Winning the Lottery

I was reading a book today, and for a funeral it's describing in immense detail, these famous people showing up as part of the mourning party. Curious, I whipped out my phone and googled the names of said celebrities....only to realize, when I wasn't getting the results I was looking for, that my book is fictional. As in, these people don't actually exist in real life, and here I was googling them and expecting photos. I hate it when I confuse reality with imagination, but perhaps that's just the strength of a good writer, the ability to make one's imagination seem real.

Getting jury duty is my equivalent of winning the lottery. I wouldn't know what that's like, as I've never been lucky enough to win jury duty. Why can't jury duty be a real profession? Why? Hasn't anyone ever considered this? You get to make decisions on really important things! You get a long lunch break. And your hours are 10-5 or less, depending on the court cases. And you get to witness the modern-day equivalent of Harvey and Mike from Suits, in action. In baseball we have what's called a designated hitter...why not a designated juror? I'm just saying, if someone wanted to appoint me their designated juror, I would serve their duty with reason and enthusiasm, free from passion. (a modern-day take on Aristotle)

This has been the week of terrible mornings. Which is odd, because I typically consider myself an above average morning person. Today, the temple was out of hot water due to construction on the block. In my noblest intentions I considered experiencing ordinance work as performed in the 1800s, when cold water was the norm. But--just thinking about it made me start to shiver, and that was even before I got close to the water. This also meant showering was out of the question, but you'd think I had gone for a blowout when I showed up at work today. Apparently the slightly greasy, three-day old curled ends look is SO in, or perhaps my coworkers are just surprised not to see my hair frizzed out like a lion's mane. New York humidity wreaks havoc on my hair.

Yesterday morning shall not be named thanks to the disaster that was a press release at 3 AM, so we'll skip right to the crescendo that was my week. Tuesday morning I made it to the gym, despite the fact that Fall is being shoved aside by its bigger and meaner sister, Winter. I mean seriously, I haven't even had time to break out the leather jacket and we are going straight to puffer coats?! I'm holding out hope for a strong Indian Summer appearance. I was running late from the gym to work, so I decided to schlep the few blocks to work in my flip flops. Three blocks into my walk and I couldn't even begin to feel my toes and I witnessed a Cadillac SUV get into a heated argument with an MTA bus. Heated is actually an understatement, when you consider that it was across the street and I've never heard so many creative uses of screaming F-bombs. I shook my head as I shuffled my feet, thinking how awful it must be to start out your morning that upset and angry, and it's not even 9 AM. I got my usual bagel, despite the fact that I wake up each morning swearing off carbs. Which is worse- 2 cups of oatmeal covered by 3 cups of brown sugar, or a bagel with cream cheese? See how carbs can be less evil when compared to a sweetened cup of oatmeal?

I had just crossed the street, bagel and wallet taking up one hand, keys, phone, ID card taking up the other hand, gym bag on one shoulder, purse on the other, simultaneously scrolling through emails, when...I went full on AIRBORNE. It wasn't a stub-your-toe kind of stumble. It was a flying superman, shoes ripped off, purse spraying its contents over the sidewalk, bagel flying, wallet flying, phone flying...kind of disaster. I somehow crash landed on my knees, and since it was cold, I didn't really feel anything. Enter a slew of good samaritans running around scooping up lipsticks, bagel, wallet, phone, old receipts, flyaway papers, and other random junk I keep in my purse. It wasn't until I actually walked through my office doors that I noticed I had skinned my knees and detoured towards the first-aid cupboard we have on hand. I felt like an idiot slapping on band-aids without a courageous story accompanying them. I've since healed, though the days of speed walking to work in flip flops have now reached extinction.

NYC as seen from my new apartment

I read a very interesting speech called "The Best is Yet to Be" by Jeffrey R. Holland. It talks about the perils of living your life in the past, of looking back and *longfully* wishing for the life you used to have. His point was, every once in a while it's good to look back at the past, take the lessons you've learned, and apply them in making your present and future decisions. It's not ok, to look back, with resentment, wishing you could go back, alter something, or remain untouched by the winds of change. Sometimes, it can seem so much easier to develop an attachment to the past, rather than a confidence in the future. Why is that?

"And when we have learned what we need to learn and have brought with us the best that we have experienced, then we look ahead, we remember that faith is always pointed toward the future."

When I read this, I thought of the times I've moved, struggling with the apparent "opportunity" to start over and make new friends. When you take away the fear that the best is already behind you, you are filled with an excitement for the things that lay in store, a new, better, BEST. With each opportunity, my life has been given more meaning and fulfillment than the last, also maybe different/greater struggles, but that's the yin-yang of joy vs pain. In the past, my fears included winding up in a podunk town in the midwest, settling for less than my potential, or not being able to have children. 

