to act

In my younger years, I fancied myself a bit of a budding actor. This all kicked off in the fifth grade when I landed the coveted role of Mrs. Claus in the annual fifth grade Christmas musical. This was also, coincidentally, the high point of my "acting career." 

I dabbled with speech and drama my first year of middle school. At some point—I genuinely don't remember how old I was when this occurred—I attended a week-long drama day camp at a local park whose pinnacle was a cheesy little production of The Tortoise and the Hare (or some fable-y type play) put on for our parents. In high school I had a teeny, tiny role in the drama department's less-than-sub-par performance of Inherit the Wind. (Having sat through many rehearsals, I can vouch that it is a very boring play. But the rights to the play were free, and we needed very few costumes/props, and we were a brand new school with zero money.)

It was at that point that I realized I am far too uptight, introverted, and resistant to let loose for the theater. And that was okay. 

But whether I (or anybody else for that matter) ever perform on a stage or behind a camera, we are all actors. We all act. My good friend Merriam-Webster (sorry not sorry to be that person) states quite simply that the word act means "the doing of a thing" or "the process of doing." It doesn't get much clearer than that, folks. We all act. 

The scriptures state that because Christ redeemed us, people are "free forever, knowing good from evil; to act for themselves and not to be acted upon." (2 Nephi 2:26) The whole concept of acting versus being acted upon has been one on my mind lately, mostly, I think, because I'm trying to take more control of my life and my actions. 

It's really easy for me to let life happen to me, if that makes sense. I'm one to get frustrated about a situation but not do anything to fix it. I tend to stick to the sidelines and let other people do the acting. This is true to the extent that my good friend and I have a running joke that my memoir should be called Life in the Sidelines.  In short, I'm really, really good at being acted upon. 

And that's really, really bad, which is why I'm fighting my natural tendency to let life happen. I don't want to look back someday and wonder what would have happened if I just did more instead of letting things happen. And if that's not motivation enough, all I have to do is remember that one of the reasons Christ suffered and died for me is so that I could have the freedom and the power to make my own choices and choose my own actions. If He was willing to suffer and bleed and die for that, then I think it's worth making acting for myself a priority. 

My campaign against can't is one of my steps to becoming an agent in my life instead of a bystander. Eliminating as much self-doubt as I can and granting myself the opportunity to try (and maybe fail) is in itself a way that I'm consciously choosing to act instead of being acted upon.

To be honest, the very things that made me unfit for the stage (especially the introvertedness) are the same things that make taking charge and acting very difficult for me. Even when I know exactly what I want, trying to find the courage to act—to do something about it—is often a very long, anxiety-ridden process. But it's something I'm working on, one wobbly baby step at a time. And when I say baby steps, I really mean baby steps—some of the "challenges" I've tackled lately include approaching a stranger to have a casual conversation, signing up for a 10K, and inviting an acquaintance-but-not-quite-friend over to a movie night. 

And as much as I hatehatehate change, I know it's time for some pretty major ones. I'm at a point on the road of life that has alternate roads branching off in countless directions—I have so many options to learn and grown and change that will all be wasted if I don't take some responsibility and control of my life. 

The time to be acted upon is passed, and the time to act is upon me. So I guess I'm going to have to buck up, and taking some wise pearls of wisdom from Nike, just do it. 

Introvertedness, anxiety, and uptightness, and all.

letters

Today I wrote five letters. 

One to an influential elementary school teacher who—aside from my parents—was the most beneficial and appreciated guide in my road to loving the written word—both reading it and creating it. It was a letter of thanks, of reflection, of exploration. It was a letter that I hoped would express even just a portion of the gratitude I have for her dedication to teaching students to love learning and to be confident in themselves and their abilities. It was a letter that told her that her work does not go unnoticed nor unappreciated.

