Dear Brother Joseph,

    Words cannot express the eternal gratitude I have for you. How little you understood as you entered that grove and how great the mantle you carried as you stepped out. Your vision was magnificent and you were ridiculed for what you saw, but you knew it, you knew that God knew it, and you could not deny it. Your suffering was not in vain, Brother Joseph, because I know it too and despite the turmoil and confusion of this ever-changing world, I absolutely cannot deny it. 
    They say that men try to change the world with battles, but when God wants to change the world he sends a baby. On December 23, 1805, he sent you on the darkest day of the year, just as light began to come back to the earth. You were the light. You were the instrument that has made it possible for millions to have the gospel--even all the earth. Can those two words suffice? Thank you? They are so minute compared to the expansive, everlasting, eternal blessings you have given me the opportunity to partake of. 
    Through you, I have come to better know my Father in Heaven and that it's ok to ask questions. You've taught me to have an eternal perspective and to endure trials well. Your example has shown me the way to be a steadfast, stalwart disciple of Jesus Christ. I love you. And as I reflect upon all the suffering and sacrifice you undertook, I can also feel your burning pride for this generation that is rising to be a force of good in all nations. Your endurance brought this to pass and I want you to know that I will be joining that force soon. 
    O, the joy you must be filled with in the kindgom of our Father. And though these words are feeble, as am I, thank you. I'm proud that you are my heritage. You are a great and noble man and if every man were like you, without a doubt, the very powers of hell would be shaken forever. Happiest of birthdays to you.

    Love always,

    Michaela Maurine

I've gotten into the habit of writing on this blog when I'm upset and I need to be heard. I guess cyberspace is a pretty good listening ear. But I think I have mis-informed my readers (if I have any). I have been representing myself in a cryptic, deep, dark, dramatic kind of way and I realized that's not what I want to be. That's not who I am. And that's not what I'm advocating.

Yes, I am sometimes cryptic. To most people that know me, I am the girl that will tell you anything because I am so open. If you ask me about my life I will disclose my whole heart to you. But in reality, I don't disclose myself to almost anyone. I can count on one hand the people that really know me. Sure, I will tell you any story you want to hear and if you ask I will tell you even the deepest part of my heart, but my soul is still pretty untouched. My crypticness stems from a longing to be known. I guess that really doesn't make sense at all. I'm still trying to figure myself out.

Yes, I am deep. Wow. That felt good to say. I don't claim to be the most knowledgable, interesting person on the planet, but I have a constant flow of deep things in my mind and I want to share them. My little neurons are just trying to comprehend how to get these thoughts out in an effective, pleasing way.

Yes, I am sometimes dark. Not in a Satanic, evil kind of way, but in a focus on the negative. It is just so easy to feel upset and turn to the pen for some relief. And then I end up hitting "Publish" because I think my writing seems kind of beautiful and then people think I am weighed down and depressed. 

Yes, I can be dramatic. Like right now for example. "Look at me! I am so misunderstood and mysterious!"

But all of this isn't the essence of who I am. This is who I am:

I am a human trying to understand herself through writing. I am a girl trying to develop her talents. I am a chaser of light. I am a seeker of good things and satisfying connection. I am a friend and a counselor. I am positive even when there isn't a clear solution. I am a baby and I get scared sometimes. I am strong and I can face hard things with my chin up. I have an undeniable testimony of the gospel of Jesus Christ. I am content with who I am. 

I can't tell you that I won't post any more sad things on this blog. Writing is my outlet. And hard things do happen. But I can tell you that I am a happy person and I want to represent myself more accurately. The truth is, happy people are flippin' attractive and there is nothing that can replace a joyful heart.

Me as a wee lass. Haven't changed a bit.

 

I Really Am Really Happy

My crow's feet are getting deeper

and the winds that bellow through the pipe organ in my chest are getting windier. Uncontrollably so.

Sorry, I'll cut the crypticness. I seem to smile and laugh a lot lately. 

That's all.  

I walk alone in the rain and the droplets hitting the concrete lull me into a sense of security. Everyone's hair gets weighed down by the wet, but mine gets curly.

I walk alone a lot. But I like it because I think my brain is pretty interesting. And I smile as I walk alone because nobody knows who I am and that somehow adds to the humor of it all.

I walked behind a couple today holding each other under an umbrella and instead of looking forward bitterly as I shivered by my lonesome, I got a little giddy.

Life is so delicious. It looked strange for a while there, but after a bit of skeptically staring, I took a bite and it made me grin. I don't have many people in this huge place to share this lovely, delectable life with but I have this fluorescent-lit hall and it's wildly beautiful.