In light of the best is yet to be, fears lose their meaning, replaced by faith in a purpose, mission, and a knowledge that "God doesn’t care nearly as much about where you have been, as He does about where you are and, with His help, where you are willing to go."

The question that I keep asking myself, is not what am I afraid of, it's where am I willing to go?

Love,
Lo

New kitchen, new opportunity to be the next Martha Stewart

Rewards

I've been getting my epiphanies while riding the subway, on the way to work. Like when I was headed into work on Monday after practically pulling an all nighter, I realized something: My life is made up of reward systems. If I thought this was unique to myself, it could be bragging. But it's not. Life is a series of rewards that varies with individual application.

Joy in the form of peaches

It starts with the basics. You work hard, to play hard. Best learned from my dad. You can spend all day working on something, take a few breaks to browse your favorite online shopping sites, check out the sales on Anthro, J Crew and Antonio Melani or... you can cram all that work into 5 hours of efficiency and reward yourself with a long motorcycle ride, paddle out for a sunset surf, or catch the last chair to shred runs on an epic powder day.

If there weren't rewards, I probably wouldn't do the things I dislike. Like chores. I can spend hours of my free Saturday cleaning, organizing, running errands and doing all of that stuff...because I know that at the end, I'm going to reward myself. This could mean an extra long shower dancing and singing to the Jackson 5 and other more recent pop songs, followed up by a relaxing reading sesh or a walk in central park.

I've discovered that knowing what makes you happy, knowing how to reward yourself, is extremely useful. It enables you to do the things you don't want to, pushes you outside your comfort zone and get things accomplished. I'm currently sitting on the couch, basking in rewards. I have the apartment all to myself. I have on my leopard pajamas. And I'm eating crunchy pita chips with greek tzatziki sauce after watching the latest episode of Suits. Talk about a sweet reward to an immensely crazy, long week with absolutely zero sleep. But this moment makes it totally worth it.

I packed up my stuff on Sunday, something no one enjoys doing. So I rewarded myself with a movie while I packed. I ended up watching this french movie called "The Intouchables". NOT to be confused with some gangster movie called Untouchables. I ended up Loving the french film. I should have known, on Redbox under the movie description it said "sure to inspire and motivate." Redbox NEVER says things like that. I almost thought it was a joke. But sure enough, the movie had such a fabulous ending, so happy and filled with so much hope! I don't want to ruin it for anyone that hasn't seen it, but I couldn't help but be thrilled that everyone has the opportunity to be happy if they choose to be. Side note: the movie IS rated R, but literally, it's only for swearing. And even then, you don't realize it's swearing because...it's in french. With english subtitles. Also, the music is great. I am dying to get my hands on the piano music so I can learn how to play it.

Tennis is another fun reward. No matter how crazy my day is or how stressed I get, it all gets better when I get to throw on a cute flirty spandex skirt and smack some tennis balls while mixing in a little friendly competition and trash talking.

Bookstores. I kid you not, I walk into a beautiful library or a perfectly organized Barnes & Noble, and I think I've died and gone to heaven. I really wish libraries and bookstores had more "reading areas," where you could sit in a plushy chair, prop your feet up, and get caught up in a whirlwind romance, thrilling adventure, or scintillating mystery. Or even a "writing corner" for aspiring authors. I genuinely miss the Harold B Lee library at BYU. It was relaxing with the perfect touch of comfortable seating, large glass windows, and row after row of perfectly ordered books. The absolutely enormous Salt Lake library is another personal favorite for its giant wall to wall windows, bringing about both light and learning in the same capacity.

7-11, AKA "The Sev." My reward of choice after a hot day hiking in the mountains or baking on the beach is a Big Gulp of Diet Coke with some kind of sugary candy (lately it's Air Heads Extreme in Wacky Watermelon flavor).

THE BEACH.

There's even the simple yet equally fulfilling rewards like planting flowers that bloom, cooking for men that show their appreciation, and running in the mountains with my mom that doubles as an hour long therapy session. Rewards are a wonderful thing.

found this epic fur hat while packing

The Hair Whisperer

"Patience is a willingness, in a sense, to watch the unfolding purposes of God with a sense of wonder and awe, rather than pacing up and down within the cell of our circumstance." -Neal A. Maxwell "Patience"

We call him Lady Fingers. The first time I went to see the Hair Whisperer, also known as Sam, his assistant was a tall brunette Asian woman. When I came home, my roommate Elle asked me if Lady Fingers had washed and dried my hair.

In New York, there are stylists like Sam the Hair Whisperer, whose only job entails coloring and cutting. I wouldn't say it's thankless, since that's really what you pay the big bucks for. Then there are the assistants, whose job it is to wash out the color, shampoo and condition, then dry the hair after the stylist is done trimming it. THAT is a thankless task, as they are often yelled at if they aren't immediately at beck and call, and their real talent lies in the use of their hands.

