Follow My Feet

When thinking of that road less traveled, we often think of uniqueness, of being different from everyone else. Sure, I can agree with that, but let me present Robert Frost's famous line in another way:

What if taking the road less traveled meant following the path you least expected to?

The fork in the road wasn't supposed to be there, but you stumbled upon it anyway. You soon found yourself walking on the path you had no intention of following, be it good or bad. Sometimes, that is the only option. Once in a while, we may go where we do not want to, but where we are needed, or where we need to be.

For example, there are two people incredibly dear to me who have found themselves on paths they never expected to travel. One's change was due to something he couldn't necessarily control, and the other's was because of an unfortunate mistake. For both, the path ahead is fraught with challenge and perhaps a bit of heartache. When each of them told me how their lives changed direction, I ached with them; who could have foreseen the damage done by his internal battles, or the painfully necessary delay of her most treasured dream?

I love these people very much, and I know their courage and strength--they will turn out just fine. Still, I couldn't help but wonder why these things happen. Why does life have to be so awful sometimes? Of course I know the answer--it's part of living this life. Experiencing trial, heartache, misfortune, sin, disappointment, loss, pain. All of it. It is for our good and our betterment. Without these things, we could not know how exquisite joy can be. More importantly, however, feeling these "undesirable" things also helps remind us we are alive. There's a funny characteristic we humans have--the lower we fall, the higher we rise. Something about being downtrodden or seemingly defeated gets our blood pumping, and we strive to make things right again with all our might. We cannot grow stronger without opposition. Most often, making things right--getting stronger--involves taking the unexpected path, though there may be many twists, turns, and crossroads between now and that happy end.

Sometimes, this unexpected path materializes not because of mistake or misfortune, but because of active choice. President Thomas S. Monson coined an apt alliteration--"decisions determine destiny." Meaning, destinies can change. They often do.

Expectations are such fragile and naive things. My view on life up until recently was so formulaic; maintain a 4.0 GPA in high school, save money by working summers, go to college at BYU, major in Genetics, graduate in four years (probably get married at 21), jump straight into a doctorate degree, and then live "happily ever after" with my family and job. Everything I did--and I'm not joking about the everything part--was to bring me one step closer to the goals I'd set. I sprinted down this thin, straight path, all the way to BYU...

And oh my goodness. My road splintered into innumerable new and wondrous paths. I came to BYU expecting to receive a first-class education (which I have), but I did not anticipate that the greatest thing I would learn here so far is that the world--and life in general--is so much bigger and so much more than I could have ever imagined. I desire to experience everything this beautiful mortality God has given us has to offer. To meet people and hear their stories. To help them, if I can.

Amid all this, I've realized I no longer want to be a geneticist. There is much I could say to explain and justify this change of mind, but I won’t. What matters is that it no longer makes me happy, and I aim to find what does. For quite a while, I have felt guilty and unsure about this change. Am I a cop-out? Am I just not smart enough or determined enough to continue in this field? The answer is no. I know that whatever I choose, I will give my everything to. I am willing to make every sacrifice for it. Genetics just isn't that thing anymore.

You may ask, "what will you do instead?" Good question. I have no idea. Whatever I end up doing, though, I want to help people tell their stories--whether fictional or experienced first-hand. I hope to spread the truth and happiness they've learned, as well as my own. Now, this seems like a rather lofty ideal, but I am certain I can find a practical medium to achieve it through.

Ultimately, we decide who we are, what we do, and how we do it. God intended it to be this way; we have our agency. Why on earth should we not use this power to make ourselves and the world better? I know God trusts me to be wise and choose the better part. That's why He's left my future so wide open for me. It will be mine because I made it so. The path I've begun to take is one I never expected to, but it is right, and it is mine. One day, because of the love of God, my family, and my friends that spurred me on, I will be able to triumphantly say

"THIS IS THE HAPPINESS I CHOSE AND ACHIEVED ON MY OWN."  

This is Your Heart, Can You Feel It?

Ah, Bastille. Always a source of strength and inspiration for me. The title of this post is from their song "Laura Palmer." Several snippets from their music are dispersed in this post.

I want to talk about something that I struggle with: myself.