I hate how difficult it is to string words together that are happy. Darkness just seems so unexplored and risky. There are innumerable words to describe the unknown. 

I am taking on a challenge to write beautifully about the light--about incandescence. 

Describing my contentment with life and myself and with God will be a great adventure.

Blindness

I was inexplicably happy 

with my hand in yours.

After all that work

and all this time,

you were finally mine.

And we walked.

We put our adventure shoes on

and we explored that city we built

together.

To the right was the diner

where we had our first date.

And on top of that building

you spun me around and

laughed at my ridiculous curls.

On that park bench we sat for hours

and we dreamt of what might be

in the clouds.

That museum is where you taught me about

silence.

Our city was beautiful once.

But this morning I woke up

and rubbed my tired eyes and

and a layer of blindness fell to the floor.

Where once a shining skyscraper stood,

now was a pile of broken windows.

The city we constructed was in

apocalyptic ruin.

I still had paint on my forehead and fingertips

from finishing one of our buildings

yet the masterpieces were already decaying.

Foundations were cracking,

walls crumbling,

trees burning.

You let go of my hand and

I lost you in the chaos.

That city is haunted at every

street corner

by your eyes and your calluses and your

memories.

Good thing I am no city girl.

Jet lag

I am sitting in a poorly-lit airport terminal 

and blurs of businessmen and angsty mothers surround me. 
I've been watching the planes take off and land 

for delay after layover 

and the weight of this mansion of concrete and wings 
is sinking into my impressionable mind. 

This place is the hub of all emotion. 

Desperate lovers embrace tenderly. 

Wide-eyed adventurers tap their nervous toes, 
awaiting embarkation--awaiting unknown. 

Babies ensconced in their mother's arms sleep restlessly, 

oblivious of what this terminal entails. 

Clean cut suits and skirts arrive home after months of being away--

exposing their shiny new countenances to those most familiar to them. 

Immigrants walk confidently with absolute potential and fear in their eyes. 

Elated hellos. 

Teary farewells. 

Certainty. 

Insecurity. 

This is the hub. 

It is the center of every inkling of the heart. 

And from here I could take a jet plane and 

fly anywhere. 

Trailing Clouds of Glory

This life is but a remembrance. 

The souls of men were forged

in God's courts on high an eternity ago. 

We were taught by his side, 

touched by his gentle finger, 

and filled with light for the journey.

"Our birth is but a sleep and a forgetting:

The Soul that rises with us, our life's Star, 

Hath had elsewhere its setting, 

And cometh from afar: 

Not in entire forgetfulness, 

And not in utter nakedness, 

But trailing clouds of glory do we come 

From God, who is our home."*

When truth is heard and light is felt,

our spirits leap in absolute elation,

for they recognize a particle of home.

These passions and philosophies sounded in our ears

and fabricated in our minds

are no newer to us than our mother's voice.

We've always known them.

It is but a remembrance.

As the journey continues,

we search and scour for familiarity--

any bell that rings and reverberates 

that divine sound wave is clung to

with desperate longing for the true country.

Satisfaction is a starving beast

that devours as much substance

as can fit in its mouth.

But what can completely fill this greedy monster

but the bread of life and living water

found only on the grand supper table above?

Time keeps our heads forward,

but if we could glance back,

we would see our heals trailing clouds of glory,

linking us to our origin and 

pushing us to that eternal potential. 

And after a lifetime of

hoping and leaping,

ringing bells and going to bed hungry, 

we will arrive in the forging place once more and exclaim,

"I have come home at last! 

This is my real country! 

I belong here. 

This is the land I have been looking for all my life, 

though I never knew it till now."**

*from a poem written by a genius called William Wordsworth

**from The Last Battle by an even greater genius called C.S. Lewis

This Magic Moment

Long live all the magic we made.

Top Ten Most Incandescent Moments of Senior Year (in no particular order):

#1 The lava cave. While in St. George, with sixteen of the greatest people, we hiked in Snow Canyon and discovered a lava cave. Though dark and almost impossible to navigate sans flashlights, we brought light into that pocket of earth with who we were together. We sat in the back of the cave and sang the EFY medley and I was overcome by the force of good we were. How did I ever get so privileged to be apart of this group of stellar human beings? We really are as the armies of Heleman and in about a year almost every one of those kids will be out in the mission field serving the Lord.

