A Post. A REALLY long post.

I realized lately that I have... abused this blog a bit. I've realized that I've used it to vent, and complain, and whine and cry and piss and moan. I've used it at times when I was feeling emotional, namely sad, to vent feelings that were momentary and fleeting. I have been abusing this blog. 


So, to say sorry to my blog, and those of you who have taken time out of your day for whatever reason to read it, I'm going to make a promise and begin something a little different. I'm gonna use this blog to uplift people. Hey, that's kinda what I like to do right? Fortunately it only took me 15 blog posts to realize it. 


So here's my first one. I'm going to try to make it fun, and light, and maybe make you feel good. Because right now, and for 95% of my life, I feel good. Sometimes even great. So why should I focus on the other 5% of moments, where the smiles and laughter turn into frowns, occasional tears, and more often than not a carton of cookie dough, or other such guilty pleasures. 


I've challenged myself lately. I've been trying to pray and read my scriptures every day. Morning and night. Something that I realized as I was praying was the fact that I was asking a lot of God. I was asking him to protect me, asking him to forgive me, asking him to help me with A B and C, asking him to watch over my family, asking him for help with tests, friends, and everything else. These were very personal and intimate, but I found that the start of my prayers, where I tried to thank him, felt generic. So I've tried something a little different lately. I've tried to thank him for everything. Things that seem trivial. But I read a quote lately that made me think. "What if you woke up tomorrow with only the things that you thanked God for the night before?" or something like that. Now I hate to get too preachy or whatever in these posts because I don't claim to be perfect, and I know that some of you reading don't even believe in God. But I've found that if I pray and I thank God for everything, even stupid trivial stuff, or small moments where I felt his influence, or times in the past that come to memory, that my prayer feels much more personal. 


So I'm going to challenge myself to do that now, at the close of the semester. Which I'm sure will result in tears, but fortunately you're reading this so you can't hear/see me ugly crying. So here it goes:


I'm thankful for my family, first and foremost. My Mother for being an anchor at all times. For always knowing what to say and what not to say. For always seeming like she (you, if you're reading this) had everything figured out, even in times when it seemed impossible. For reminding me that it's okay to have no idea what's going on. For never flipping out. For respecting me enough to let me make mistakes. For loving me enough to make suggestions on how not to. For caring enough to hear about my stupid problems, and for reminding me that God and you are always there for me, even when I don't think either are. 


I'm thankful for my Dad. Who taught me to own up to my mistakes. He has taught me that we are all human and because of that we are allowed to make mistakes. However, the more important lesson that he taught me is to accept the responsibility associated with those actions: their consequences. Good, bad or in between, these consequences can and must change us. He taught me to be mentally tough in times when it seemed inevitable to break down. He taught me to respect women and everybody else just the same. He taught me that it's okay to be mad at people. He taught me that it was more important to say "I'm sorry" every now and then. What I'm most grateful for though is that I got my Dad's sense of humor. Some call me sick. Some say "Wow, you Tommy'd it" (Meaning that I crossed some kind of line. Which I always argue that I have not.) But everybody around me says I'm funny. And personally, I think my Dad is one of the funniest people I know. My Dad, at 50, has gotten older but never grown up. He still knows how to have a good time. He reminds me that even when things get bad, we can choose to get mad or we can laugh at them. While he still struggles to not get mad sometimes, he has shown me that it's better to laugh. Because when we laugh at bad situations, they tend to get easier. I like to follow this philosophy as often as possible. So thank you, Dad, for giving me your funny. For letting me entertain others with your lame jokes, your strange or sick attitude on things, and for helping me learn to be quick witted and sharp tongued.