"Lady Fingers??" I asked Elle, somewhat intrigued. She looked up from her laptop. "Yeah. Well...I don't know his name but that's what I call him. His fingers are long and slender like a woman's and he gives the best head massages of your life."

I've since had Lady Fingers the past two times I've gone to get my hair done and it's changed life as I know it. The last time was a little over a week ago, and I had spent the morning playing lots of tennis. By the time Hair Whisperer had painted my hair for an hour and it was time for Lady Fingers to wash it out, I was already in dreamland.

I agree that women are complex and often confusing. But here's a little hint: we LOVE to have our hair touched. It's weird, I know. It doesn't really make sense either. I'm not sure why that sensation matters so much, but three hours of having someone play with my hair and I'm practically comatose. A Hair Whisperer that tames, fixes, and beautifies our locks into a lustrous shine. I actually get goosebumps. It's unreal how good it feels. So there I am, Lady Fingers is shampooing my hair and interspersing it with scalp massages and I know I'm done for. I can barely think straight, my head feels fuzzy, and I promptly fall DEAD ASLEEP. It's a good thing he let me sit (read: snore) for an extra long time to deep condition. Just call me sleeping beauty. Maybe the two hours of tennis in the morning helped wear me out.

Men often wonder how women could spend 3 hours in a hair salon. What could possibly take that long?! That sounds so boring! But-- it's not. It's the female equivalent of escaping to the man cave. There's socializing as everyone comments on the latest in celebrity gossip. There's self esteem boosting in the form of compliments on how perfectly your new hair frames the shape of your face, or how "natural" the coloring is. And then there's physical touch as Lady Fingers and Hair Whisperer comb, brush, paint, wash, massage, and then tease your hair. And then you walk out feeling like a new woman.

I've been telling people for weeks now that August is my month of "patience." I just knew it, right from the start, that this month would offer many opportunities for patience, a skill set I have that is currently developed to the level of a five year old child. But I'm working on my endurance for patience and running the "marathon of life" as Paul referred to it. I've decided that each month I'm going to choose a topic of improvement (this month is patience, out of necessity not choice) and read talks on that topic/practice to help myself improve.

I was reminded, on my road of patience this month, that life is most definitely a team sport. Just when I'm beginning to think I can handle everything All By Myself, I get a reality check. Renters in NYC, you know exactly what I mean. Qualifying to rent an apartment in NYC is a long and painful process. You have to show that you make 40X the monthly rent. If you and your roommates don't quite make That requirement, you have to provide a guarantor that makes 80X the monthly rent. Meanwhile, 40 people behind you are trying to steal the apartment out from under you. May be the most fun I've had in a while, don't all rush at once to get in on this action.

First one roommate, then the other, said their dad's couldn't be a guarantor. That left me. I was already groaning...and up a creek if we had no other guarantor. The one person left to ask was my dad, the guy who when Wal-Mart first started asking customers to input their zip code at checkout, began ranting about the patriot act. (I still have NO clue what that is...) All because they asked for a zip code. This was 200 times worse. Credit checks, proving actual income, providing bank statements...the list went on and on.

It turns out my dad loves me a whole lot more than the patriot act, hallelujah, and submitted to a painfully intense process to help me get the apartment I wanted. (We're still waiting to hear back, more patience, what a shocker). But the experience humbled me, to realize that just when I try to do everything all by myself, I'm reminded that I still need help from others. I thought about the experience with my dad and how willing he was to help me. He sent me out on my own, but always ready to help me, knowing that periodically, I'll need his help. I wonder if that's how God feels too, when we become independent and think we've done everything on our own, only to encounter an obstacle that brings us back to our knees and back to him to ask for help. Patiency begets humility. I'm grateful for it.

waiting, waiting, waiting, waiting patiently before I turn 80,

Lo.

Forever Young

"May God bless and keep you always 

May your wishes all come true

May you always do for others 

And let others do for you

May you build a ladder to the stars 

And climb on every rung"

-Bob Dylan, "Forever Young"

What is it about free stuff that suddenly makes it appealing?! I currently have a 16-inch-tall stuffed Okapi on my desk. Why? Because it was FREE, and I LOVE it. I also have a personalized autograph from Hakeem Nicks hung up at my desk. I couldn't tell you if Hakeem even makes it on the field or spends his days catching a basketball, baseball, or football. But it was FREE, so it makes the cut. Is this just me? My sister and dad stuff their suitcases full of the complimentary hotel shower offerings, so perhaps it's a family thing.