Past

One to my dear Sister Aase—it was a letter I've been sporadically adding scrawled sentences and paragraphs to over the course of a week and a half or so, but kept forgetting to send. I put the final touches on the letter, sealed in in an envelope with Hedwig sitting serenely in the top right corner, and slipped it in the mailbox to be picked up on Monday. It was a letter laced with obscure Harry Potter trivia and random thoughts that deserved being labeled with #onlymaddieunderstands. It said I miss you, I'm proud of you, and gee, doesn't time fly?

Present

The last three to faceless HR employees and internship directors whose offices are situated somewhere on the East Coast. These were sent electronically, and unlike the other letters I hand wrote today, they are already in somebody's inbox waiting to be read or ignored. I like to think that the recipients will slide into their office chairs on Monday, boot up their computers, and be delighted to find my cover letter and résumé patiently waiting to be opened and read. These letters attempt to show my knowledge of the company. They explain why I want the job and why I think I'm a good fit. (These letters are the hardest to write.) But realistically I know that a quick fifteen-second glance before going into the recycle bin is the most these three letters are likely to get. (But don't worry, I'll be writing more of these and distributing them across states and cities. I'm nowhere near ready to throw in the towel.)

Future

Today I wrote five letters. 

past

present

future

2014 in Review

I honestly wasn't going to pay any sort of homage to 2014, because I initially thought it wasn't a year worth reporting. This isn't to say that it was a bad year, rather I just didn't think there was much to document or reminisce on. But a quick glance through my photos from this year changed my mind and convinced me to pay 2014 the respect it deserves.

This past year has been really, really hard. Life has thrown many challenges my way, and I didn't always feel up to conquering them. I'm still battling some of the trials that manifested themselves in 2014, but all in all, I'd say it was a great year. It was hard, yes, but I learned and grew a lot. And I sit here on January 1, 2015, ready to grow even more. This year is going to bring about a lot of change in my life, but I'm excited to tackle new opportunities, make new memories, and learn new things.

So without further ado, here are a few snippets from 2014 in my shoes.

January: The month in which very little happened

roommate sleepover // shopping for shoes // scared silly by a Stacey cutout in the work elevator

February: The month of love

Valentine's letter from my BFF Hai Wai // heart attacking for FHE // traditional Valentine's Day heart shaped pizza // late night taco runs for #roommate bonding #roommatesboyfriendbonding #roommatesboyfriendsroommatebonding (roommate's boyfriend and roommate's boyfriend's roommate not pictured) // hanging out with the rascals

March: The month of potpourri

fancied up for the ward dinner dance // finger paint pictionary //sportin' some gifts from Hai Wai // celebrating my bro's birthday with giant snickerdoodle ice cream sandwiches // Maddie Squared goes to the men's chorus concert // opening my yearly letter to myself

April: The month in which things started happening

Maddie Squared scam Culv's // Maddie Squared goes to The Chocolate // said goodbye to this lovely sister missionary // finals puppy // roommate date to Zupa's // roommate date to the Provo Spring Festival, featuring me trying to overcome my fear of mascots // roommate date to snow cones // roommate date in a tree & me working on my tree climbing skills

May: The month of milestones (but not for me)

my favorite little munchkins got baptized // my first lesson in NOT giving Ryan access to my phone under any circumstances // to Minnesota for Maddie's farewell // with Abby on her prom day // with Mama on Mother's Day // Culv's with my ladies 

June: Another month of milestones

said goodbye to Maddie for 18 months // was introduced to this spectacular site // went to Allie's wedding reception

July: The month of celebrating those we love

to Arizona for a family reunion // pizza date with Melanie Mei // raising a mug of butter beer to my main man Harry (& to J.K. Rowling)

August:The month of reunions

ward camp out // to Idaho for the return of Miss Lissa // to Idaho (again) for the return of Hai Wai // a goat ate my hair

September: The month full of happiness

set up for Britt's proposal // a little culture at India Fest // out to ice cream with some of the most fabulous ladies I know // roommates (minus Miranda) // roasting mini marshmallows over the stove using toothpicks

October: The month full of roommate bonding

with Miss Miranda // with Britt at her bridal shower // midterms baking break // dracula nails for Halloween courtesy of Miss Miranda

