The past few days I've sat down to blog, write, or do something other than watch all of How I Met Your Mother but have had little to no success. So I'm gonna combine the last two into a strange blog post, because they're the ones that I've wanted to talk about but just needed to focus my thoughts on them a bit.
The first was about a strange occurance that happened to me on Saturday. To earn some extra money I've been refereeing football, as I have in years past. I don't absolutely love football, nor am I a spectacular referee, but the money is there and it gets me out of the house. This is how I've always viewed this job in the three years that I've done it, but now it's coming to haunt me.
On Saturday I went out in the blazing hot sun of Boron California. Where is Boron? It's about an hour's drive from my very hot home of Lancaster into the even hotter Boron. Imagine that if someone from Hell had a winter home, but needed it to still be over 100 degrees all the time. That's Boron. Boron is the kind of place you step out into and sweat in the shade.
So that gives you an idea of the conditions. Now I'll tell you what happened. And I'll make it so even football fans will have an idea. I was on the sidelines working the chains (the things that measure the ten yards per 4 downs, as well as mark how far you've gone and how far you have to go). The play came my way out wide, and this little 6 or 7 year old kid came my way. A kid grabbed the kid by the ankles and he began to go down, and as he was another kid came flying towards the other kid. The kid on defense realized the other kid was going down, and went to the ground instead of towards the kid. They met halfway in the middle, and the runner goes down. As I normally do, I ran out to get the ball and indicate the play was over. As I did, I saw something awful. But worst, I heard something awful. If you've ever heard a 7 year old break a bone, you know what I'm talking about. It wasn't the sound of the bone breaking that I heard, but the sound of the pain as it registered in the kid's head. The first look of horror as he realized the odd angle his forearm was now taking from his elbow. His high pitched yelps still haunt me as I try to relive this. It was awful to see this kid in so much pain. A seven year old kid. It was one of the hardest things I've had to deal with. I didn't call anything against the kid who went to the ground, despite the calls for leading with the helmet, a late hit, or any other number of rules with which I'm vaguely familiar. My White hate (the dude in charge) assured my not calling anything was the right call, but it didn't make me feel any better. A kid, a seven year old kid, broke his arm and I watched it happen. I couldn't do anything, and I pissed off a bunch of people by not throwing a stupid yellow rag. I still feel awful, and it's hard for me to live it down. I just thought I'd catch you guys up on this.
The second thing that I wanted to write about was first impressions. I don't know why I wanted to write about this, but I did. It was just something that had been on my mind lately. Probably because I'm gonna be trying to make a good impression on people for the next two years. If I don't, then I have no hope of converting them. I mean, sure, there are other factors, but a good first impression certainly helps move this process along.
Now, I don't think that I make a good first impression. I pride myself on always being me. However, "me" has a very big personality. I mean, maybe it's not such a bad thing, but I realize sometimes I can be a bit much, especially at first. There will be times when my friends bring new people around and they're like "Uh, so that Tommy kid, he was kidding about (insert probably inappropriate comment) right?" I don't do it on purpose, I just don't pull my punches because I'm around new people. I am who I am, and if people can deal with it, great! If not, then I'd rather know up front than waste your time and mine. I mean, I think I'm pleasant to be around. I think I'm fun and I can be interesting to keep around, but I'm certainly not for everybody, and I get that and certainly appreciate that. But now I have to worry about that. I have to worry about making a good first impression to these random people who I am converting to the gospel of Jesus Christ. I've found a lot of happiness with the gospel, and I want to share that with others. But what if my personality is too much for people, even there? What do I do there? I don't want to lose myself on my mission, but I don't want to scare people away because of who I am either.
Anyway, this is what makes me not sleep at night. I guess I just worry too much. I hoped you enjoy reading! I'll try to post more regularly.
Showing posts with label writing. Show all posts
Showing posts with label writing. Show all posts
Monday, September 17, 2012
Friday, July 13, 2012
Boating!
I went boating today. If there's one thing you should know about me, it's that I LOVE boating. Like, lovelovelovelovelove it. I need to find adjectives in the dictionary. No, I need to be like Shakespeare and make up words to describe my love for it. Or just be like Shakespeare and write a hundred ambiguously gay sonnets about it. Something like that. Because I FREAKIN' LOVE BOATING.