My real-life stuffed animal Lu-Boo

The last hotel I stayed in (one of my all-time favorites) is populated with bowls of apples. Not the fake kind, the (hopefully) washed, fresh variety. I'm not really a fan of apples. Apparently they're an aphrodisiac. (side note: have you noticed how brownies, cake, chocolate, steak, butter...are NOT referred to as aphrodisiacs?! Just fruits and veggies and other random things...awfully convenient incentive for adults to eat healthy if you ask me.) After 10 days on vacation, I basically turned into a beautiful thoroughbred horse. I went from eating not a single apple in the past 6 months, to downing 2-3 a day. And they tasted like pure candy. Maybe because...they were free. In fact I had an apple this morning, because I was at the grocery store and saw the apples section and I had visions of brown tans, white sand beaches and teal waters (Florida) so I bought a couple. It tasted pretty good, but not nearly the same and Not like sugar.

In addition to free swag, I love real-life Cinderella stories. One of my all-time favorite Cinderella stories is the success of J.K. Rowling. Her Harvard address, self-titled "The fringe benefits of failure" is a speech I've watched at least 20 times now and I can't get enough of it. I was sitting on the subway today, and I have this weird habit of reading other people's newspapers over their shoulder. Holding my own newspaper means my fingers get dirty and I have to simultaneously hold up the paper and watch my purse...reading while someone else holds it, is wayyyy more convenient. Anyways, "Rowling" popped out of a headline and I instantly zeroed in over this woman's raised hand, to see that J.K. Rowling published a book under a secret pseudonym, and no one was the wiser. 

Despite good reviews, a no-name author meant the book had barely sold. After Rowling was outed, sales skyrocketed. Why publish a book in secret?! Simple...she wants the success of her work to be based off of her actual talent as a writer. What a neat motivation!

Two weeks ago, we went around the room and answered the question "what are you motivated by?". Simple question. Yet in the week that followed, I began to see that each person in my life had specific and unique things that motivated them, and I loved them for it. The point was made that one commonality we all share, is a motivation created out of love. A love for music, a love for sports, a love for writing clever and engaging books, a love for our family, friends, food, helping others, and yes, free swag. At the root of motivation is love!

Seeing that article on Rowling reminded me of that knowledge- that while every day may come and go, putting more love into the things that motivate me, is my own key to success and happiness, unlimited energy, and staying forever young.

Family time with the man who is forever young at heart

Knightley Chivalry

Emma: "How fascinating that any discordancy between us must always arise from *my* being wrong."
Knightley: "Not fascinating, but true."

Knightley: "Emma, you didn't ask me to contribute a riddle."
Emma: "Your entire personality is a riddle, Mr. Knightley. I thought you overqualified."

Knightley: "He is her superior in sense and situation!"
Emma: "Hmm, you dismiss her beauty and good nature, yet I would be very much mistaken, if your sex in general, does not think those claims the highest a woman could posess!"

Knightley: "Vanity working on a weak mind produces every kind of mischief."

"Not one in a hundred men have 'gentleman' so plainly written across them as Mr. Knightley!"

Chinese food in the city is THE WORST. You'd think having China Town would produce all kinds of chinese deliciousness, but you'd be wrong. The food is so bad in fact, that I have actually stooped to craving Panda Express (another option not available in the city), with its 3000 calorie plates full of breaded shrimp (mostly bread), dried out rice and greasy low mein. Back when Szechuan in Park City ruled my dinner world, I would have sooner settled for Easy Mac than shovel in platefuls of calories by Panda Express. That was then. This is now. I ran into Mike on my morning subway commute, and he told me he has this *great* chinese place he loves. Whenever people say that, I always ask the question, Does it serve "American" style Chinese?? None of this soupy crap that looks like brothy dumplings.

So I asked Mike to send me the name of the Chinese place he claims is the "best", and I looked at the menu online. My first test of a "quality" chinese restaurant is to look for crab rangoon on the appetizer list. Under appetizers for this particular restaurant, I see (ranked by popularity, perhaps?): Ox Tongue & Tripe, Diced Rabbit & Peanut, Sliced Pork Belly, Poaches Chicken & Crispy Soy Beans (possibly the only indication this restaurant exists in America), Duck Tongues, Thin Sliced Conch, Julienne Jelly Fish, Thousand (??!!) Years Old Egg,.....and then of course there's your pot stickers and tofu crepes. See?? All of my favorite dishes. Stay tuned on whether I dare risk the sesame chicken from this place. For now I'll stick to crepes and tacos, which NYC seems to have no shortage of.

Way back, before race car drivers, matadors, cowboys, revolutionary heroes and conquering discoverers...men were known simply as "chevaliers." I know this of course, thanks to that minor in French that I thought would come in real handy. Truth be told, those years of French are great for eavesdropping on conversations among european tourists, but that's about the extent of my usage at the moment. Speaking of which--the Sorbonne--Needs to get with the 21st century. How can one of France's most prestigious universities not offer online courses?? I only spent two hours online this morning, deciphering lots of academic words from French to English, to reach this conclusion. There has to be some kind of online French course out there.