#2 Prom. God made my heart light that night despite my not-so-desirable circumstances. I couldn't wipe the smile off my face. I didn't have a date but I made my appearance at the dance anyway and I felt like I was on top of the world. It was one of those moments when I was really proud to be me. I respect myself for that night. I turned my tear-stained pillow into something magical.

#3 Hiking in the pouring rain. I went to St. George with my strange baby child and one afternoon we hiked in Snow Canyon. The rain came pouring but that only encouraged our running and giggling and sense of adventure. That was the best soggy bagel I've ever had. If you know how wild we are, you probably know that I'm leaving out quite a few details.

#4 Imagine Dragons. Forgive this word that is becoming cliche, but that night I felt INFINITE. I stood by the side of someone I care about dearly and all expectations were exceeded. The bass reached out of the speakers and took hold of my heart until I couldn't differentiate my heart beat from the beat of the drum. I kept closing my eyes and committing every feeling and sound to memory because every ounce of the night was breathtakingly beautiful. The snow swirled around us as we sat in the car and I wanted to stay there forever--not because it was cold without but because it was endlessly joyful within.

#5 Empire State Building. The wind was blowing and it was bitter cold, but I didn't even care. I huddled with three of my best friends and together we gazed in awe upon the beautiful view of the Big Apple. For a moment, time stood still. The four of us talked about how we'll never get this moment again. We would never be in New York as seniors in high school with so much future and potential ahead of us. I soaked every second in and let that tiny era of time permeate my very being. That night, we got stuck in the subway for an hour and a half at one in the morning but nothing could shake our elation. 

#6 Senior dinner dance. That night was such a great climax to my story-book year. The food was delicious, the music was loud, the atmosphere was young, and I wouldn't choose any other group of people to dance with on this entire planet. All inhibitions were lost and whether I was dancing with my friends, dancing with strangers, or dancing alone I was confident and happy. "Tonight I'm gonna dance for all that we've been through, but I don't wanna dance if I'm not dancin' with you."*

#7 Pi day. It's funny to add this day to the "top ten moments" list because half of the day was the lowest I was all year. I was feeling depressed and disconnected and forgotten and confused. I had a lot of deep feelings for many people and I felt like they weren't reciprocating or understanding. I had taken a step back from everyone and my heart was physically hurting from all the emotional pain. And then I got a blessing from my Dad. I recorded it on my phone and took that recording with my bike to the park. There I laid in the grass and watched the clouds lazily creep by as I listened to my blessing again. I realized I had lost myself and my eyes burned with all the salt rimming their lids. But as the sun peaked through the clouds, I felt my soul peak through the darkness and I got a glimpse of the Self that I had lost. I listened to While We're Young (kind of cheesy but has a really great message) and the hope of the atonement filled my emptiness. That light endured the night as I went to six mission call openings and then ate pie with my two favorite girls. Christ is so merciful to those drowning in darkness if they but have the faith to ask for succor.

#8 That one night in Orem. As tradition provokes, my strange baby child and I sat in Barnes & Noble for over three hours browsing, reading and writing. Two minutes after leaving that peaceful library, we were screaming and laughing like maniacs. Krispy Kream, International, Chinese fire drills, and empty parking lots make for really great nights. Oh, the variety that friendship holds. 

#9 Boating around the island of Capri. I sat there on this tiny motor boat with my wonderful parents and took in the whites of the cliffs and the blues of the Mediterranean and I couldn't imagine a more perfect, blissful moment. At that very minute, my friends were going to AP Lit and I was sailing around this island with not a care in the world. I closed my eyes and reflected upon each adventure the past two weeks had brought me and my heart burst with gratitude. I was able to walk where Christ walked, explore ruins, taste authentic cuisines, and meet inspired men and women. Missing so much school was worth it--never let your schooling get in the way of your education.

#10 The missionary announcement and the walk that followed. No amount of intricate diction can express the feelings of that day. I can't envisage hearing Thomas S. Monson's proclamation to all future missionaries and not feeling the power and truth in his words. My spirit lept at the possibility of going out on a mission so soon and when I got a text from my best friend to go on a walk, I couldn't get to his house fast enough. We hiked through a dry creek bed and entrusted one another with our excitement and fears. To be apart of this amazing generation is not only an incandescent moment in my senior year, but it will make for an incandescent life.

Here's to the adventures ahead.

*stolen from Caitlan Wrubell and Taylor Swift

My heart strings and yours.

"An invisible red thread connects those who are destined to meet, regardless of the time, the place, or the circumstance. The thread may stretch or tangle, but it will never break."