And honestly, whoever doesn't like boating is probably like a serial child killer or something. Like, if you meet somebody who is even on the fence about boating, cut them out of your life and make sure you lock your doors man. Because something is seriously wrong with that person. Being out on the water, a soft mist sprinkling your face, the hot sun zenning you into bliss as yin and yang, heat and water, play their ongoing feud on the skin 9/10 times you're hoping will tan but it ends up just burning.
I've been able to boat about twice a year since we moved back to California. We go once with my uncle, who is incredibly fun to tube with and who I went with today, and once with my neighbors the Thackers, because they have a boat and we've been friends forever. :D
Anyway, I've gotten pretty good over the past few years with wakeboarding and such. I've learned to jump pretty well (just bunny hops, I can't jump the wake or anything.) Today while I was trying that I ate it HARD though, and got pretty bad whiplash. My neck's hurting pretty bad right now. But hey, it comes with the territory right?
However, my FAVORITE thing to do while boating (minus just enjoying the overall experience) is tubing, especially the way my uncle does it. He makes it so fun with how much he whips you around and bounces you and such. Plus it's one of those fears that I conquered because of a near-death experience associated with it (I'll put another post about it probably. Also I started another one the other night trying to catch you guys up on my summer thus far. It's a draft, so I'll finish it at some point.) Anyway, I'm really proud of myself every time I tube because it's me getting over that fear. It's one of those things that I let myself be proud of myself for. Which was a poorly constructed sentence but I'm blogging late at night again so SHUT UP.
Anyway, I just love boating. The only downside is that I lost my CTR ring. It ripped off the first time I was tubing. I've had it for like a year and a half, and it wasn't spinning much anymore because of beach sand and such. But I still miss it. It's seen a long year and a half. RIP CTR ring.
Anyway, when I get home I'll probably finish that other post about what I've been up to, and also that other one talking about my near death experience. Or maybe not. I dunno. 'Til then, stay classy San Diego.
And honestly, whoever doesn't like boating is probably like a serial child killer or something. Like, if you meet somebody who is even on the fence about boating, cut them out of your life and make sure you lock your doors man. Because something is seriously wrong with that person. Being out on the water, a soft mist sprinkling your face, the hot sun zenning you into bliss as yin and yang, heat and water, play their ongoing feud on the skin 9/10 times you're hoping will tan but it ends up just burning.
I've been able to boat about twice a year since we moved back to California. We go once with my uncle, who is incredibly fun to tube with and who I went with today, and once with my neighbors the Thackers, because they have a boat and we've been friends forever. :D
Anyway, I've gotten pretty good over the past few years with wakeboarding and such. I've learned to jump pretty well (just bunny hops, I can't jump the wake or anything.) Today while I was trying that I ate it HARD though, and got pretty bad whiplash. My neck's hurting pretty bad right now. But hey, it comes with the territory right?
However, my FAVORITE thing to do while boating (minus just enjoying the overall experience) is tubing, especially the way my uncle does it. He makes it so fun with how much he whips you around and bounces you and such. Plus it's one of those fears that I conquered because of a near-death experience associated with it (I'll put another post about it probably. Also I started another one the other night trying to catch you guys up on my summer thus far. It's a draft, so I'll finish it at some point.) Anyway, I'm really proud of myself every time I tube because it's me getting over that fear. It's one of those things that I let myself be proud of myself for. Which was a poorly constructed sentence but I'm blogging late at night again so SHUT UP.
Anyway, I just love boating. The only downside is that I lost my CTR ring. It ripped off the first time I was tubing. I've had it for like a year and a half, and it wasn't spinning much anymore because of beach sand and such. But I still miss it. It's seen a long year and a half. RIP CTR ring.
Anyway, when I get home I'll probably finish that other post about what I've been up to, and also that other one talking about my near death experience. Or maybe not. I dunno. 'Til then, stay classy San Diego.
Sunday, April 29, 2012
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.
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.
Monday, April 16, 2012
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!
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!