For one of my French classes in college, we had to read a bunch of medieval literature books (in French of course). I remember thinking this was the biggest waste of time in terms of perfecting my grasp of language. These medieval books were stories of "chevaliers," the french word for knights. I read and analyzed King Arthur, Lancelot, and the intensely long and drawn out love story of "Erec and Enide" that reads much like a year of General Hospital episodes. For one of our finals, I had to write this 16 page (fine, somewhere between 10-16 pages) paper, defining "l'amour courtois"; AKA the meaning of love in the 16th century. It actually wasn't as bad as it sounds...relationship analysis is one of my fortes. Safe to say that final was a total homerun.

Fast forward to the world right now full of self-advice books, ranting columnists, self-professed authors and all different forms of media articles/reports/studies on the male-female co-existence. You have women yelling at other women to "lean in" to a role of both champion career-woman and mother. You have articles written by women on the perils of 21st century dating in a world dominated by "lazy" men that by appearances have all but given up on the extra work it takes to romance a woman "the right way." (For the record I'm as clueless as men are as to what this ultimate "perfection" is). You have the elderly wondering why the younger generation can't seem to "get it together", divorce rates still on the rise, and words such as "playing the field", "man-eater", "gold digger", "baby mama", "bromance" and "hit it and quit it" have re-defined what was once the medieval romance scene.

In the midst of all this noise, it's caused me to think a lot about this phrase I've often heard invoked in the 21st century:

Is chivalry dead?? Some argue that it is. That people (mostly accusing men, since I think the majority are afraid to invoke the wrath of women) have become too self-absorbed and selfish.

My favorite movie of all time is Emma. The version with Gwyneth and Jeremy...if you watch any other version I daresay you will NOT be filled with the same sense of love, battle of wits and explosive chemistry. You don't see Mr. Knightley showering Emma with gifts, asking her out on creatively fun dates or getting up to sing with her at social gatherings (that's Frank Churchill). He, in fact, DOES call Emma out on being too self-absorbed and concerned with what other people think of her, in addition to meddling. I can't even imagine the backlash and name-calling that would emerge today if a guy tried those same tactics on a female.

Living in NYC has led to a lot of observations of humanity and my conclusion is: Whoever said chivalry is dead, is in my opinion, Dead Wrong. At least every day, I'm reminded that men are chivalrous all day long, to women that are complete strangers. They hold elevator doors, they wait until all of the women have exited the elevator before stepping off, they let you take the first cab even if they've been waiting longer, they hold open doors (car doors, subway doors, building doors, every type of door); if a pregnant woman steps on the train no less than two men jump up simultaneously to offer up their seats. I can't tell you how many times a man has offered me his seat on the bus or subway. Or how many random strangers (always men, never women) have offered to carry my luggage for me up the subway stairs. Women never stop to help! It's almost always the men.

While it may not be as visual as throwing on armor and going to battle to defend women's virtues or jousting wearing women's scarves wound around their necks, or even penning poetic sonnets... chevaliers are still alive and well amongst our modern day society, spreading chivalry wherever they go.

Keeping it steamy in 90 degree NYC humidity,

Lo

Army

"I've got soul, but I'm not a soldier..." That phrase has run through my head more times than I can count in the past month. Hard to believe it's almost May. In case you were wondering, that phrase is a lyric from a Killers song...one of my favorite songs to work out to.

Lately I've become known for two things: book recommendations, and my coworkers come to me when they need a sugar fix. Somehow I always have candy.

I love having solid, thought provoking conversations. I had a great talk the other day about leadership, what it means to be elected a leader and why monarchy was abolished. The question was whether our leaders today really serve the people or whether our society has turned leaders into another celebrity symbol, doing the talk show circuit, appearances, rather than devoting 100 percent of their time to passing laws and doing service.

This past weekend I went to a wedding, back home to my hometown, where I saw so many people I grew up with. I'm not a fan of walks down memory lane. This case was an exception. Potomac isn't my hometown, not really. It's the people that make up Potomac that make it my hometown. They grew up with my grandparents, my parents, and until I was 11, they grew up with and raised me.

It's a pretty gratifying experience to find yourself surrounded not just by your parents and your grandparents, but by your parents' friends and your grandparents' friends, full of love. As my dad put it, I have "people that have people" that love me, care about me, and give their time to me. I have an entire army-friends, parents, friends of parents, friends of friends, and so on.

To this day my favorite primary song is the "Army of Helaman" song...it rings loud and true. No matter where I am, I'm still part of that army- God's army, the Potomac army, the Park City army, the Johnson army, the Potter army, the Lincoln Square army, and many yet to come.