I never planned on meeting you. I wasn't hoping to get my heart invested in this place or this group or these mountains. I tried to guard my soul. But as I got closer to my new home, my whole being danced in the slack of the red thread between you and me. It had been pulled taut for so long but the connection was certain. I couldn't avoid it. My little finger was tied to your little finger and no matter how much it was pulled and knotted, I was destined to be here in this place, at this time, with YOU. All of you. 

You have made me laugh so hard I thought my abs would never recover. You have made me cry so much I thought my tear ducts would be eternally empty. You have made me feel more confident in myself than I've ever felt in my life. You have made me question myself and examine myself closer in the mirror and wonder what I'm doing wrong. You have understood me better than anyone. You have made me feel alone and unloved. You have taught me to love others unconditionally. You have taught me patience. You have made me a better me. You have made me sing and dance and run and scream and I can't thank you enough.

That red thread will always connect us, no matter the distance of time and space. I will always walk with a lighter step because there's a fine union between my heart and yours--and that union only became fonder as we swayed in accord, walked for a cure, and sent praises heavenward. 

"I'd like to believe everyone who comes across this blog was destined to do so for one reason or another". In some small way, whether I know you well or not, you have touched my life and I hope I've touched yours; for wherever our paths go, we will forever have this red thread--this life line--that binds us together. And it will never be severed. 

When you are bored during an AP test...

Haikus aplenty:

I hate AP tests;
they are no good for my brain.
Let summer begin.

With mouth open wide,
the heaven's light was absorbed
and knowledge received.

You do not steal hearts,
my dear, you're more devious.
You steal fingerprints.

Darker the night fall
and deeper the stark silence
when you are not here.

No love at first sight.
Though I saw you first today,
I knew you before.

In my eighteen years,
I've learned that life is about
taking wild risks.

Windows down, bare feet.
There is nothing more perfect
than those summer nights.

Happiness, my dear,
is not a goal to achieve,
but a way to live.

The light, effulgent,
penetrated my great soul,
and God smiled down.

Palpitations

Her cheek felt smooth and cold on the stone,
but that wasn't what enticed her to stay; 
it was the steady beat
that radiated from something so solid. 
She was no animist, 
but she felt a pulse in that pillar
that was life-bearing, 
familiar, 
for it was the rhythm
she had been dancing to 
for eighteen years. 
It was not only contained in that stone, 
but it embraced her universe--
perpetually reciprocal to the electricity in her heart.
 
Her mind steadied as she felt the beat on her cheekbone 
but the current in her veins experienced a short. 
She had, what the doctors call, 
a palpitation. 
The short sent her heart beating 
for one tantalizing, breathtaking moment, 
and then, an awakening--
the rhythm that had dominated her existence since 
her mother's womb was 
changing. 
Her heart's sporadic throbbing
was only a symptom
of the cosmos
shifting. 

Peaches

Your cheeks always reminded me of peaches. They were perfectly round and soft and sweet and life-colored when you smiled. I used to rub my cheeks on yours so mine would be as beautiful. As you carried me up those sentimental stairs, I whimpered because I didn't want to be banished to a room, far away from you. I wrapped my arms around your neck and pressed my dimples to yours. You stopped on the staircase and looked me in the eyes with tenderness. You told me I was precious. That helped me relent to the rest of the journey to your great, pine bed. My little body felt littler in the king-sized covers, but when you climbed into bed next to me, your arms were my comfort. 

The ritual of nap time endeared me to you. First, we would decide whether to sleep side to side, front to back, back to back, or front to front. I remember I thought I might hurt your feelings if I said, "back to back," because it meant we wouldn't be as close. Then, we would practice what "Goodnight Moon" taught  us, and say goodnight to every object in the room. "Goodnight window. Goodnight ceiling. Goodnight dresser. Goodnight pillow." We would say goodnight until there weren't anymore goodnights to be said. I always woke up from my nap to find you were no longer there, and that sent me into a moment of panic. Knowing you were just one floor away brought me relief.

It's all very poignant because the bones of that child you put down for naps are the same bones that live inside of me today. I still sit next to you on the second row and look at your peachy cheeks and hope I inherit your beauty. I still hold you as tight as I can because I know these are fleeting moments. You still tell me I'm precious. And now I'm crying because our "goodnights" are becoming goodbyes. "Goodbye window. Goodbye ceiling. Goodbye dresser. Goodbye pillow." Soon, I will turn over in my springy dorm room bed and you really won't be there and my panic will not be assuaged by the knowledge that you are just downstairs in your office.  