I don't feel like I can go through each of my siblings, so I'll just group you guys together (sorry, but when there's 6 of you, it's kind of hard). You guys are so awesome. All those times we share together are fun. I rarely find myself ever arguing with you guys, and even when I do I feel it gets resolved far more quickly than most other families. Maybe distance makes us wiser, but I miss you guys a lot when we're not together. I pray for you guys all the time. I'm thankful for those times we can share, rare as they are. I'm thankful that I may get the chance to give Trent a kidney, and prolong and improve his life. I, oddly enough, pray that I will be a match and that I can give him my kidney. Because I think that this is what I'm supposed to do. Because I'm not freaked out by it. I never was. I never hesitated, not even for a moment, because I love him. And I'm thankful for this courage, because usually crap like that freaks me out. So thank you, all of you, for being who you are. For those little moments that I have memories of where we had fun. For those small life lessons taught through words or deeds, laughs or mistakes, that have stuck with me.


(Again, I don't have time for all of you. Not yet, anyway. Probably before my mission you'll all get personal letters, but for now, here's a group lump for the year.) I'm thankful for my Cedar City family. For the people who have come into my life and broken down walls. For those moments, planned or spontaneous, that stick in my memory with the intensity of a fire. I remember the small variations from the monotony the best, not even the big moments. Those moments where we went to the store in between classes, those spontaneous passings in the halls that resulted in conversations, which in turn resulted in one or both of us being late to class. Those neat little talks where we stayed up just a little too late, and our walls came down. I'm thankful that you guys put up with me when I'm in one of my moods, where I'm just a little "much". Believe me, I KNOW that it happens. But I'm glad you guys are patient and take them as what they are, fleeting moments and stupid or inappropriate jokes. Thank you everybody for taking me in, and making me a part of a family. You know, they say that friends are the family you get to choose. Well, I don't think I chose you guys. I think-- no, I know-- that God put us all together, brief as it's been, for a reason. He chose our Cedar family, and we just went right along with it. And remember, even if I am 500 miles away, it's a phone call, text, or skype call away. And you guys know I don't sleep, so just get in contact. And plus I'll kill you if you don't. There, that was to help those of you who were crying. Pansies.


And my Lancaster friends. Don't think that I've forgotten about you. No such luck, you wonderful group of people. You guys got to see four of the worst years of my life, and yet somehow you stuck with me for 1-4 years anyway. You guys probably saw me change the most that I ever have in my entirely life. There was so much physical, emotional, spiritual, and academic growth that you guys got to witness that I'm honestly surprised you stuck with my as long as you guys did. But I'm oh SO thankful that you did. I'm glad for those little Skype dates we've taken time out of our days to include. I'm glad for brief text conversations. I'm glad for all those times that we had in high school that I still remember with the same intensity I listed earlier. I'm glad for pranks pulled, laughs had, tears shared, stupid things done together, and most of all for four years that were only made survivable thanks to you guys. So thank you. Know that no matter how much you touched my life no matter how briefly.


Now to acquaintances. I know there are a few of you who read this blog. Thank you. For whatever reason, you just spent 10 minutes (maybe more, if you're still in speed reading for dummies volume uno like I am) reading crap about which you have no i-frickin'-dea about. Thanks for taking time to read about me. Thanks for moments shared, brief though they've been, where we've felt a bond through words. Thanks for fleeting waves, smiles, or even awkward "hello's" in passing. Thank you for taking time out of your day to connect your soul to mine, despite the looseness of the connection. I only hope that you take this as an invitation to grow closer. Seriously, just message me on Facebook or text me or something. Better yet say hi in person. I can be FAR more entertaining in person. Let me help you laugh. Let me help you smile. Let me say "hello" and make it not feel awkward. No matter your objective, know that I'm always open to new friends, and that I love you. It sounds weird, but I do. 