Pep Talk (A Long One)

"Two roads diverged in the woods, and I took the road less traveled...AND IT HURT MAN! Really bad! Rocks! Thorns! Glass! My pants broke! NOT COOL ROBERT FROST! But what if there really were two paths? I want to be on the one that leads to awesome." -Pep Talk from Kid President

Hands down, the best way to wake up is to a blue sky morning. It brings back memories of Costa. Every day there is a brilliant shade of blue, with shimmering heat by 9 AM. Mmmm some days I really miss it, the hardest decision I had to make all day was what swimsuit to wear. This weekend we got slammed by Storm Nemo (really? who names a snowstorm after a fish?), and then freezing rain set in for a good 24 hours straight leading into this week. But this morning it was azure blue skies!



I've been watching Kid President Pep Talk every morning. I hope, that when I have children they will be just like him--wanting to change the world and inspire the good in so many people. My team, your team, OUR TEAM. "You were made to be awesome. It's everybody's duty to do good, and give the world a reason to dance." My 6:30 AM trips to run at the gym are getting so much easier when I start out the day with this pep talk.

I came across a quote last week that stuck with me. "Coincidence is God's way of maintaining anonymous."-Albert Einstein. Too often I come across coincidences in my life, and fail to recognize them for what they are.

It all started last Monday. I got some news I wasn't expecting (not bad news, changes news), I mayyyyyy have panicked just a little (surprises are not my strong suit), and it was a rough day to say the least. In the middle of my personal struggles, I started a new book that night.

I recently discovered the NYPL's ebook collection. With a click of a button you can easily download books to any Kindle account, keeping it for 3 weeks instead of the library's usual 2-week policy. Even better, I can check out books for other people, and have them downloaded to their kindle! I quickly found three books I was interested in-two tennis biographies, and a historical fiction novel on Queen Isabel of Spain.

You could say it was a coincidence that I chose to read "Breaking Back" first, or you could say it was meant to happen. Breaking Back is James Blake's book on how he came back from a truly awful year. He broke his neck on the tennis court, found out his dad (his idol and superman) had cancer and died, and after giving the eulogy at his dad's funeral, he came down with a deadly virus known as zoster, that paralyzed half of his face. All in the span of a year.

The book sounds sad, right? I had never heard James' story before. Rather than a "woe is me/hatred towards life/ready to give up" attitude, every page in the book takes a glass half-full approach, an appreciation for the life he's given, and a silver lining insight on all of his problems.

My favorite part of the book, and something I've thought about every day since, is the story of how James learned to play tennis. Growing up, he'd go to tennis lessons, and would throw tantrums in front of his tennis instructor. He'd throw his racket, he'd yell, he'd hit the ball as hard as he could into the ceiling or the far wall.

Finally one day his instructor called him to the net after another tantrum. "James, what's going on with your life? Are you happy?" he asked. James didn't understand. "Yeah, sure." His instructor asked him why he was getting so upset about missing a forehand. James responded, "There's no reason to miss an easy forehand." His instructor pulled him aside and said, "Everyone misses forehands, it's part of the game."

When James felt like he was experiencing a setback, he would lose focus and get mad. "All my anger and frustration came from my desire to win, my wanting to get to the next level, but I couldn't focus on how I would achieve this." At this point in the book, I had the classic "OH CRAP" moment. He was describing me. Perfectly. I was so upset that week because I felt like I was nowhere closer to my goals than before. I was disappointed in myself, in my life, and I felt like my efforts were for nothing.

His instructor (who became his coach) told him not to worry about winning. Worry about getting better. And how do you get better? You work hard. It's a simple concept. You're still working towards a goal, but the goal is to work harder, get better. It essentially allows you to control your own success, it puts success in YOUR hands.

More importantly, I realized this is exactly how the gospel works. You aren't going to reach perfection, despite your best intentions. That's the entire point of the atonement!! So you work hard, work at your weaknesses, and you get better.

I've since adopted that mantra, it follows me every day. Work harder, get better. If something goes wrong, I think back to all the matches James still lost after putting in so much hard work. Then I get back to work, focused on doing better than my previous result.

It seems that my life's lesson for the week wasn't entirely over. Thursday was kind of my turning point. I broke down and told my dad the things I had been thinking about, the disappointments I felt, and in the back of my mind I wondered if God really knew how short my patience rope is. We're talking CANDLE WICK short. There's a reason my dad's ringtone is the Beach Boy's song "Don't Worry Baby." The guy can solve ANY problem, ANY time of day, and gives hands down the greatest advice. He listened to my venting, and responded in his trademark problem-solving way with assurance that no matter what, everything would work out.

A few moments later I got an email, no subject line, from one of my friends. She had taken time out of her incredibly busy day, to let me know how much she looked up to me. Not only did it come as a complete shock, but it meant a great deal coming from her, as she is someone that I truly look up to as well. I felt like it was an immediate and direct answer to that question I had asked God 30 min earlier. I went to make Valentines that night, and was again humbled. I was making Valentines for children that were sick, many through no fault of their own, and unable to spend the day with the ones they love. How petty my worries seemed in comparison.

