Living the good life

Hello, world. It's me, Chelsea.

I was trying to come up with a suitable topic for this, the first post in years. What do you say to a crowd of people who no longer know your innermost thoughts (or, more likely, those who do. Hi Mom!)? I toyed with politics (dangerous), what I'm doing with life (meh) or even an obligatory New Year goals post (but really, who cares?). Then I realized, there's only one thing that matters.

Life is good.

2016 was a rough year. And by that, I don't mean the celebrities who died or the natural disasters or anything you could find in the newspaper. I mean I attended 3 funerals of people I loved. My professional life was difficult. I had multiple issues with my computer and phone and car. I felt so incredibly lonely I seriously wondered if I would ever be happy in this place I lived.

But for every disadvantage, every trial, every time I felt like giving up, there was always something good. I went to places I've never been with people I love. I kicked some bad habits (and acquired a few more, but progress is progress). I made friends, the kind of friends you're old enough to realize that you will keep for life.

On the religious side, I'm recognizing how Heavenly Father communicates with me. My favorite conversation with Him happened earlier this year, and it went like this:
Me: Heavenly Father, this was a rough month. Things 1 2 and 3 happened, and I'm nearly at the end of my rope. Every aspect of my life is blowing up. Father, I just need something. Anything.

Him: Well, I gave you Pokemon Go, didn't I?

Fair point.

There will always be good things. You can always try to be better. It's not like life pauses and wherever you are, that's how it'll always be. We have the ability to change and to define good in what we see. We can rise above, and become more than the things that happen to us. I define my reactions, and so I define my life. And that is why my life is beautiful.

Guide to scary movies

They say everyone likes to get scared – but they’re wrong. Oddly enough, most sane people actually prefer to live their lives without terror. But, if for some reason you insist on watching a scary movie and don’t want to deal with the consequences, this how-to guide is for you.

Step 1: Don’t watch the movie. Really, don’t watch it. This method is safe, reliable, and has a 100% satisfaction guarantee. Frankly, I’m surprised more people don’t choose this option.

Step 2: Have the right equipment. If for some reason you chose to ignore step 1, or, like me, you have friends who don’t take "no" for an answer, keep your handy dandy blanket with you at all times. During freaky parts feel free to hold it over your head and plug your ears. If you can’t see or hear it, it doesn't exist. Food is also nice. Instead of screaming, you could eat.

Step 3: Kill the mood. During those high-stress parts of the movie, find some kind of distraction and remark on it. This could be a strange facial feature on one of the actors, a joke you just thought of, or what you logically would have done in their place. Your friends might find it annoying, but considering they liked you enough to make you watch the movie instead of telling you to leave, they’ll probably forgive you.

Step 4: Watch something harmless. As in, not next week or even the next day but right after the movie gets over. Staying up until three in the morning watching Winnie-the-Pooh is preferable to staying up until three wondering if you’ll wake in the morning. It is also a good way to avoid nightmares.

Step 5: Don’t go home alone. You will imagine every possible scenario from the movie – it’s inevitable. The presence of another person is very calming with the added benefit of having a human shield should any of the movie’s plots actually be true. However, a phone call is an acceptable, but not preferable, substitute. Call someone older/wiser than yourself who has not watched a scary movie recently and doesn't have a twisted sense of humor. They may find it funny to freak you out, but you’re the one who could potentially be abducted/possessed/eaten/mutilated/whatever else was the content of your movie.

Step 6: Don’t sleep alone. Have a sleepover. Or sleep in the same room as a sibling, or your spouse. Or on your parents’ bedroom floor. Or in your dog’s kennel. Really, anything is good. That way, when you wake up from the nightmares you could have avoided by following step 4, you won’t be alone. It’s hard to worry about a zombie apocalypse or alien abduction when the person in the room with you is snoring.

Step 7: Remember, rethink, and revise. Remember the terror you felt. Imagine how happy you would have been without all those terrifying images in your head. Regretfully consider how much sleep you would have gotten had you not been up late thinking about the movie. Shake your head as you recognize that you made a bad decision and your time would be far better spent watching something a little happier. Decide to make better choices in your life from that moment on.

