Monday, November 15, 2010

On Service

I'll walk with you. I'll talk with you.
That's how I'll show my love for you.

Carol Lynn Pearson, "I'll Walk With You"


I.
If there's one thing that's stuck out to me as I've read the scriptures, listened at church, said my prayers, and watched General Conference, it's that I need to be more service-minded. I have felt the need to focus on that. So I've been praying to know who I should serve, and how, and I've been trying to keep my eyes open for opportunities.

To try and prompt inspiration, I've been doing things like reaching out to people in the ward I don't know as well and going through the ward directory and thinking of each sister, one at a time, and her needs. These are the kinds of things I need to be doing for my calling anyway, and I usually have general ideas and impressions about how these girls are doing. But in spite of how strongly I've felt lately that I should be serving, I didn't feel strongly that any of the people I was looking at needed that service from me. So I decided I needed to pray with more faith and spend more time thinking about it. Meanwhile, I felt guilty about spending more time than usual with my family and a few of my close friends. How could I justify doing things that were so selfishly enjoyable when I was supposed to be out serving others?

And then I had an epiphany.

What if Heavenly Father has already put people in my path that I could specifically help? Maybe I was given these friends and family members partly so that, when they needed help, I would already be there, perfectly positioned to serve them. When I thought about it, I realized that I don't really have to look far afield to find opportunities to serve; there are plenty around me. All I have to do is lift where I stand.

II.
I was on a date in the semi-recent past with a guy who expressed similar feelings about needing to serve people. Our conversation was good, if a little overly cerebral; we spent most of the time on philosophical/religious/political topics. As the date progressed, I started wondering what exactly this guy was looking for in a woman, because although I matched him wit for wit, I didn't sense that it moved him at all. I even wondered whether he really saw me, or whether I was just a sounding board for thoughts he'd held inside all day and wanted to get out.

To be honest, it was precisely his comments on service that started me wondering. He told me he felt an urgency in these promptings to serve people and was trying to figure out how to balance that with his very busy work schedule. He spoke as if he could see people off in the distance, hovering morosely around the edges of his social influence, in need of his help, and he was so passionate in this vision that I felt . . . well, next to invisible. He could see right through me—the not bad-looking and very available girl across the table listening to him, sipping soda, making encouraging comments—to these people with needs. I started wondering what I'd have to do to get him to see me. Swoon dramatically? Have some tragedy befall me so I could cry on his shoulder? Change my speech so I appeared younger and more naive and desperately in need of his advice?

As someone without any obvious needs, I felt like not much of a person, and least of all like an attractive woman. This guy isn't a jerk and certainly didn't intend any unkindness, so I wasn't angry at him at the end of the date when we parted ways; just a little discouraged. How ironic was it that the desire to serve could become a barrier, a blindness to less immediate but deeper needs for love and companionship? I didn't need him to date me to rescue me; I just needed him to be there at the table with me, seeing me. But I guess the bottom line is how can you see something you're not looking for?

Sunday, June 6, 2010

For the perfectionists out there

A few lines of this poem stuck so firmly in my head that a couple weeks ago I decided to memorize the whole thing. Being Mary Hume is one of my greatest fears in life.

ALMOST PERFECT

"Almost perfect . . . but not quite."
Those were the words of Mary Hume
At her seventh birthday party,
Looking 'round the ribboned room.
"This tablecloth is pink not white
Almost perfect . . . but not quite."

"Almost perfect . . . but not quite."
Those were the words of grown-up Mary
Talking about her handsome beau,
The one she wasn't gonna marry.
"Squeezes me a bit too tight—
Almost perfect . . . but not quite."

"Almost perfect . . . but not quite."
Those were the words of ol' Miss Hume
Teaching in the seventh grade,
Grading papers in the gloom
Late at night up in her room.
"They never cross their t's just right—
Almost perfect . . . but not quite."

Ninety-eight the day she died
Complainin' 'bout the spotless floor.
People shook their heads and sighed,
"Guess that she'll like heaven more."
Up went her soul on feathered wings,
Out the door, up out of sight.
Another voice from heaven came—
"Almost perfect . . . but not quite."

From A Light in the Attic, by Shel Silverstein, Copyright 1981, HarperCollins Publishers, New York.