After Grandpa Glenn called, I went to Trader Joe's to stock up on food for the "big storm." I was tired, it had been a long day, and as I stood in line, something caught my eye. A guy standing in the super long checkout line next to mine had on this jacket with a HUGE (I kid you not it was enormous) free mason symbol on the back. I thought it was so odd. I'd never seen anything like it. I kept staring as the lines moved, and as he pushed his cart I noticed a detail no one else had picked up on. His cart was empty. He was in the checkout line, with a giant cart, and it was empty. No, wait--there was a small black trash bag on the front shelf of the cart, and next to it was a jar of Trader Joe's peanut butter, along with a piece of paper.

I can't help it, I love a good mystery and this just didn't add up. It was obvious he felt out of place. I took a page out of the Mentalist and started really looking at him. His shoes were clearly old, scuffed, and his jeans had a few small tears. The jacket was huge on him, and he wore some kind of cheap polo shirt underneath it, with a pullover sweater. He didn't look old, maybe early 30s and his hair was closely cropped. There were holes in his ears where giant stud earrings could have been. Then I noticed his behavior. He was looking around, eyes wide, trying to take everything in. The closest thing I could think of was a kid at Disneyworld. Something would catch his eye and he'd leave his almost empty cart to walk over and study the price tag, before walking back. Keep in mind, Trader Joe's is probably the Least expensive grocery store in town. During one of his side trips to check out a carton of mushrooms, I trained my eyes on the piece of paper in his cart. It was a Trader Joe's employment application. He was applying for a job there. I looked up to see him debating on buying a carton of mushrooms--which were $1.25. And that's when it happened. My eyes welled up, annnnnnd...I was crying in the grocery store. After seeing the employment application and putting all of the pieces together, I felt such shame for my behavior of late. Compared to this man, my concerns were so incredibly minimal and insignificant, that I can't even begin to describe how ashamed I felt for my ungratefulness towards what I DID have in my life. I also felt like this was yet another way (coincidence if you so choose to believe) of God showing me that he does care about me, my needs, and my wants, of being blessed with so many important things I'd taken for granted. In that moment I have never cared less how much money was in my bank account or how much my trip to the grocery store would cost. I thought about asking the man if I could pay for his peanut butter and mushrooms, or better yet, to pick out a basket of food. But I also didn't want to draw attention, and he wasn't in the grocery store to beg for food. He was there to ask for a job.

So I watched him push his cart with two things, (they do have small baskets at the grocery store so I'm not sure why he chose the cart) and he disappeared out of view. Later, as I was paying, I watched him talk to the manager, holding his application. I so badly wanted to rush up and tell them to give him a job. Maybe the next time I walk into Trader Joe's I'll see him there, hard at work. But the real point of this story, and my reason for re-telling it is so that I never forget how I felt that day, and that when I am feeling down or frustrated with my own progress (because surely that happens from time to time), I can turn back to this post and remember that I have already made it so far, with so much to be grateful for!

Kid President ends his pep talk with his motivation to go out and be awesome.

 

James Blake said something similar, that I loved. When his dad died, he wanted a way that would make his dad, just like Superman, immortal. He thought about a tattoo, or a statue, but those things fade away or crumble. He decided that his way of making sure his father was immortal was to live life by his example, and when he had kids he would make sure that they lived by his example. The same would be true for their kids, and so on down the line. In that way, his father really would live forever.

I love that so much of the life I am living is a reflection of the positive examples of my grandparents, aunts and uncles, and my parents. My dad said it best this week in his own pep talk to the family, we are a family of individuals that are "unique, but unified."

It's a new week, new opportunities to work harder and get better, and make the world AWESOME.

Love,
Lo

CP at sunset in the snow

Went to this show in the middle of the snowstorm, front row balcony seats at a student discount! Mattew Broderick was amazing.

Wild One

It's been almost a month since my last blog post...where does the time go??! As my virtual "journal" of sorts, let's see if I can catch up on the latest happenings with an all new TOP 10.

The Top 10 Things that have happened since my last blog post...

1. I turned 25 (I can now rent a car all by myself)

2. I earned my "Sons of Powder" sticker...getting DOMINATED by my 50-year old dad who led me down sheer cliffs through the trees and was nice enough to: show me his secret powder spots, wait for me at the bottom, and advise me on the best way to put my ski back on (rogue branches: 2, Lauren: 0)

3. PETE CAME HOME!!! I'm happy to say, he's still as humorous as ever, and bonus, I can now text him anyyyyytime I want. Also, reading his letters on Christmas Day will be something I cherish forever.