In terms of trials in life, some might feel as though I am quite inexperienced. I agree, to an extent. My parents are happily married; there has been only one death in my family that really affected me (I never knew the others who died); we've never experienced poverty; and I've never had to deal with any major injuries or handicaps. From the outside looking in, my life seems peachy. I do feel blessed that I've never had to experience those things. However, this does not mean I do not have trials, heartache, and/or "real" problems. Thing is, they're all on the inside. I am the largest trial in my life. I am the war I rage against.

I feel as though Heavenly Father has given me everything I need to succeed, but stands back a bit to see what I do with it. It's as if He's saying, "Alright, it's up to you. Will you take advantage of this, or squander it?" And not even just success, but service and charity. "Lauren, you have much to give." Now, please don't take this the wrong way--like I think I'm all that or the golden child or something. It's not like that at all. I just know the Lord wants me to share what I've been given.

And therein lies my struggle. I have noticed throughout the past few years that there are two major sides to myself. One is outgoing, exuberant, enthusiastic, kind, funny, and thoughtful--sometimes annoying and overzealous. The other is quiet, ponderous, logical, meditative, and careful--often very withdrawn and indifferent, occasionally cynical. I find myself tending towards this second side, which I'll call Ice (the other will be called Fire, of course).

"I can feel the draw, I can feel it pulling me back." --The Draw

With Fire comes obsession and intense feelings. I get way too enthusiastic or involved in things; so much so, that I almost cannot function. Happiness, anger, sadness, and empathy, all those lovely emotions, sometimes become too hot to touch. I get burned, and it hurts. Sometimes, it is hard to focus on important, practical things when Fire is in charge. That's why I tend towards Ice. Because it's easier not to feel much at all, or very little. With Ice, I can hone in on my goals and plow ahead. But, I also withdraw from friends and sociability, most times without meaning to. On Icy mornings, I might not say a single word until the afternoon.

"You put up your defenses when you leave, and you leave because you're certain of who you want to be." --Icarus 

It's been especially hard here at BYU. I often feel like I have little to give, do, or say, so I just don't. It may seem as though I don't care, but I do. I really, really do. There are many things that are dear to me that I don't do or share.There are people I greatly admire who I do not confront. Quite often, this is the cause of my frustration. I will keep those things to myself or not do them simply because I feel it would be easier not to. Then, when someone else does or says what I wanted to, it upsets me. I could have said that! A chance passes by, and I am left empty and regretful. Why do I do this? Am I afraid of success? No. I am afraid of what it may cost. It all boils down to bravery. I want those relationships, those accolades, but I am afraid of the rejection, the effort. I am terrified of failure.

"Do you like the person you've become?" --The Weight of Living, Pt. II

Alone protects me. I am so comfortable, all alone in my little cocoon of ice, but I know I can never be happy there. I yearn for growth, knowledge, friendship, and adventure. I hope to find someone special to share this life and the eternities with. This all requires a sacrifice of the comfortable, the familiar.

"In my left hand, there is the familiar. In my right hand, there's the great unknown." --The Draw

But putting myself out there is really scary! Avoiding the fallback to bad habits is hard. Believing I can mean something to someone is occasionally unfathomable. Still, that Fire courses through my veins, and my heart urges me forward. I cannot do these things alone, though. I must rely on Jesus Christ and His infinite Atonement, for He is the only one who can help me overcome myself. He knows my every weakness; He has experienced them, too. Because of this, He tempers my Fire and Ice, leading me through the darkness when I am blind.

"Walking out into the dark, cutting out a different path, led by your beating heart." --Laura Palmer

One crucial thing the Lord reminds me of is that my flaws are not things to be eliminated. Bastille puts it very nicely when they say "All your flaws... we'll see that we need them to be who we are" (Flaws). They never leave us in this life, but they can drive us to become strong, which is possible by leaning on Christ.

There is great strength to be gained from the Atonement. Fear departs and is replaced with hope, courage, confidence, and even excitement. My heart rejoices because with Christ, I can be both the person I desire to be and the person He wants me to be.

"This is your heart. Can you feel it?"

Pulling Me Back

Listen here.