But here's to the electricity between our souls and the dancing in the family room. Here's to the yearning after knowledge and the badgers in the backyard. Here's to the divine talks and the giggling past curfew. Here's to the exploring and the accordion man that made our night so quintessential. And here's to the many more dimpley, peachy cheeks ahead, for after I pack all my t-shirts and journals and move to that springy dorm room bed, we still have eternity together; and we'll never run out of good mornings and hellos.

Happy Mother's Day, best friend.

A haiku about how I felt tonight.

Every bone inside

Wants to be anti-social

And I must fight them. 

This Is My Standard.

simple as that.

My 7th grade self would be disappointed...

The angsty seventh grade version of me was given an envelope on the first day of English and told to write a letter to herself as a senior. That English teacher has since moved to Japan and that letter has probably been lost, but even though I'll never receive that moment of time in my mailbox, I can't help but think back on my seventh grade self and wonder what she would think of who I have become and what I've accomplished.

Arriving into teenage-dom, I had a lengthy mental list of expectations for how high school would turn out. I religiously watched Lizzie McGuire as a kid and envisioned the prettier, older Michaela confidently walking into Freshman year and finding the heart throb, Ethan Craft (who, looking back, wasn't even that  attractive)that would be the center of all pining and the nerdy best friend that would get me through it all and eventually steal my heart. I imagined bumping into the hottest boy in school and dropping all my books and having that classic romantic comedy meet-cute that makes your nose wrinkle. I looked forward to a time of wild spontaneity and boys that loved me and being the girl that came out on top and conquered the drama of high school.

But life has a funny way of taking it's own path, no matter how firmly your plans are set. I think that young girl in the locker bay six years ago would have been miffed to see this slightly older girl--the elder incarnate of herself--and how certain things played out.

No, she did not clumsily meet the hottest guy in school and fall in love. No, she did not get asked out as often as she hoped. No, she never really had a boyfriend. No, she is not graduating from Robinson Secondary School. No, she did not have any poignant moment with her second grade best friend nor did they really ever say good bye. No, her best friend didn't confess his secret love for her or ask her to prom. No, she doesn't get to room with the darling girl she planned on rooming with in college. No, she didn't conquer some high-strung conflict and run off into the sunset as the most well-loved, popular girl in school. But this elder incarnate is realizing some things.

Maybe I would have had a grand time with a boyfriend at all those football games and dances and maybe I really, really wish that my best friend actually did fall in love with me. Maybe I pictured walking on graduation day in blue and gold and being the proudest Ram out there. And maybe, just maybe, I feel a little perturbed that he isn't taking me to my senior prom.

But despite all of the disappointment and dashed expectations, this senior in high school would do it all over again if she could. Life took her on a more beautiful path than she could have created for herself.

I am not graduating from Robinson like I always dreamed as a little girl, but I am graduating from a school that has shaped me more than staying at Robinson could have ever done. I will walk across that stage and receive my diploma as a proud Lone Peak Knight. I may not have had many boys falling over me but I did get my first kiss on top of a mountain at sunrise and that was kinda awesome. And I've gone on a ton of really great dates with really great guys. I went to Africa and saw myself truly for the first time, despite the lack of mirrors. I danced with Kenyan women and held their children in my arms. I got accepted to the school I know I'm supposed to go to and I have the sweetest roommate. I've made friendships I could not have envisioned and soul connections that cannot be severed. I continue to learn something new about my strange self everyday. I've gone through heartbreak after let down after lonely night, but I have also had so many dreams realized and so many wild nights when I've felt absolutely infinite--those times have made up for any thwarted hopes.

So, despite the fact that this whole post might be one long defense mechanism to make myself feel better about (don't judge) prom, this era of time has been one of copious amounts of self-discovery and joy. And I think if I had lunch with my 7th grade self, she would be proud of the person I'm becoming. 

The Wanderer

Her eyes aren't bright but she'd like to think that one day someone will call them stormy--the kind of storm that is slightly terrifying but also enthralling and beautiful. She wears t-shirts almost everyday because she thinks trying to look pretty is over-rated and she'd much rather be liked for her brain. She cares too deeply sometimes and it leaves her heart open for poking and prodding and pain. She is too shy to stand up for herself and therefore gets walked on a lot. Her face is made up of freckles and foot prints. People are impressed with her vulnerability but they don't know that there's still a mask over her face. Even when she cries to her best friend, she smiles through the tears because she can't bear to look weak. 

