a warm-ish stretch. Hallelujah.

Breaking free of "the image"

People tend to be amused when they see that Mugglenet is my home page. Especially now, after all the Potter stuff is over. However, it's kind of fun to keep up with what's going on in the Muggle world post-Harry Potter. A few weeks ago, they released a Harry Potter calendar that had special dates like the anniversary of when Harry Potter figured out the egg's clue in the Prefects' bathroom. I am only a little bit ashamed that I seriously considered buying it.

Mostly, though, the site is a stalking machine and reports on anything newsworthy the Potter stars are up to, from Emma Watson being mistaken for a child at the airport to Daniel Radcliffe's success in his latest movie or play.

Over the past few years, there's been a growing frustration--among the trio especially--about breaking free of their iconic Potter roles. They've moved on, but to millions around the world, Dan, Rupert, and Emma are branded into people's minds as Harry, Ron, and Hermione.

Mugglenet has taken it upon itself to ensure the trio gets plenty of non-HP exposure. Today's headline, "Rupert Grint departs from Ron Weasley image with new thriller film," gushes over the "purposeful departures" Dan, Rupert, and Emma have embarked upon in recent years. It glowingly praised Dan's success in roles that required nudity and was very congratulatory toward Rupert about his new role as a drug addict porn star. As for Emma, well, let me put it in their words: "We also reported on Emma Watson's projects, which are usually wholesome, but soon she will be seen in a role that is as far away from the real Emma as possible when she portrays a real-life criminal in The Bling Ring."

Potter stars aren't the only ones who want to shed their wholesome images. Disney stars like Miley Cyrus and Selena Gomez have gone through great lengths to convince the world that they're more than just parent-approved role models.

It's tempting to blame the "degradation" of these lost souls on the poison of fame, but fame isn't really the issue here. I think we all want to overcome our own image at some point in our lives, whether that image is "good" or "bad."

When I was growing up, I was the poster child Molly Mormon to a lot of people. In elementary school, I thrived at being the obedient goodie-goodie (at least at school--I'm positive no one will vouch for my angelic nature at home). By middle school, though, I resented the stereotype society had placed me in. It really bugged me when people said things like "Oh, but Angela would never do anything like that," as if I were a plastic cut-out incapable of doing anything more unexpected than tipping over. Inwardly, I would tell these people, "Oh yeah? Well sometimes I sneak out my window at nights without my parents knowing!" just to prove that there was more to me than meets the eye, but of course I never said anything.

My crowning moment of glory came in 6th grade when I was in Mr. Lewis' math class. There was a ban on gum and pens throughout the school, because everyone knows that 12-year-olds can't be trusted with them. No longer Miss Obedient, I chewed gum whenever I pleased, though I was discrete about it. One day, however, I was so engrossed in my math problem that I forgot to monitor my chewing. Mr. Lewis approached my desk solemnly and said, "I never thought I would say this to you, but will you please spit out your gum?"

The entire class broke out into soft titters of shock. As I got up from my seat in the front row, the noise built up around me as my classmates discussed in horror my descent from perfection. I, however, was far from horrified. In fact, I was jubilant that I had knocked myself off the pedestal of Molly Mormonism, and it took all the willpower I had to not break out into a huge grin of triumph. I had finally shown them what I was capable of.

And I haven't changed much. Not really. I still have a difficult time hiding my pleasure when people find out that I have sworn at my car a few times, that I can hold my own in a punching war against my little sister, and that I pretend all the stop signs in Elk Ridge are yield signs.

But what, exactly, is so bad about people thinking you're good? Is is the expectations? Implied lack of character? Frustrations with being lumped into a stereotype?

It's an perplexing issue, one that isn't limited to any one stereotype.