I'm thankful for my future wife. I don't know who you are, who you are, or even if you'll ever read this. I hope not, because there's probably more grammar errors in here than a Russian Kindergartener Yoda's first English sentence. But I've been promised in my patriarchal blessing that you are out there, and that you are special. And I know you are, because I'm coming to realize that I'm pretty freaking special too. So thank you, wherever you are, whoever you are, for being you. For being somebody who is not perfect, but perfect for me. For withstanding whatever tough things you face because some day we'll laugh at them. Some day we'll lie next to each other, sharing secrets we've told nobody. Thank you for those long talks we'll soon have. Thank you for laughing at my lame jokes, even when we both know that they're stupid. Thank you for standing up for what you know is right in times when it seems hard. Thank you for being who you are, and inspiring those around you with your words and actions. Thank you for being patient, understanding, kind to all, nonjudgemental, funny, fun and way out of my league. Thank you for not being the girl of my dreams, but better than her. And most of all, thank you for (whatever reason) saying yes. I hope that I can live up to your expectations, maybe even exceed them every now and then.


Last but not least, I'm thankful for circumstances granted me by a divine creator. I'm thankful for the family I was predestined into. I'm thankful for being born into the Church of Jesus Christ of Ladder Day Saints. I'm thankful for the choice I have to serve a mission for this church. Because this church has brought a lot of clarity and happiness into my life. I'm still working out its finer details and gaining a testimony, but I'm thankful even for that. I'm thankful for a strong (well...) working body. I'm thankful for a strong (well...) working mind. I'm thankful for my quirks. Those little things that make things go "Oh, that's just Tommy, don't worry about it.." (and believe you me, there's a LOT of them). I'm thankful for being born in a land where I have freedom. I'm thankful I was born into a family that allows me to use that freedom. That always reminds me of how much potential I have, and to never settle for that. I'm thankful that they have allowed me to be whatever I want to be in my life. I'm thankful to God for giving me a bright future, and the knowledge of it. I'm thankful I'm born in a place that allows me to freely gain an education, a nice home, and a chance to live comfortably. For a land where I can not only survive, but where I can enjoy life. I'm thankful for those moments when I'm not. Because those small, brief moments make those moments when I am so much sweeter. We can't know how sweet lemonade is until we forget to put in the sugar one time. Hey, that's a good analogy. What am I, smart?


Most of all, I'm thankful to you. Yeah, you. You just read a giant thank you list in which you were maybe glanced at once. You took time out of your day to read this wall that I call a blog. You've encouraged me to write my feelings, and to use my words to connect our souls. I hope that you have felt me in these words. I hope you feel closer to me because of them. I am thankful for whatever circumstances have brought you here. 




Thanks for reading. Stay classy, friends. Remember who you are, what you stand for, where you come from, and what you have inside of you. Remember that YOU are special. Remember that you have been placed here for a purpose. It may be grand-- to be the President, or a great movie maker, or even a Broadway actor. Or it may be for a purpose that seems so small, but just as important. Maybe you're here to touch lives. Maybe you're here to touch one life-- but to touch it so deeply that its influence is felt for generations. Maybe you're here to save a life, or preserve them as your job. Maybe you'll be a doctor, a lawyer, a teacher, or just an entertainer. But remember that we are all connected. That there are invisible strings that connect us, soul to soul, that cannot be severed. So don't make these strings poison. Don't weigh people down with your string. Uplift their soul when you tie yours to them. And remember, most of all, that you are important. That you are loved, and that you have the power to change lives. You have the power to influence people for good, or for bad. That those little traits that you have that set you apart are there as tools. So use them to bless those around you. 

My (not so) Secret Love Affair With the Comma

I've decided that before I do another serious/instrospective/ranting/boring blog post, I should do a funny/writing related one. And what better to discuss than my (not so) secret love affair the the comma. I first realized this love my senior year of high school. I realized that as I was typing, I would throw in commas every time that my brain voice (which is about four octaves deeper and twelve times sexier than my normal voice) pauses. I wouldn't even notice it, just a simple keystroke every time that I mentally took a breath, a beat, a pause, etc. Problem is that often times I found myself inserting them in unnatural places, or putting so many in that they dilute and distract from the point of the sentence. I-- I don't know why I do it, honestly I wish I could stop, but I fear that I do that. Even as I write this post I'm going back and taking out commas left and right. Well, mostly left, because the text box to blog is to the left...