November: The month that was over before I had time to blink (or do much picture worthy)

Pita Pit Tuesday with the best coworkers on the planet // hung out with some cuties at Thanksgiving

December: The month of celebrating all day, every day

got seriously spoiled on my birthday // after my belated birthday dinner // late night hilarity involving Nutella and Ritz crackers // practicing hair styles on Miranda // Britt's wonderful wedding // modeling some of mama's recently unearthed wedding treasures // Christmas the BYUtv way // baking baking baking// a New Year's Eve date with Miss Emma Lou

ode to lissa and a road trip report

The day I moved into my freshman dorm, I met Lissa. And I didn't know it at the time, but she was about to change my life.

There isn't a specific incident or experience I could relate to you that would even begin to explain how she altered my world. Rather, it was a year and a half of example, testimony, and pure Lissa that made the difference. People who haven't met her can't begin to understand the incredible gentleness, kindness, and pure goodness that she embodies. I would try to explain it to you now, but I'm convinced that I couldn't do her any semblance of justice. 

Freshman year, Lissa and I spent a few quiet evenings together cooking dinner in dimmed lighting and silently doing homework side by side. It was rare that just the two of us were home, so I cherished those moments. Her presence is calming and comforting, and with her around, the most mundane tasks can become a cleansing experience. 

Then sophomore year, Lissa and I were roommates again, and that was when I truly realized what a blessing she was in my life. She has this way of making you think about yourself and about life. She asks hard questions that require deep introspection and insight and gives the most sincere, heartfelt compliments of any person I've ever met. And she is hysterical. Almost two years ago, I wrote about one of the most hilarious moments of my life. You may not think it was that funny, but I promise it was. I can think of very few times that I've laughed harder and longer than I did that night. 

A few weeks after I wrote that post, Lissa and I sat quietly in our bedroom in the late afternoon. The blinds were open, and the sun was warming Lissa's bed. She asked me to come over and in the sun with her, and she told me that she had decided to serve a mission as soon as possible. I remember being simultaneously overjoyed for her and sad that I'd be losing such an amazing roommate and friend. Eighteen months wasn't forever, but it was a long time to be without the person who left sweet notes on my bed and was impossibly patient with me and helped me find the good in situations I was convinced were terrible, horrible, no good, and very bad. 

But I decided to focus on the overyjoyed part, and I was even more excited when her mission call came and she found out she'd be off to the Philippines. 

And while she's been gone, she's continued to change my life. I'm a hoarder of cards and notes and such, and several times since she's left, I've come across several of the aforementioned notes that have perked me right up. Just last week I came across one that was particularly meaningful to me at the time, but more so now. It reminded me of the light and joy that I felt during a time that sometimes only looks bleak and painful when I look back on it. And even when I wasn't rereading her words to me, I would often remember a fun memory or a deeply insightful statement she'd once made, and I couldn't help but smile. 

And now I have even more reason to smile, because Lissa dear is home. 

So excited to see her !

Reunited and it feels so good! 

We (we being the the two guys we came up with [Paul and Marcel], Mellie, and me) had a lot of fun surprising Lissa. When we arrived in Meridian, she was at a family function, so we drove around aimlessly (exactly what you want to do after a six hour drive), had random dance parties in the street (which I didn't take part in), and visited the local grocery store. We were in contact with her siblings, though, so that we could arrive at the opportune moment. She had no idea we were coming, and the look on her face when she saw us standing in her doorway was absolutely priceless.

There are other things I could say, but this has already turned out much longer than I anticipated, and I like the idea of leaving things right there in Lissa's doorway, us giddy that our surprise was finally coming to fruition, and Lissa standing barefoot in the foyer holding a bowl of cereal.

So I will leave it just like that. 

home

134 Parker Street was my first home.
Sometime in early December of 1992, my parents brought me to this house, and I was home for the very first time. I was fresh and new then, a tiny, bald bundle of baby and light. We moved from this house a few months before my first birthday, so the closest thing I have to a memory from this house is recognizing it from a picture I've seen in a photo album of my parents, older brothers, and I on the small front porch. I did drive by it briefly a few summers ago, though, when I visited Maine with my parents and younger brothers.