Only a fraction of her heart resides in this place while the rest of the pieces are roaming miles away, embracing people and places that no one understands. She knows that God has a plan for her but still doesn't comprehend how she could ever find someone that loved her enough to deal with her ridiculousness forever. She is self conscious of her teeth and her knees and her poor breathing habits and no one even knows. No one can fully grasp what is in the big-sky landscapes of her mind. 

But somehow she has a gift for seeing through people's happy eyes and knowing. They think that they can hide behind their pupils, but that is the exact place where she finds the portal to their souls. And for some reason, people look into her face and find a safe harbor where their souls can abide. She likes that about herself. When no one else cares or understands, she can be the place where they hide.

Now she's walking on a blanket of grass with her bare feet, feeling every spongey step with her soles. The ground pushes skyward and she presses forward as she hums some song that reminds her of her past. The expanse is vast but warm and familiar. And then the grass stops.

She is standing on the edge of eternity ready to jump and soar.

Mirror Images

"Thank you for being lovely, and weird, and real, and quiet sometimes, and so hyper some other times, and for thinking a lot, and for being relatable, and HUMAN, and for having freckles, and for being 100% completely you."

Sometimes people tap you on the shoulder and say, "Hey, I know you," and you are left awe-struck that anyone could show you to yourself so accurately.

I've been much quieter lately and I didn't think anyone had noticed. But that one girl with the contagious laugh did. She noticed that sometimes all I do is think silently to myself and sometimes I can't stop jumping up and down. And she observed the vulnerability I seem to constantly display. And that I'm the weirdest human being on this large rock we call Earth.

Transform yourselves into mirrors and reflect the light you see in others. This place would be a dark world if no one could see the incandescence within them.

forgive the cheesy picture but it illustrates my point too well.

letters in my trash can

The undelivered.

To John Stamos, forgive me for my frequent eye contact but I think if we had the chance we would be good friends.

To the emu enthusiast, we walked together in heaven. I know it. I like you.

To the manic-depressive writer, I lied. I'm not ok most the time but I'd like to think that I'm good at acting. I'm afraid that time will run out and I will still be burning on the back of your stove. But at least I'm a pot of tea. That's your favorite.

To my best friend born to the worst circumstances, I'll see you again. I promise. But until then, keep laughing that sassy laugh of yours and picking up the kids that cry on the dusty playground. You're a leader. You just might be the one to lift your village out of their slump.

To that one kid, sorry I'm so awkward around you. I blame it on the half year of home schooling.

To the strange baby child, you are the most patient person on this planet. You not only deal with me, but you love me for some reason. You don't know how much that means. I could have tickle fights with you forever.

To my best friend brain, you suck.

To the boy I always turn to, yes. I might be secretly in love with you. But it's the old you, not the new you.

To Brigham Young University, like John Stamos, I think once we break the ice we'll be great friends. But right now you scare me a little.

To the boy that sits alone at lunch and writes, you are more interesting to me than any person at this school. I would choose an enthralling writer over a sports fanatic any day. And I look up to you for having the courage to be yourself.

To the girl with colorful pants and spontaneity in every step, as much as I hate it, I am genuinely happy for you. You remind me of myself a little bit. I know you were jumping around on hotel beds with your best friend that night. So as much as my heart hurts, you make me smile.

To my Canadian seminary teacher, I wish you knew how much you have helped me through when I felt like I couldn't make it.

To Steven Pressfield, thanks. That's all.

To the girl that gets a little teary when she laughs, I'm sorry for making your senior year not as good as you envisioned. I didn't mean to steal your best friend. But she loves you more than you know.

To Eponine, you're not alone, girl.

To my first kiss, thanks for giving me a good example of the way someone should love me. You put most men to shame.

To the college girl, you'll always have a special place in my heart, but as much as we deny it, I think we're drifting. We'll still be grandmas together. Promise. 

To my 10th grade English teacher, I remember the day I told you I was moving away. I got emotional and you told me to never stop using my camera or writing because I was truly talented. I think you were the first one I believed.

To the boy in the halls that asks me how I am, you're too nice and I don't like you. Sorry bud, try being genuine next time.

To that one red head, stop liking shy people. They REALLY aren't for you. You are confident enough to love a confident guy. Trust me. Also you're beautiful and I love you.

To God, I think you know what I'm going to say.

To the music goddess, now I understand why you couldn't get over that jerk for so long. I'm glad you've found someone better.

To Snot College, I hate you so freaking much.

To her, I don't know you well enough to address this letter any other way, but I'm jealous of your talents and you don't know how lucky you are to have him. Please treat him right.

To the Red Devil, you know who she is. We accept the love we think we deserve. 