Anyho, I dunno why I have this love of commas. I don't insert nearly as much when I'm writing as opposed to when I'm typing. But are they really so bad? I mean, look that their cute little shape. They're like the gentle curves of a woman. Dare I say, commas are sexy. Just look at those little guys. Do you know what they do? They denote a moment, a love, a dream, a laugh. In the readers mind, they say in their best fake racist Texan accent, "Hold on one second there amigo. Where do you think you're goin'?" Yes, commas are racist, sexy Texan women. They tell us what to do. They make a paragraph feel inherently human. They give the reader the feeling of a voice. They add style, realism, even soul. And not even the kind of soul given to music, like an old jazz saxophone, but a real soul. A living, breathing, feeling soul. The kind that sparks ideas, that prompts worlds to be created. And all of this because we the readers took a moment to pause, think, and give power to the words contained within its womb.

Don't believe me? Here's an obnoxious example. It's the previous paragraph with no commas at all.

Anyho I dunno why I have this love of commas. I don't insert nearly as much when I'm writing as opposed to when I'm typing. But are they really so bad? I mean, look that their cute little shape. They're like the gentle curves of a woman. Dare I sa, commas are sexy. Just look at those little guys. Do you know what they do? They denote a momen, a lov, a dream a laugh. In the readers mind, they say in their best fake racist Texan accent "Hold on one second there amigo. Where do you think you're goin'?" Yes commas are racist sexy Texan women. They tell us what to do. They make a paragraph feel inherently human. They give the reader the feeling of a voice. They add style realism even soul. And not even the kind of soul given to music like an old jazz saxophone but a real soul. A living breathing feeling soul. The kind that sparks ideas that prompts worlds to be created. And all of this because we the readers took a moment to pause think and give power to the words contained within its womb. 

Okay, if you read all of that you're stupid. But if you read a few sentences, got bored, then skipped to this (hopefully) short conclusion, then props. I hope you noticed a lack of voice. Your voice. Your voice and mine, the two coming together to tell the story. Commas are catalysts, that cause us to understand and cement these sentences into our mind. So I'm sorry that I love commas. I'm sorry that my sentences contain 3,4, even 5 commas sometimes. I  LOVE commas. Can't hug every kind of comma...
Finally, a shoutout to the apostrophe. Because that sucker's a special kind of comma. It's a comma to the top. It's GOD'S comma.  Hope you enjoyed!

My business is mine and mine alone

I am not a story person. Well, I guess I'm jumping the gun a bit. I like stories. I like making them up, I like seeing how much of a stupid story I can get people to believe. I like pretending things happened to me that I only heard about. Some call them fibs-- and really they are-- but I usually fib to see how believable to tale was. But I don't like telling real stories about myself.

It stems back to long ago, back in the second grade. When I had a crush on a girl named Cheyenne. I had told my friend Michael, and Michael hung out with Julian. I asked Michael if he had told Julian who I liked because of something he had said, Cheyenne's friend overheard. 

Boom. My entire seven year old world shattered at that moment. Completely humiliated by the experience, and many since, I have become a vault of stories. I mean, I like telling my fun stories, but my drama, my serious person life, my feelings, my crushes, my hopes and my dreams I tend to keep to myself.

Because I feel like they are mine. I cling to these feelings with all my heart. I cling to them and keep them secret because they define me. They are Tommy. They are future Tommy, they are past Tommy, and they are present Tommy, all culminating into words that make up and describe Tommy. These things aren't even written, merely stored mentally in hopes that one day, somebody will care enough, and I will trust enough, to tell things to. 

I think the reason behind me not telling people my stories is not for the common reason, vulnerability. Having done acting through High School, I felt vulnerable A LOT. In improv, you are vulnerable every time you step up. Because if you mess up, you gotta hope the person or people around you have your back and can make something of your nonsense.