Wednesday, June 2, 2010

I'm in love with a store named Joe

I expect everyone
of my crowd to make fun
of my proud protestations of faith and romance.
And they'll say I'm naive
as a babe to believe
every fable I hear from a person in pants.
Fearlessly, I'll face them and argue their doubts away.
Loudly, I'll sing about flowers in spring.
Flatly, I'll stand on my little flat feet and say,
Love is a grand and a beautiful thing.

Rodgers and Hammerstein, "A Wonderful Guy"


So I went to Trader Joe's for the very first time yesterday evening. I've known about Trader Joe's for a long time, but to be honest I've avoided going there. This is because I suspected it was exactly the kind of place where I could spend way too much money. And if I went once and loved it, I'd have to go again, and again, and again, until gradually it became a habit and part of my budget became devoted to rare and unusual Trader Joe's goodies. Was I ready for that kind of commitment?

Well, I made the leap and I'm never looking back. As soon as I stepped into the store a huge grin spread across my face, and I actually had to stand there for a minute, taking it all in and trying to decide where I wanted to go first. Trader Joe's said to me, "Hello, Sarah. We've been scouring the world for just the kinds of foods you might like—a little quirky, fresh and healthy, but above all, delicious—and put it all in just the kind of store you might like—a store with employees who seem to love their job, cashiers who'll actually talk to you, and hometown grocery touches like handwritten price signs. Our packaging is well-designed and our ads are witty, with a neo-Victorian style similar to this web comic you love. Everyone here likes what you like. Come on in. Welcome home."

I wonder what the store clerks thought of me, wandering slowly down the aisles, sometimes twice to look at everything, smiling dreamily. Crusty, nutty bread! Nuts in the cereal! Plantain chips! Soyaki sauce! Thai and Indian frozen dinners! Fresh pasta and polenta! Miso! Pesto! "Hold back, now," I told myself as I cautiously filled my basket. "Remember the money." But to be honest, I was pleasantly surprised by the prices there, and it's more of a grocery store than the glorified snack emporium I was expecting, so I can make it part of my grocery budget and grocery shopping instead of a supplemental frivolity. And I'll save money when I buy things I'm excited to eat instead of things I think I should eat but let rot in the fridge. Why should I settle for a mealy salisbury steak dinner when I can get paneer tikka masala?

So Trader Joe found the way to my heart. I'm in love.

Thursday, April 8, 2010

If you were an animal, what kind of animal would you be?

I would be a cat. I would blink lazily at you, refusing to play your little game.


I know a few people who just love these kinds of questions. They think asking a bunch of them and having everyone in a group answer is a fantastic way of getting to know people. I disagree. I think it's a fantastic way of starting a chest-beating impressiveness contest. When I'm talking to someone who genuinely wants to get to know me, I shouldn't be thinking about how much higher my score would be if I said "puma" than "platypus."

It's not that the questions are inherently bad, it's just that they're meant to lead into a conversation, not comprise one. I've seen them misused time and time again. A real conversation means you listen to the person's response and then ask them questions based on that response. Why would you be a puma? Did you have a puma growing up? What was its name? How much does puma chow cost? Instead, too many people just wait for the other person to field the question right back at them, and then that conversation is over. Some people are so accustomed to these short, ping-pong-like conversational matches that while the other person is responding to their question, they're thinking of what spiffy, random question to ask next. This puts the value on the question instead of the response, which means no actual communication is taking place.

I think ultimately the cause of this is, as mentioned earlier, our desire to be impressive to the people we're talking to (which is compounded tenfold in a dating situation). But being stuck in your own head thinking, "Hm, should I say this or this? Which would make me more attractive to my date?" is not impressive. Everyone does that. What's impressive is someone who looks at you while you're talking, doesn't interrupt, reacts to what you say, and asks you questions that bid you to continue, elaborate, explain further. Someone who makes you feel like you are fascinating without reducing you to an animal or five words that best describe you or what color your toothbrush is.

Basically, someone who is actually interested in getting to know you.

Friday, March 12, 2010

What I've been doing with my free time lately . . .

Hanging out with my favorite pirate, Guybrush Threepwood. It's been a long wait for a new Monkey Island game, but the wait's been worth it, I think, for the improvement of 3-D rendered graphics and a return to the original spunk and spirit. I'm really glad Telltale Games knows how to do a thing right.