To Kat Stratford, I don't know who you are but I admire your profanity.

To Eric Mika, I wish you were cooler.

To the biggest smile, I see through your confidence and I don't think you realize how magnificent you are. Also, thanks for calling me brilliant. Getting blog comments is the straight and narrow path to my heart.

To my Mom, your arms are my greatest comfort. Forgive my stormy eyes, but I like the way you wipe my tears away. You believe in my writing more than anyone.

To Imagine Dragons, you make my heart explode. Also, I cry happy tears over you. You're welcome.

To my freckles, never disappear. You're my one beauty.

To senior year, it's been terrible and wonderful and I was wondering if I could ask you one favor? Please slow down.

To my future self, always remember these moments. Keep them in your pocket and let your pocket fill up with memories until it weighs enough to pull your pants down. That's the kind of life you want. 


The more I think the more letters I have so I need to just cut this off or no one will read it.
If you knew every person on this list then you know me pretty well.
If I didn't include you on this, sorry. I probably still like you. 

Voices.

I'm scared that there are no more ideas to be dreamt of; that every combination of words has already been glued together into a montage of syntax and callused fingers. What if every sentence I painstakingly create has already been created? Are there any new ideas? Hasn't some Founding Father or Asian or starving writer already thought these same fabrications before? Sometimes my fingers are reaching and stretching as desperately as they can to grasp onto something original, only to find that there are already thousands of index fingers and pinkies taking claim on that same thought.

But maybe, then, it's the voice that is different. Maybe we're all scribbling the same words but the cadence in our writing makes the distinction. 

The trouble is, I'm still searching for my voice. None of my writing is consistent because I am surrounded by all of this noise. NOISE. And I can't concentrate. I can't hear myself over all of this yelling. I just want to be read and be critiqued and be hated and admired. But my hands covering my ears are not good enough to block out all of these other VOICES. One day I will write like that one girl with long hair. I like her diction and fresh ideas. And then I'll write like that beautiful boy down the street. He can turn a pile of dirt into something exquisite.

What if someday I develop a terminal case of laryngitis?

Disconnect Pt. 2

"Oh, little Michaela. Things will work out, don't you fret. Maybe you don't understand your self, but I understand you. And it's going to be ok. I have immense trust in you and your abilities, so now just trust in Me."

I found a crystal of light in my pocket.

Disconnect

All I do is run around trying to make connections. I just want my heart strings to intertwine with someone else's for two seconds a day and then I will be satisfied. But lately I feel a disconnect, like the lightbulb in my head isn't quite screwed in all the way so there's no light. And ultimately, I have come to realize how lonely my little lightbulb is. It all comes down to this: we are all alone inside our heads.

I stood there today at lunch smiling when I was expected to and giving curtesy laughs to the jokes that weren't funny. I hugged people and wrinkled my nose when they teased me. But when I looked into people's eyes I didn't feel seen. It continually amazes me that it is completely possible to feel lonely in a crowd.

My heart is slowly retreating into the caverns of my rib bones because I'm frightened of this disconnect (I know it's a paradox. Don't tell me what to feel.). I feel this all coming to an end and my fingers are grasping for things that seem just out of reach. I want to make long lasting friendships with people but all "they" ever tell me is that you never stay in touch with your high school friends. 

I'm scared of my own apathy.

I'm scared to go to college by myself.

I'm afraid that even when I think they do, people don't really understand me. You. You think you understand me but you don't see the tears I shed when I'm sitting RIGHT behind you.

Time has me in shackles and gravity keeps me down.

I just want to scream.

It frightens me that I am ultimately alone in my brain and yet I don't understand it. At all. I thought at least I could understand my Self.

Someone please knock me over the head and look into my skull and comprehend what is in my brain.

Someone please screw the lightbulb in. 

It's dark in here.

Alls About MMP

I'm an adult today. So here's a few things about me just because:

1. I dream of going to India. If I could choose anywhere to go on this entire planet, I would go there. The culture, the colors, the textures, the food, the music, the dancing. I love it all. I will adventure there with my husband someday.

2. I'm an "extroverted introvert", as my grandmother would say. I do love social situations and being with people and being wild, but I honestly don't mind spending a Friday night by myself. I like my Self and what I have to say. I think I'm pretty interesting.

3. I have had crushes on boys since I was probably three years old. I never went through the "cooties" stage. I've always loved them and will continue to pine.