4. Out with the red and in with... animal prints, fur and sequins. Somehow I've ended up with an extremely loud cheetah dress, leopard jeans, leopard pajamas (top AND bottom), leopard slippers, leopard blanket, velvet cheetah top and a leopard dress. I won't even go there with the sequin section of my wardrobe. I haven't decided what this says about my style (or lack thereof)

5. I had an epic night of dancing at a cougar club (completely unrelated to my animal print/sequin theme), because it had great music...ok ok, it was more about the great people watching in the form of men that looked like wolverine and spandex that did nothing to disguise "aged beauty" and "spare tires"

6. We took a family ER trip to get tested for strep throat the day after Christmas. (honestly I feel like this could be a blog post in and of itself!) Mom said her throat felt like there were knives back there, or something akin to a blow torch effect, along with shortness of breath, similar to an elephant sitting on her chest. By comparison, her cough sounded like she was two feet in the grave. (since I am the designated illness drama queen/hypochondriac, it's a blessing/miracle for Everyone that I escaped this virus). Chloe was dragged along to be tested for bronchitis (apparently coughs are one of those things she can turn on/off at will...and now we know), and dad managed to get some great hospital feedback on everything from heat lamps to ICU plans

7. I got a chocolate fountain...

8. ... and I'm beginning the "Healthy Habits" Challenge Monday (actually SUPER excited about this, join me if you think you can BEAT me haha)

9. In the brief absence of the Mentalist and Scandal, I began watching Suits. It's changed my life ever since...Harvey is the man

10. I spent some much needed quality time with my family...including an epic lego building competition (congrats to Bryan who came out on top)

2013 is a lot of things for a lot of people. It's a chance to start over again, a chance to make greater goals and push yourself harder, and a chance to discover new and wonderful things. I thought about goals this week, and things I want to accomplish. I'm not sold on making a big change, but hey, you never know until it's right in front of you.

Then I looked at my "goals" or New Year's resolutions from last year...oh YIKES. I'm not sure I accomplished even one!! I'm going to have to do a lot better this year.

On our way to Philly last week, we played 20 questions. We asked a two-part question: When describing you, what would you want someone to say? And part 2: What personality trait would you most want to have?" Part 2 is a somewhat easy question, I've been thinking about this personality trait for a long time now.

A while ago, I went to a bridal shower for a friend. We began by going around the room, introducing ourselves, and what we love most about the bride-to-be. With slight variations, every person said they had never heard this bride utter a single negative thing about Anyone or Anything, the entire time they'd known her. I said the exact same thing about her. I was sitting there, racking my brain trying to remember any time that I'd ever heard her say something negative. There wasn't one. How is that POSSIBLE?! Clearly it IS possible.

I'm not sure what someone would say about me (pretty sure enthusiastic would be in the top 3 words to come out), but I do know what personality trait I Most want to develop this year: kindness. Mother Teresa said it best:

“If you are kind, people may accuse you of selfish, ulterior motives; be kind anyway.
If you are successful, you will win some false friends and true enemies; succeed anyway.
If you are honest and frank, people may cheat you; be honest and frank anyway.
If you find serenity and happiness, they may be jealous; be happy anyway.
The good you do today, people will often forget tomorrow; do good anyway…
You see, in the final analysis, it is between you and God; it was never between you and them anyway.”

For Christmas this year I was most excited about two gifts I gave. One was to my dad, a picture of us in Florence from this Summer, and next to it was a list of the top 5 pieces of advice he's given me  over the past 25 years. I'm so grateful to have a dad that works hard, makes his own success, but has Never compromised on putting his family first. I remember Hamish once said to me in the car, "You know who your true friends are when they are willing to die next to you." Although I can imagine Aubrey or Kim bravely stepping up beside me, I know without a doubt that my dad wouldn't be beside me, he'd step in Front of me. His love knows no bounds (infiniteless, I remember).

The second thing I was excited about, was a group book the grandchildren made for Splash and Granddad. It's often hard to adequately express just how much someone means to you, but while compiling everyone's submission for this book I was amazed at how each and every grandchild had a different story or memory to share about Splash and Granddad. Put together, each memory, story and observation added up to a lifetime of incredible memories built on so much love and generosity.

Finally, (last but never least), let's be honest: Christmas, while wonderful, filled with family and presents, can be one giant month of stress and chaos. Too often, Santa's helpers go unnoticed. I don't know how my mom does it, but every year she goes above and beyond to orchestrate, plan and execute chaos into order, stress into love, and two weeks of what could be boredom, into nonstop entertainment and hilarious memories. It's one thing to give gifts You like yourself, but it's another thing to know your family so well, that you pick out and give the gifts you Know they'll want to receive the most. That takes an immense amount of time, love, and dedication. To top it off, she did it while carrying the bubonic plague and still looking hot. I have so much to work up to.

May 2013 be filled with love, laughter, and lots of kindness!

Love,
Lo