In my left hand there is the familiar
In my right hand there's the great unknown
I can see the madly different grass there
But I'm drawn to wilder nights at home

Don't listen to your friends
See the despair behind their eyes
Don't listen to your friends
They only care and want to know why

I can feel the draw
I can feel it pulling me back
It's pulling me back
It's pulling me
I can feel the draw
I can feel it pulling me back
It's pulling me back
It's pulling me

Are you drifting way beyond what's normal
'Cause 'round your mind rings the words that they would say?
When you go home everything looks different,
And you're scared of being left behind.

Just listen to your friends
Trust that they're fair, look in their eyes
Just listen to your friends
They only care and hope you're alright

I can feel the draw
I can feel it's pulling me back
It's pulling me back
It's pulling me
I can feel the draw
I can feel it pulling me back

-The Draw,  Bastille

Unashamed

People who know me know that if there's one thing I love, it's Sherlock.

Yeah, I know. It's a bit silly, isn't it? 

But it--the stories, the show, the man himself--is such a huge part of me. I don't know who I'd be without it. (Whoa, Lauren, aren't you being a little melodramatic?) Not in the slightest. 

Because of Sherlock, I see the world differently. I think and act differently. It's difficult for me to articulate just how much he's impacted me. I've always loved the stories; heck, the Great Mouse Detective was one of my favorite childhood movies, and the Robert Downey Jr. movie versions enthralled me. Two years ago, though, is when things truly took off. My dad showed me and my brothers BBC Sherlock, starting with the Hound of the Baskervilles for some reason. I was hooked. We then watched the Reichenbach Fall, and I knew I could never turn back. I was invested, and I had to know more. 

Since then, over these years, I've seen all the episodes multiple times. I've read every single Conan Doyle canon story there is (some of them several times). Even some of the more venerable spin-offs, like the Mary Russell books. I know all the theories, fandom inside jokes, fanfictions. Everything. I've never been so invested in anything. Some people know everything about guns, or horses, or chemistry. I know everything about Sherlock Holmes. 

Have you ever loved a fictional character so much it hurts? Like, you can't breathe sometimes? In some of my darkest moments last year, Sherlock and John got me through. (And, of course, Heavenly Father; but do you see what I'm getting at here?) He's important to me, and I don't care how weird that is to some people. 

But, during this last semester of college, I've had to put him away. Too much schoolwork, too many people, and so little time to devote to this phenomenon that I so love. Months, it's been, since I feel I've been able to really think about Sherlock. I was afraid I'd lost my fervor for it all. Like it was the beloved storybook or toy put on the shelf to make room for the practical things in life. Of course I still loved Sherlock. But had the distance lessened that love, perhaps? 

Today, when I watched the Sherlock BBC mini episode, something changed. Or rather, was restored. Throughout the whole thing, I'd been excited--giddy, even. But, as soon as Sherlock appeared on the screen in his video for John, I lost it. Seeing his mannerisms, hearing his voice, it all felt like coming home. It felt like discovering Sherlock for the first time all over again. It reminded me that I have been and always will be a Sherlockian. 

This may seem very strange to you. That's okay. I know it's weird to be obsessed about a fictional character on the level that I am. Still, it doesn't change the fact that Sherlock has always made me strive to be more intelligent, more physically fit, more observant. I am who I am because of Sherlock Holmes, in many ways. And as long as something you love drives you to do good things, meaningful things, then I don't see anything wrong with pursuing it. 

For me, the game is always on. 

Emphasis

It is an undeniable truth that music has a profound affect on me. So often, whether in hymns at church or the tunes on my iPod, I can find a song that expresses precisely what I am feeling or thinking. There are times when I've wondered whether I should have stuck it out with the piano or the clarinet, but I think I get so much more out of music simply by listening and feeling.

For instance, while listening to some new music lately, I found two songs that convey two very important things I've learned during this first semester of college.

1) Pompeii by Bastille

My last post (One of Those Nights) actually documented the night before perhaps the most pivotal point of this semester. Without going into too much detail, I was arrogant, thoughtless, and selfish. I am still dealing with the consequences.

I was left to my own devices

Many days fell away with nothing to show

...

We were caught up and lost in all of our vices

...