4. I like being tickled. No matter how much I protest, I secretly love it. 

5. I took the love language quiz (yeah, don't judge me) and it was impeccably accurate. My #1 love language is quality time. Spending one on one time with my friends makes me feel so loved and looked out for. If someone doesn't take any time to talk to me then I assume we aren't actually that close. And close up there as my #2 love language is physical affection. If you know me well enough, you know that I am the snuggliest baby you've ever met. And I am always in the mood for a hug.

6. My roof is my safe haven. I climb up on the roof almost everyday (unless it't winter time). I feel more connected to myself when I'm above everything and I don't have to listen to all the voices coming at me from all sides. I think some of the times I have felt closest to God is when I've sat on the highest point of the roof and prayed aloud. My mind has room to breathe up there and the stars seem that much brighter.

7. I wear an Irish wedding ring on my left index finger and it's been there for almost 4 years now. It is made up of two hands (representing friendship) holding a heart (representing love) with a crown on top (representing loyalty). The Irish say that friendship, love, and loyalty make up the best marriages. And when the point of the heart is facing out, it means that you are still searching for your true love. I can't wait for some man out there to take that ring off my finger and turn the point of the heart around.

8. I like the smell of campfire, even when it lingers on my clothes. Being in the mountains or in the forest is heaven to me.

9. I have a favorite freckle on my face. And when I use mouth wash I watch it dance around on my cheek.

10. I'm deathly afraid of mannequins. I know it is ridiculous, but seriously. They could come alive behind your back and kill you. Anytime. So watch out.

11. I have a talent for writing letters and I write people letters at least once a week. I love stringing words together into beautiful reminders of who people are. When people forget their worth, I feel responsible to remind them.

12. I like taking pictures. Of landscapes, and people, and sports. But mostly I like photo shoots with people. Because I like showing them how beautiful they are through my eyes. Building others' confidence is my favorite.

13. When I drive by myself I scream, laugh at myself, and repeat. I'm also usually smiling for no good reason, just that I like driving and I like the music in my car.

14. I don't like being wet unless I'm at a lake or a spontaneous water fight breaks out. Being wet means being cold and having to wash my large amount of hair AGAIN. So if you ever want to play with me in the summer, know that I would much rather roll around in the grass than jump into a pool. Unless it's one of those wild nights. Don't ask.

15. On my 16th birthday, I got asked on my first date ever. He brought me a bouquet of flowers and asked me in the middle of a huge crowd. Yeah, you better believe I was blushing like a tomato. 

16. My hands are always cold. I think they are meant for being held.

17. If you even read one entry in my journal, you would know exactly who I like. It's dangerous. I know. Especially since I carry my journal everywhere I go. Anyone could go sneaking around and discover all my deep dark secrets. But I suggest that you don't. Because one of my deep dark secrets is that I've always wanted to punch someone. So yeah. That could be unleashed on you. Don't try anything.

18. I'm an adventurer and always will be. And I'm excited to find a darling person that will adventure with me.

Just trying to figure it out.

I went to St. George this weekend with many of my friends and I sat there one night, curled up in my sleeping bag, giggling with some of the greatest girls I know, and I found myself in a very different conversation than "so who do you like?" 

It was a soul to soul talk. And I don't think I realized until then how much company I have in the "struggling with my self confidence" state. I look at these beautiful girls who are all outgoing and happy and I think, "Wow, what is wrong with me? Why can't I just be silly and cute like them?" but as we all spilled our guts to each other, I found that I'm not the only one who is still trying to figure out who she is and how she feels.

I haven't decided if I am who I think people view me or if I am who I view myself.

In one day I can feel so much.

Today, I am sad. I feel disconnected and far away from people. Boys don't care. I am not particularly good at anything. I don't do anything hard because I'm scared of failure. No one likes me. I don't stand out in a crowd of Mormon girls that are just like me. I don't really like mirrors because I don't always like what I see. I could disappear and no one would notice. I write all the time but it isn't articulate or beautiful and it will never measure up. I want to cry. I get embarrassed. I disappoint.

Today, I like him. Oh wait, no. I love HIM.

Today, I am happy. I feel connected to people. I know that I am desirable even when boys don't like me. I am good at stuff. I can do hard things. I am liked. I am loved. I am a light. I am cute even with metal in my mouth. People look forward to seeing my freckles every day. I am smart. I can put words together pretty well--like I could be a writer someday. I am so giddy that my heart feels like it will explode. I can laugh at myself. I exceed expectations. I am pretty freaking awesome.




"So this is my life. And I want you to know that I am both happy and sad and I'm still trying to figure out how that could be."

-Perks of Being a Wallflower

I guess this means I'm human.