Tuesday, February 28, 2012
To Be a Writer
“Don’t be like so many writers, don’t be like so many thousands of people who call themselves writers. Don’t be dull and boring and pretentious, don’t be consumed with self-love. The libraries of the world have yawned themselves to sleep over your kind. Don’t add to that. Don’t do it. Unless it comes out of your soul like a rocket, unless being still would drive you to madness or suicide or murder, don’t do it. Unless the sun inside you is burning your gut, don’t do it. When it is truly time, and if you have been chosen, it will do it by itself and it will keep on doing it until you die or it dies in you. There is no other way. And there never was.”
— Charles Bukowski
I read this quote today, posted by a good friend of mine from High School. He, like myself, strives to be a writer, though he as a fiction writer. (He's such a passionate writer, and I love and respect him as the writer and wonderful human being that he is. I'll post about him sometime I'm sure.) I found this quote SO disheartening as a person who is interested in writing. I have felt that drive to write before. I've been so psyched out of my mind about an idea that I felt it bursting from me even as I wrote it. I felt like I was painting, not writing, because I wrote so fast. I've felt the desire to mentally pursue characters, so think of their back stories, their hopes, their dreams, every single aspect of their lives. Sometimes I just understood a situation. I didn't create it, I understood it. I had become so wholeheartedly invested in this situation, this skit or short story, that I knew every aspect of it. I could see it through each person's eyes, and knew why it was funny, or sad, or strange, or whatever the desired tone was. I've comprehended it on such an intellectual level that, ironically, I can't find words to describe it. The quote does convey the feeling quite well though.
But I haven't felt like that since I got out of my creative writing class my senior year of High school. Granted, that was only 8 months ago, and it hadn't struck me until I read this. I haven't felt so impassioned to write, haven't felt that burning fire, that instinctual drive, since I left that class. And yet I claim that I want to do it for a living? How can I expect to do so when I can't even write when I'm not being graded. I don't get inspired when there's nothing on the line. I can't perform when I don't have anything to lose. I need stakes. I need a deadline. I need a reason to write other than self motivation. Does that make me a good writer or a bad one? I can't think of anything when I'm not being externally motivated by something.
— Charles Bukowski
I read this quote today, posted by a good friend of mine from High School. He, like myself, strives to be a writer, though he as a fiction writer. (He's such a passionate writer, and I love and respect him as the writer and wonderful human being that he is. I'll post about him sometime I'm sure.) I found this quote SO disheartening as a person who is interested in writing. I have felt that drive to write before. I've been so psyched out of my mind about an idea that I felt it bursting from me even as I wrote it. I felt like I was painting, not writing, because I wrote so fast. I've felt the desire to mentally pursue characters, so think of their back stories, their hopes, their dreams, every single aspect of their lives. Sometimes I just understood a situation. I didn't create it, I understood it. I had become so wholeheartedly invested in this situation, this skit or short story, that I knew every aspect of it. I could see it through each person's eyes, and knew why it was funny, or sad, or strange, or whatever the desired tone was. I've comprehended it on such an intellectual level that, ironically, I can't find words to describe it. The quote does convey the feeling quite well though.
But I haven't felt like that since I got out of my creative writing class my senior year of High school. Granted, that was only 8 months ago, and it hadn't struck me until I read this. I haven't felt so impassioned to write, haven't felt that burning fire, that instinctual drive, since I left that class. And yet I claim that I want to do it for a living? How can I expect to do so when I can't even write when I'm not being graded. I don't get inspired when there's nothing on the line. I can't perform when I don't have anything to lose. I need stakes. I need a deadline. I need a reason to write other than self motivation. Does that make me a good writer or a bad one? I can't think of anything when I'm not being externally motivated by something.
But wait. Aren't I feeling the fire now? Am I not writing because a quote moved me to writing? I've been inspired by this quote. The sun inside of me is indeed burning my gut because of this quote. It's relit a fire that for many months has laid dormant. I want to write. A scene, a skit, a short story, a prose, anything, really. I want to write out ideas. I want to correct my stupid grammar mistakes I should not have made, but did because I was so terribly excited about an idea that I had to rush to get it out of my mind before I lost it. Though I suppose I was still inspired externally. I don't know.
Maybe I should start building my cardboard shanty now, because I haven't the faintest idea what the hell I'm doing with my future.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)