27 Schoolhouse Lane is the first home I remember.
I had my first birthday on Schoolhouse Lane, complete with the traditional Greenhalgh family carousel cake. I often have a hard time sorting out which memories I have of this home are actually mine and which ones I think I remember because I've heard the stories told so many times. I've written about this before, in fact, but I've come up with a few more memories since then. I remember the grassy hill that separated our home from a wide expanse of woods. When it was windy outside, that hill was a prime kite flying spot. I remember the day a moose wandered into our front yard and put its front hooves up on our trampoline as though it were trying to climb on and squeeze in a quick jump before going back to doing whatever moose do. It was dinnertime, and we were eating soup. We had a large garden at this home, and my mom tells me I used to plop down by the peas and eat them straight off the plant. We moved from this home about six weeks after the birth of the triplets when I was just barely closer to my fifth birthday than my fourth


1407 Cayton Road was the home of my childhood.
I associate trees with this home. There were two pine trees in the back yard that were quite close together. We kids liked to play under and around them. There was an every larger tree on the side of the house. The branches started high up enough off of the ground that I could crawl under them as a small child and be completely hidden from the world. One year on Arbor Day, I got a tiny little sapling that we planted in the front yard. I don't think any of us expected it to amount to anything, but a few years ago, we drove by our Cayton home and were surprised to see a large, mature tree in the place where a tiny little twig with a few pine needles once stood.


1883 Farmhouse Way is where I stepped out of childhood.
It's the home of my teenage angst, which I'm sure my family would love to tell you about. It's the home where I had my graduation party, where I had my first kiss, and where I got accepted to college (not necessarily in that order). It's the home both of my older brothers departed from when they blazed the way to college and missions. It's the home I had to leave when it was my turn to make the trek to Provo. My parents and younger brothers still live here, so it's the place I visit at Christmastime. I call this home my Kentucky Home, because even though I don't live there anymore, it will always be home as long as my family is there.     


222 Tingey Hall was my first home away from my family.
My first memory of this home took place at nighttime after a long day of travel. We dropped off some of my belongings before heading to my aunt's house to spend the night. I remember stepping into the room that was to be mine that contained a desk that wasn't mine and a bed that wasn't mine and a closet that wasn't mine and blank walls that certainly weren't mine. And for the first time ever, another person's belongings were in the room that was to be mine. And as I shoved a few suitcases into a corner, I felt a sinking sense of fear and dread that this place would never feel like mine. Thankfully, my pessimistic premonition was incorrect—that room became just as much mine as any other room I'd had. And having roommates was actually kind of nice, I found. Sometimes it was (and still is, really) overwhelming for me to live with girls after growing up with all brothers, but it's a unique blessing that I appreciate over and over again when I can come home to a friend to talk to about girl things.


910 N 900 E #104 is where I am now.
It's the first home I've had on a numbered street, which feels more grown up for some reason. In a lot of ways, this home has shaped who I am today more than any other home. The places I grew up with my family laid a foundation for my life; they helped me discover who I am at the core. But this home is where I've had the experiences that have helped me become that person. This is the home where I've dealt with the hardest trials, where I've doubted myself the most, and where I've experienced the darkest of my days. But it's also the place that's refined me, that's taught me how to feel true joy, and that led to meeting some of the most important people in my life. I don't know how much longer this will be my home (according to signed contracts it will be at least a year), but I know that no matter how much longer I stay here or where I go after leaving it, I wouldn't trade my life in 104 for anything. This home helped me become confident. It helped my become closer to my Heavenly Father. It helped me become me. 

what i would have blogged about if i blogged back then

My nostalgia continues, folks. There's just something about this time of year that makes me think about days gone by.