On Weddings

And I love you
Yes I do
And if you thought
That I didn't love you
Then you'd be wrong, honey
Because . . .
I really really love you I really really love you
I really really love you I really really love you

Brent and Ryan, best love song ever


A friend of mine is getting married today, and I am so happy for her. I have seen lots of friends get married, and I think this is the happiest and least jealous I've ever felt at a friend's wedding.

I'm not sad, because even though I won't see this friend as much anymore, I feel certain she's not going to cut off all friendships with singles. When she says we'll get together sometime after the wedding, I actually believe her.

I'm not massively irritated, because she was never my roommate, so I never had to deal with having her boyfriend/fiance over all the time. (Though I've had several good engaged-roommate situations.) Also, when she and her almost-husband appeared at social functions together, they were able to talk to other people and never indulged in obnoxiously sappy/physical PDA. They were sensitive to the world existing outside their relationship.

I'm not jealous, because I really feel like she and her fiance deserve the happiness they will find in each other. I think they both have an accurate idea of the dedication involved in a successful marriage, and that they'll be great at it. Watching them gives me hope that the same will be possible for me when it's my turn.

Mostly, though, I think I've just come a long way since the first of my close friends got married. I've witnessed many engaged couples and gone to many weddings (and observed whether friendships continued or ended afterward), and I understand a lot better what the process is like and how stressful it can be for the couple. I've realized that in nursing my own wounds and petty jealousies, I haven't always been the supportive friend I could have been, even to capable brides who never seemed to need my support. I've learned that it's okay to be just perfectly happy for someone else, without a particle of selfishness interfering. Actually, it feels wonderful—liberating, even.

So congratulations, J and J, and my sincerest, best wishes to you both!

Tuesday, February 16, 2010

Gems from Drafts: Valentine's Day Stanza

I'm not a Catholic, St. Val,
but just this once, sir, be a pal
and send me someone kind and smart
to love me with a faithful heart.


So . . . I have a bunch of articles in drafts. Sometimes I start writing an article and get too philosophical or personal and bury myself in a hole, going nowhere, if vigorously so. The next day (or the next week . . . or the next month) I can come back and the thoughts have settled into something cogent that I pour into another article altogether. Meanwhile, the original sits in drafts, and like the packrat I am, I can't delete it. I had the same problem with scrapbooking: when I was done cutting out paper shapes and working out a page, I'd look at the scraps left behind and see graceful little curves or bold points and want to do something with them—nothing special enough for the perfect pages of a scrapbook; just a little fun. After awhile I found that playing with the scraps could be more fun than making a scrapbook.

I still see potential in small, throw-away things. I make miniature books and cootie-catchers out of post-it notes and accordions out of tape. I make little desks and chairs from candy wrappers during long meetings. And yes, if I sit at a table long enough after a meal with my plate in front of me, I'll start arranging the remnants of my food artistically. With a styrofoam cup and some aluminum foil, I can entertain the whole table (or at least earn a "quit being a goofball" swat from my brother).

In the end, I throw away most of these little garbage spectacles, but sometimes I hang onto the best ones. So I figure I'll do something in the same vein with these drafts—pick out the little gems and purge the dross. The stanza above is the best of a few lines I put together around Valentine's Day a year ago. I liked the poem I worked out later much better, but this stanza was snappy enough to keep me from deleting the draft for a year.

Stay posted for more little gems from drafts to come.

Sunday, February 7, 2010

Oh Valentine's Day

I'm the one that writes my own story,
I decide the person I'll be.
What goes in the plot and what does not
Is pretty much up to me.

Carol Lynn Pearson & Lex de Azevedo, "My Story"


Last Valentine's Day I was sitting in a big old van with a bunch of my friends, driving home from a really fun overnight horseback riding/camping excursion. I had spent some time carefully flirting with the guy I really liked, who was now sitting on the same bench with me in the van. "We should all do something tonight," he said. "We've got a ton of food leftover. We could all go to my place or something and watch a movie."

There was a round of non-committal comments about taking showers and maybe meeting later. I added a "Yeah, that would be fun." But nobody really spoke in any affirmatives, and this guy didn't cement it as an actual plan. My hopes of spending more time with him dwindled as the silence in the van lengthened.