And the walls kept tumbling down

In the city that we love

Great clouds roll over the hills

Bringing darkness from above

When that awful consequence did come, I was undone. But I was left with a choice to make.

How am I gonna be an optimist about this?

...

Oh where do we begin,

The rubble or our sins?



Yes, it hurt. Yes, I have been deeply humbled. I am thankful Heavenly Father did not cushion the blow, because it helped me see how wrong I'd been. Ultimately, I chose to pick up the pieces and start again.

2) Emphasis by Sleeping At Last

In the space between then and now, my resolve and testimony have been tested--threatened to break, at times. I had never felt such stark loneliness before. Still, there are things I know that I could never abandon. Christ knows me, and He has never left my side.

The sweetest thing I've ever learned is that I don't have all the answers

Just a little light to call my own

Though it pales in comparison to the overarching shadows

A speck of light can reignite the sun and swallow the darkness whole 

Slowly, I have relearned that the Lord's ways are higher than my ways. I can't see the bigger picture--only He can--so I must trust Him. Whenever that suffocating fear grips me, I instantly turn to Him. And I know that all will be well, even if it isn't right now.

Life is a gorgeous, broken gift



One of Those Nights

I can't sleep.

Or maybe, I refuse to.

It's been one of those nights--one of those utterly chill Friday nights when you just do whatever the heck you feel like.

I enjoyed a marathon of that show New Girl, laughing so hard I had to leave the room. I've spent hours on Tumblr and Pinterest, staring at beautiful fanart, funny images, and pictures of clothes I've wanted to wear and places I've wanted to be. Listening to Katy Perry's new album, I made roasted veggies. My roommates and I giggled about boys, clothes, everything-but-the-kitchen-sink sundaes, and just how uncertain the future really is.

My PD Bio professor told me I am a great student after I confessed my worries about my major. A friend of mine gushed about my score on the chemistry exam. I didn't mean to, but I put off a big portion of my homework until tomorrow. Imagine Dragon's music fuels my soul right now, and I just remembered I need to do laundry. I am living on my own.

Some part of me aches to experiment, to change something. I wanna chop my hair off, but I think I'd miss it. If it weren't for curfew, I'd go for a run. I yearn to go to London. There's this strange emptiness in my chest, and I don't know how to go about filling it. With knowledge? With strength? With affection?

Experience?

My life right now seems to be a wondrous balance of right and wrong.

So yeah.

Everything is just fine.

Skies I'm Under

Last week, I had the exquisite pleasure of updating the music on my iPod. I uploaded the new (well, as new as last year can be considered) Mumford & Sons album Babel. One particular song I'd liked for a while, "Hopeless Wanderer", took on a new significance while I was out running one evening.

As I am wont to do these days, I had been daydreaming of my new life at BYU when the line "I will learn to love the skies I'm under" forced its way into my consciousness.

It made me realize that if I do not learn to appreciate where I am now--literally and figuratively--I will never be happy anywhere. Certainly a sobering thought for one who has longingly looked to the future all her life. This reminds me of what I frequently told myself last summer, that I must enjoy the little things, the little moments. And I do. On the drives to work, I notice the ever-changing sky, the verdant fields, and that relaxed way of life characteristic of mid July mornings. At the same time I try not to nitpick moments too often, for a watched pot never boils, as they say.

But that is not the point. Loving where I am means more than simply looking up once in a while to smell the roses. It means savoring my successes, my growth, and utilizing each day for self-betterment. It means being thankful, even though I am constantly looking toward that ever-longed for horizon. Most of all, I think, it means that I am happier where I am than where I was. I can see where I've come from and I know that right here is where I want to be. Yes, many mistakes pave my path--several instances that I wish had not happened, or had occurred differently--but I can appreciate those mistakes, and I have grown from them.

I am thankful for a loving and merciful God, who has ultimately turned my failures to triumphs. Though lately I've grumbled and griped and complained, I have been immensely blessed. I would not trade places with any of my past or future selves, for right now is a time of change. A transition. So often in life do we forget these transitions and skip directly to the next adventure; little do we realize that those transitioning times are what made the adventures great. They are a period of preparation and growth, and I am thankful for them. For I know that if I use this time wisely, my future will be everything I've ever hoped for. And I will be ready for it.