I began this blog in September 2010, which feels like a lifetime ago.  In September 2010, I had just begun my senior year in high school and was on my way to entering adulthood. In September 2010, I had already solidified a deeply rooted hatred for Calculus (which is going strong today, in case you were wondering), I was struggling hard core with self-image, and I spent a lot of time reminiscing (some things never change). 

But I obviously had a life before September 2010, even if this blog doesn't share it. So, to appease my constant need to reminisce, I consulted Facebook and old journals to decide what I would have blogged about if I'd started my blog just one month earlier. 

If I'd blogged in August 2010, I would have written about Disney movie nights with Abby, Maddie, and Emma. I would have shared my future family as told by Maddie

and Maddie's future family as told by me

I would have explained Emma's lovely interpretation of a horse sitting down and Abby's confusion about how a person would eat if he couldn't bend his elbows. 

If I had blogged in August 2010, I would have talked about how ten days in Germany just wasn't enough and how much I wanted to go back. 

If I had blogged in August 2010, I would have shared my senior schedule and my goals for my senior year and how I couldn't believe that high school was almost over. 

Most importantly, if I had blogged in August 2010, I would have written about my oldest brother's wedding. I would have written about the beautiful summer home a family friend let us stay in and the joy of seeing family and old friends and how much I wished Preston could have been there to share such a happy moment with the rest of the family and my joy at finally finally finally getting a sister of my own. Oh, and that small detail that my brother married the love of his life. I guess that was pretty important too. 

ps. can we take a minute to appreciate how tiny and baby-faced the boys were and how long my hair was? kthanksbye.

nostalgia

I know you're supposed to live in the present, but sometimes I can't help but miss the past...

the tide

When I was in the seventh grade, I had a friend named Joe. At least, I think his name was Joe; it's been a long time. And to be fair, I don't quite think that "friend" is the proper label for our relationship. 

In all actuality, we were mere acquaintances who formed a quasi-friendship out of necessity and convenience. We were in the same gym class—a gym class that was populated quite heavily with sweaty 13-year-old jocks with quickly developing superiority complexes and tiny cheerleader girls who were already learning the fine art of cattiness and manipulation. My middle school housed nearly every pubescent stereotype in existence.

Joe was not a jock, and I was not a tiny cheerleader girl. So we stuck together. 

We didn't interact much outside of gym class, and after the school year was over, he moved away.

Several months later, I found out through MySpace (yes, this was still in the days of MySpace) that he had an aggressive form of cancer.

Today I found myself wondering what happened to Joe. 

And then I thought about all the Joes there have been in my life. The people who were once important in some way—even if it was just to help me make it through middle school P.E.—who disappeared after a short while and whose life and futures are completely ambiguous to me. People who I once knew and trusted and confided in who now wouldn't stop to talk to me if we saw each other at the grocery store. People I wouldn't stop to talk to at the grocery store. 

People flow in and out of your life as regularly as the tide laps against the shore. Some stay forever. Some stay for years. Some only stay for a short season. And I guess that in some cases, we'll never know the fate of the Joes in our lives. And that's sad. 

But I guess that's life. 

And the fact that that's sometimes what life means is even sadder. 

what i used to think about happiness

I used to think I knew what happiness is.

I used to think that to be happy—to be truly happy—I couldn't have any troubles in my life. I could never be sad or discouraged. That I had to have a winning smile pasted onto my face all day, every day—never faltering, never wavering, never failing.

I used to think that it meant that I had to have a skip in my step and that I had to view every new circumstance—no matter how challenging or scary or strange—with complete and utter optimism. It meant no trepidation, no fear, and no worry.

I used to think that my happiness was more or less tied to external forces—the people, the events, the situations that I was presented with on a daily basis. I used to think that my internal desire to be happy could be overridden by things outside of my control. That I couldn’t choose happiness in the face of adversity or trial when everything was going wrong.

But I’ve learned a few things. I don’t pretend to have a perfect knowledge or even that I implement what few things I know all the time, but I don’t like focusing on doing everything perfectly. I believe that each day is a clean slate and that the sun brings another chance at life along with its light and heat.