When we parked the van and started unloading our stuff into our separate cars, I heard another girl in the group talking to Mr. Noncommittal. "You can still do something, it's not that late. It's Valentine's Day. You don't have to be alone." He didn't reply, and I dawdled purposefully in my unloading, just in case he was trying to decide whether he should invite me over.

He got into his car and drove off.

Today we had our monthly ward potluck, and I was talking to a bunch of people in a group when one of them, a new guy that I've spent a little flirt on, brought up Valentine's Day plans. "It's probably going to be another SAD year for me," he said, chuckling.

"You know, it doesn't have to be," said a girl in our group. "You could actually ask someone on a date."

"Really?" said the guy in mock-shock.

"Yep," said the girl. "It's rare, but it happens."

He made a couple more pretending-to-be-shocked comments, but he didn't stick around much longer after the subject changed.

This Valentine's Day, I'm going to stay home and watch the Olympics.

Wednesday, February 3, 2010

On Getting Over Yourself

Do I attract you?
Do I repulse you with my queasy smile?
Am I too dirty?
Am I too flirty?
Do I like what you like?

I could be wholesome
I could be loathsome
I guess I'm a little bit shy
Why don't you like me?
Why don't you like me without making me try?

Mika, "Grace Kelley"


Sometime in my childhood, the catchphrase "low self-esteem" came to me and stuck. Lo and behold, I had come down with my generation's most popular social disease. Like H1N1, it is really just a new mutation of a very, very old ailment, but this particular strain has a different treatment plan than previous versions. Judged as too insidious for the afflicted one to attempt to fight, Low Self-Esteem becomes the responsibility of teachers, parents, friends, and lots and lots of therapists to cure. These individuals are responsible for making the lifestyle and behavioral changes necessary to keep the sick person's fragile ego at a sustainable level of inflation. Those who have caught Low Self-Esteem, since they are helpless against its ravages, are immediately excused for negative or antisocial behavior that is not acceptable in the healthy.

Somehow, in spite of the rigorous treatment involved, Low Self-Esteem is spreading and continues to be extremely contagious. Child psychologists everywhere are mystified. I struggled with Low Self-Esteem for many years, and to my profound regret I discovered that it was much more like an addiction than a disease. A new name does not mask what this old ailment really is—selfishness and pride, warped into self-pity—nor does the treatment, in excusing the victim, address the problem and cure it.

I wouldn't call myself cured of self-pity, but I've learned a few things that I'd like to share with my fellow sufferers. I'm going to be direct, because I think a splash of water to the face is a more effective wake-up call than a soothing lullabye, but I do sympathize with the real pain involved in the vicious cycle that is self-pity. In order to be rid of it, though, we need to recognize this mind trap for what it is.

Three truths to shake the self-pity out of you:

1. Everyone feels friendless and lonely from time to time. Everyone, no matter how happy or socially accepted they may appear to you.
I have talked to so many people who have expressed feelings of friendlessness, and sometimes even now I'm incredulous at who these words come from. What this means is that this is an extremely common feeling. It's kinda nice to know that you're not the only one who feels this way, isn't it? But it also means that you are not different from anyone else—so you are not entitled to special care or consideration because you feel that way. This leads me to my next point:

2. You can't expect what you're not prepared to offer.
When I was an angsty young teen, we had these monthly church dances, and for at least the first couple years I was old enough to attend, I hated them. I often felt left out of the various cliques, and it hurt when guys didn't ask me to dance for slow songs. I spent a lot of time sitting in a dark corner, sharing pessimistic comments with my best friend or hiding in the bathroom, wiping my eyes with toilet paper, hoping that someone would notice I'd left the dance floor and come find me. It took me a long time to stop thinking of these years as my tragic past and realize how incredibly selfish I'd been.

Sure, I would have loved it if a caring person had sought me out and led me back to the dance over my token protestations, and it would have been very kind of someone to do so. But if I had been included in a group and was having fun dancing, would I have noticed if someone slipped out? Would I have gone to see if they were okay and help them feel better? Not on your life. So I wasn't willing to think about anyone else, but I expected everyone else to think about me, and I was offended when they obviously didn't.