Step 8: Never watch a scary movie again. Case closed.

Protector

Me, I'm a protector. It doesn't matter what you say to or about me; I will move on. Sure, I hurt like anyone else, but I'm quick to forgive - especially if there are cookies and/or chocolate involved. :-) However, when it comes to my family and my friends I'm a little less forgiving. I wish I could take all their pain away. I wish I could be somebody who's depended on, who can make things better just by being there. Even if it's not me, I just don't want them to hurt anymore. I guess that's where this next poem comes from.

Protector

If I could, I would wrap you

In a blanket soft and warm

I would hide you from the monsters

And all those memories which do you harm

If I could, I'd protect you

I would stand up in your place

I'd do battle with the demons

To keep the smile on your face

If I could, I would hold you

In my arms and hug you tight

We'd sink into the depths together

Emerge in a world full of sunlight

Poem

She slept while dreaming of the world

She left behind some time ago

And thought her heart would break again

From weakness to internal foes

She put her heart into a letter

Sent it off, no looking back

She faced the day of her defeat

And cried at the same time she laughed

Wake up from your dreams now, sweetie

You've got a grown-up life to lead

We'd all like to live in dreamland

Reality's not all we hoped it would be

Problems which won't wait forever

Are calling you back down to me

When it all seems dark, just remember

The real world's deeper than you can dream

Life continued as it should have

Most her dreams are different now

She aches a little at reminders

She had the light and took her bow

All her life she'll remember

What she loved and what she lost

Though her life can seem so bitter

She thinks it all was worth the cost

Wake up from your dreams now, sweetie

You've got a grown-up life to lead

We'd all like to live in dreamland

Reality's not all we hoped it would be

Problems which won't wait forever

Are calling you back down to me

When it all seems dark, just remember

The real world's deeper than you can dream

I showed this to my dad and he said, "I have no idea what it's about, but it seems deep." Haha. Thanks Dad. I wrote this poem at two in the morning when I couldn't sleep. So feel free to critique (or speculate, whatever). But really, I'm curious. What do you think?

Boston

I remember exactly where I was during the terrorist attacks of September 11, 2001. I was in fifth grade on my way to school. The bus was turning a corner and I was staring out at the golf course when my friend, who was sitting beside me, informed me that her parents told her a plane had crashed into a building. I didn't understand the significance until I got to school. My teacher was watching the news coverage on our classroom TV, which showed videos of planes flying into buildings and the buildings crashing down. Images of bloody people. The news that some people had jumped from their windows to escape the destruction only to die on the pavement. Other planes were aimed for other locations. Pretty soon the television was turned off due to our young, impressionable minds. I don't remember much more of that day, but I remember the feelings of devastation and disbelief. The absolute horror. And the one overarching question: why?

Today, I was reminded of those feelings. After all, this is the most violent attack against my country since 9/11. Bombings in Boston. At this point, everything is still up in the air. How many explosions were there? Were they all connected? How many bombs didn't explode? Are we in danger? Two deaths, one an eight-year-old boy. The injury count gets higher and higher with every update. Who is responsible? Will they come forward? Is this a terrorist attack? Will we ever know?

And again, why?

I was ten years old when I first began to struggle with this question. It was incomprehensible to me that anyone, no matter what they were fighting for, would deliberately try to kill innocent people. What kind of hate drives people to murder people they've never known? Just how deranged does a person have to be to decide to place a bomb where everyday citizens are simply living their lives?

The news says New York is on high alert. ABC news station, which I live next to, is constantly updating its live feed. I went out after work, and the city just didn't feel normal. Cops were out on the streets to keep an eye on the well-known areas of the city. The news was on every television in every restaurant and bar. I caught snippets of conversations from people walking by, discussing the probability of this being a terrorist organization outside the U.S. and whether we were in danger too. Talking about family or friends in Boston. As I sat on a park bench beside Central Park, a police car drove down the sidewalk not one foot from me. A helicopter hovered over downtown Manhattan for over an hour, likely watching for danger.