Now I know that true happiness is the kind that comes from within. Frankly, my happiness doesn't have anything to do with you. Not my true, deep happiness. The happiness that's real and that lasts is about me and God. And that's it. Being at peace with myself and trusting in Him is the only way to find happiness that isn't fleeting or superficial. The people and places and events in my life add greatly to my happiness, but they're not the root. The root is within me, and the external factors nourish my happiness so that it can grow. And I'm so grateful for the people who help me grow. 

I know that I can be happy even when times are tough. I can be happy when I've fallen down and don't know how to make it back to my feet again. I can be happy when it feels like there's nothing to be happy about. Sure it's harder. But it can be done. Because there is always something to be happy about, even if it's a small thing.

I know that being happy doesn't mean never having a bad day. It doesn't mean that I have to enjoy every moment of every day. It doesn't mean that I can't get frustrated or discouraged when things aren't going according to plan. But it does mean that I have to try. I have to make the best with what I have and pray for a brighter tomorrow. Because tomorrow will come. And it will be beautiful. 

True happiness means closing my eyes every night knowing that despite all the mistakes and the slip-ups, the disappointment and discouragement, I tried a little harder to be my best self. That I trusted a little more, I worried a little less, and I prayed a little longer. It means that I know who I am and who I can become. It means that I understand that I'm weak and human and that I forgive myself when I fall short.

Happiness does not require perfection.

And that's pretty convenient, because I'm sure not perfect, but I'm most definitely happy. 

the year I learned

It's time for some reflection. I hope I'm not too late--we're a full week into 2014, after all--but I believe that every day can be a new beginning. That we don't have to wait for a new year to change or progress. And in all reality, there was so much to reflect on that I needed a few extra days in order to really mull it all over. The last year of my life deserves far more reflection and far more eloquence than I can give it, but I will try to string together a few meager words that express at least a fraction of the thoughts and feelings that are bursting inside of my heart and soul.

2013 was the year that I learned. 

I learned that having weaknesses doesn't make me weak--it makes me human. And I learned that those weaknesses don't define me.  Weaknesses are a foreshadowing of who you can become with faith and hard work. I learned that weaknesses can be turned into strengths. 

I learned how to be happy. I didn't previously know that happiness was a skill that could be acquired. Maybe for some people it comes as naturally as the ability to sleep or move their fingers, but I had to learn it. I had to learn that happiness will never last when it is tied to outside influences. For happiness to be true happiness, it had to be tied to the innermost parts of who I am. It has to be tied to my Heavenly Father and the gospel. 

I learned what forgiveness is. For most of my life, I mistakenly believed that to forgive somebody (including myself) was to pardon the mistakes or wrongs they (or I) had made. But this year I learned that forgiveness isn't about the other person at all--it is about me. To forgive isn't to sanction misdeeds, it's to free myself of the chains that unforgiven wrongs wrap around my body, constricting and confining me and holding me back from moving on and becoming my true self. I learned that it's usually the hardest to forgive myself, but it's worth it when those chains fall alway and sweet relief floods my body. 

I learned to believe in the good in the world. To believe in strength, love, and charity. To believe in second chances, room to grow, and focusing my eyes forward. In growth, in trying, in change. 

I learned that I can grow and learn from trials and mistakes. It's not easy. It hurts, and it often feels hopeless. But working through that pain and struggle makes me a better, stronger, happier person. And further down the road from disappointment and hurt, I can see how much I've learned and changed. And that instills in me a happiness that can't be described in words. 

I learned that no matter how hard or terrible today was, there is always tomorrow. And tomorrow can always be better, if I let it. How my tomorrow is is completely conditional on how I choose to think and act.

I learned to keep trying. To cut myself some slack. To speak more kindly to myself and to others. To get back up when I fall down. To trust 100 percent in my Heavenly Father. To believe in myself.

I learned that I'm not perfect. I'm not even close. I've learned the same lessons time and time again and will most likely have to learn many of them yet another time or two until they're drilled into my head. I've learned that I will make mistakes over and over again. And that's okay. 

This year I learned how to learn.