Nowadays, whenever I start feeling that old "left-out" feeling, I ask myself what exactly I'm expecting from the people around me. Are these reasonable expectations? Am I honestly prepared to do the same thing back? If not, I have no right whatsoever to feel offended, because the people around me are no lazier, socially, than I am.

3. Most of the time, you are thinking about you more than anyone else is, because they are likewise mostly thinking about themselves.
We can't really help it, most of the time; it's a natural thing. It takes effort to think about someone else, and most of us are pretty lazy. Look inside yourself and you know it's true for you—believe that other people are like you. One of the perks of really understanding this is that it helps you brush off a multitude of events that would otherwise embarrass you. Think about it. How many times have you done something really embarrassing and looked around like you were sure everyone on the planet saw? Most of the time, people don't, because they're walking around thinking about themselves, not you. It's someone who acts embarrassed and makes a big scene that draws people's attention.

The same applies for things that would otherwise offend you. Most of the time when people make foolish, thoughtless, or tactless comments, they aren't thinking about you, they are thinking about themselves—something that is bothering them, whether it's a person, event, or just their desire to be socially accepted. So really, the comment isn't based on you at all. It becomes pointless and merely a mirror to that person's insecurities, just like your offended reaction would be a mirror to yours. How can what someone says affect you if it has nothing to do with you? People are not on a quest to hurt your feelings. They're on their own quest, just as you are, to live life and find happiness for themselves. They are more like you than you think.

Three ways to move forward and combat depressive feelings:

1. Take responsibility for your feelings and actions.
I think everyone has times when they're too tired, hurt, nervous, or just plain lazy to get out of their own heads to focus on the people around them. If you can motivate yourself to get over these feelings and reach out, that's great. If you can't, you need to at least recognize that so you can make decisions based on your state of mind, not on how you perceive others' actions (reactions, really) towards you. So basically, your responsible choices are as follows: (1) get over yourself and think about others; (2) stay in your own head but at least don't get offended that nobody cozies up to you, because you know it's your problem, not theirs; or (3) remove yourself from the situation, because you're not doing anyone any good. I'm not saying these are all the best decisions, because obviously the first one is optimal, but I think that these are all better options than playing the victim and blaming your actions on others. Recognizing your weaknesses puts you in charge of dealing with them through conscious decisions—and that's empowering.

2. Accept friendship when it's offered and be grateful.
One Sunday at church I noticed that a friend of mine looked rather sad, so I made a mental note to talk to her before the end of church to see if she was alright. She slipped out right after our last meeting ended, but I hurried after her to ask her what was wrong and if there was anything I could do. I gave her a hug when she started getting teary-eyed, and she told me what was bothering her: she had no friends.

Uhhh . . . excuse me? No friends? Who was I? With one statement, my offering of friendship was completely wiped off the board—rejected. Ironically, she refused to accept the very thing her heart desired, and she herself was the callousness she saw in everyone else.

I wasn't offended. I knew that at the heart of it, what she really meant (as most people do who say this), was that things were going badly with one or two particular people. Still, for the sake of those people, she was prepared to reject everyone else. The bottom line is, there are a lot of nice people in the world, and if you've been walking around with "I have no friends" on your lips, you've probably hurt at least one of them. Someone has probably smiled at you or been kind to you—maybe even someone like that under-appreciated woman, your mom—and you didn't give a crap. You should find this person, thank him or her, and try being a friend back.

3. Have faith.
Meaning, have faith that you can be a good, interesting, funny, worthwhile person without constantly thinking about yourself. "You" come naturally; you don't have to think about being you to be you. It's crazy, really, how hard it is for us to believe this, but please try. On top of that, the more time you spend thinking about others instead of yourself, the better person you become. You love other people more, and other people love you. Being your best self is as easy as forgetting about yourself. Believe it.

*

These things took me years to learn at the right times and places in my life, so I don't expect them to sink in for everybody all at once. But perhaps for someone out there, this comes at a time when you're ready to take an honest look at your heart and make a change. It's not too much to ask to be happy in this life, but you've got to look for it in the right places. Look inside yourself for the strength to become the wonderful person you've always wanted to be, to make the changes necessary to get there. Most importantly, let your loving, forgiving Heavenly Father and all the people on this earth who love you be your guides and helps along the way. I'm pulling for you, too!