 No, my reason is much deeper, it's a great fear that I have in life, and that's failure. I don't want to tell people my past because I don't want them to judge me because of my failures. I don't want to tell them my hopes because I don't want them to ask what I am doing  to accomplish these goals, and have the answer be "nothing" or "I don't know". Because that, in my eyes, is failure. It is the epitome of failure. 

So that's why I don't like telling people my stories. If we're close, I may grace you with one or two. But honestly, if you get one, it means I really trust you with them, and I trust you not to tell them. Because I hate having people in my business. I rarely seek out advice, because I think so differently from people. That's not to sound conceited, because "differently" is not supposed to be a euphemism for "smarter". I just know that my brain does not function like the average population. It is weird. Different. Dare I say, special. So usually when I get advice from people, I will be in a real pickle. And often, I will take their advice and tweak it, acknowledging is simply as their one single view, based on their unique experiences and mental wiring. I view it simply as such, and will throw it onto the scales of whatever issue I'm weighing at that time. But most of the time, I try to scale my mountains alone. It makes it harder, sure, but then I get to look down and see how far I have come. I get a sense of pride, of self worth, and maybe a little conceit, brief though it may be. 

Unfortunately, this strange thing that I do also comes with a downside. That's that I won't often give out help to others in times where I feel that I could, or even should. I see people struggling with their own issues, blatantly, openly, and honestly having a difficult time in their life. And I just sit and watch. I feel awful admitting this, but I can think of several times in the past semester even where I felt I should reach out and help someone, but I stop myself, because I think that they are like me, that they would not want people all up in their business. I think that they would want to conquer this thing on their own, and then look back and say "Dang son, look what I conquered! Man, I'm so cool!" just like I do every time I overcome a challenge in my life. 

A little disclaimer on this part. I am not cold and heartless. If I walk by and see someone crying, I don't just keep walking. I don't phrase my question "what's wrong", I'll try to remember to phrase it "hey, you want some company." or something like that. Because sometimes when I'm feeling blue all I really want is to feel like somebody does care. Sometimes, I even secretly want people to drag my problems out of me, until I'm so open that it scares them. But usually that won't happen. And I don't do the same to others. I just try to be there, see if there's anything I can do, and let the person know that I love them. But my rule is to never, never ever ever ever ever pry. Because I wouldn't want people to pry into my business, so I don't get into theirs. But if people ask for my help, I give it. I'm happy to sit and listen and not judge. That's something I'm good at, is not judging people because of their mistakes. 'Cause if they've done something wrong, I usually start thinking of all the stupid stuff I've done, and I realize we're all on the same level. So I guess I'm a good listening ear, you just have to ask for it if you need it.

 And I guess that's why I've kind of leaned away from Psychology as a profession, because people stopped coming to me with their problems because I walled them off from my own. is it healthy? Probably not. Should I stop it? Probably, and I may once somebody who I care enough about asks me for them. They won't even have to drag it out of me, I know that now. Around pretty girls, my mouth just goes, and doesn't make sense or think about what it's doing usually. So a pretty girl will just have to ask for the right story in the right way, and hopefully I'll trust them enough to lay it on them. 

Hopefully this sheds a little light on me. I hope that next time I opt out of telling a story, you don't take it personally. More so, I hope that next time I'm unhelpful in situations of personal distress where I should be helpful/compassionate/sympathetic etc, you will understand why I'm doing what I am. Know that I am here if you need me, but that you have to reach out for it. And if you want a personal story, then you need to reach even deeper. 

I hope you all had a fun time reading this wall of text. I should probably start planning better what I'm gonna blog. Make one of those story webs they taught us in elementary school so that I know what I want to talk about... instead of none of my paragraphs or thoughts flowing together. Hopefully that just shows you further how strangely my brain works. Because sadly this all makes sense in my head, and I can't read it aloud to make more sense of it because it's 2:15 in the morning and my room mate is sleeping. So for now, bon chance, adios, and 'til next time, Stay classy readers.