They can talk politics. They can talk religion. Whatever they want. But nothing changes the fact that today, people died. Today, people were hurt. My nation, my world was invaded. Someday, whoever did this will face the consequences. But today, pray for Boston. Pray for all the people who were hurt or affected by this awful, awful tragedy. Today, stand together.

Boston, we love you.

Is it a bird? Is it a plane? No, it's . . . opening a window?

There's something about New York they never really tell you. When you live in an apartment building, you don't get to control your own heat. You can have a stable job, a family or even own the stupid building, but for some reason nobody thinks you're capable of choosing your own temperature. The gods that be (namely the second floor, where all the important decisions are made) decide just how warm/cool you get to be. Usually, they choose wrong and I end up keeping my window open half the night in the middle of winter.

A few nights ago was such a night. I had borne the insufferable heat all evening and found my apartment comparable to a sauna. I opened the window and resettled on my couch when I heard the sound of dripping water coming from outside. Well that's odd, I thought (in an English accent, I might add. Dr. Who and I have become mates in the last few days). I moved my screen and stuck my head out the window to try to pinpoint the noise.

It was dark, so I listened as hard as I could. It seemed to me that the dripping was coming from an apartment building right beside mine. I knew they had a mini water tower on the roof, and what else could it be? It's not like they have rivers in the middle of Manhattan. 

I was then faced with a dilemma-do I stay or do I go? By then it must have been 1:30 AM. Was it worth alarming someone for a problem I thought was happening? Or should I just stay in my apartment and hope nothing was wrong? My mind flew through a hundred possibilities. Perhaps the tower had somehow sprung a leak, and all the water was pooling out onto the roof. Pretty soon they would know because it would start dripping into the top floor's ceiling. Perhaps the people living there would be relocated for a while and it would be all my fault for not telling anyone!

Chill, Chels. Breathe. You don't know this city well yet. Perhaps that's a normal sound. What do you know? Do you really want to embarrass yourself by telling someone you heard the sound of water and you think that's a problem? Admit it, that sounds a little stupid. And who would you tell?

Well, I could tell one of my doormen. He wouldn't hate me, right? Okay, so maybe I'd get teased. What else is new? I'm leaving in a week anyway.

So I went down and told the doorman on duty. He thought it was a little amusing, but said he'd get someone to check it out. One of the other doormen came up with me and stuck his head out my living room window to check the location. "Yep," he confirmed. "That's the water tower." He left, promising to let me know if anything happened.

Two days passed before I saw him again. By then I figured that nothing had ever been wrong and had buried that memory in the corner of my mind where I keep things I'd rather not think about. So it took a minute to figure out what was going on when that doorman stopped me when I came home from work. "Hey Chelsea!" he said. "Remember that water tower you told me about? Turns out it did have a leak. I talked to some guys who work over there and they said they'd get it fixed."

Look at me, ya'll. Saving the world one water tower at a time.

Some tears are worth the joy

Today, I cried.

In public too, which has always been an embarrassing thing for me. I sat there with a missionary couple on one side, my best girl Sarah on the other and two Buddhist monks sitting behind me. Not the most ideal place to break down, but at least the majority of the watchers wouldn't think anything was wrong.

But hey, when the Spirit calls you don't have much of a choice.

I had formed my "conference questions". I had set my goals. I was ready to have a good experience. What I didn't expect was the overwhelming feeling that, among all the people in the world, this talk was meant for me. I felt like the speaker had peered into my soul, dragged out all the lonely and hurting portions, and patched them up individually. He said the most comforting words I have ever heard, then gently steered me towards a path to happiness.

Then, I was reminded that my Heavenly Father loves me. I'm not always emotional, but even I couldn't hold back.

I remembered just how much I love General Conference.

If you're struggling with anything, whether you're Mormon or not, the words of the apostles and prophets will find a way to help you. Find the hope that only the true gospel can bring.

You will never regret it.

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