Specific Ridiculousness

Perhaps if I write this down I'll remember it more readily.

Something I've realized about myself (and re-realized--over and over again) is that I'm ridiculous. In more ways than one-- but this specific rant is about this specific ridiculousness that I suffer from, which is: I am constantly and consistently whining about wanting to be treated as an individual. That is, until something I don't like happens to me-- and then I instantly think of someone else who's circumstances I would rather have.

Why? I'm not someone else; I'm me. My circumstances and experiences and everything else about my life are custom-made for my growth; my development; my progression towards becoming the person I was created to become. Why on earth would I trade any of those perfectly tailored experiences for an ill-fitting one that was meant to help someone else on their way? Why would I want what was meant to form someone else's character perfectly? If it did anything for me, it wouldn't do half as much for me as it would for the person it was meant for; nor would a hundred similar experiences straight from someone else's refiner's fire shape and effect me in the way that one of my perfectly fitting experiences does--if I allow it to.

And I guess that's the trick. All things work together for our good if we allow them to. Our own willingness to submit to God's will, to learn what He would have us to learn, to change, drastically effects our ability to do so. Which is why the scriptures are replete with exhortations to be humble; be teachable; why we're almost constantly being counseled to be obedient by choice. It is infinitely easier to accomplish something if we enter into the work portion of the accomplishing of our own free will and volition. Anyone who has ever tried to get a toddler to do something knows this: if you can get the kid to want to do it-- whatever it is-- it's a snap. Otherwise you end up wanting to claw out your own eyes.

So, as unpleasant as some circumstances and experiences are to have, they are perfectly framed by an omniscient and loving Father who only wants for us to become as He is. And that can only happen if we grow and develop in the ways that we need to. Thankfully, He knows us well enough to know exactly what circumstances we need to experience in order to make that happen. And this whole process only works if we actively decide to let it.

The Atonement works in our lives as fully and as quickly as we want it to.

Who's Afraid of a Rorschach Test?

I returned a few books and DVDs to the library today. After paying the late fee on the DVDs, I decided to pick up a few books for myself (the returned books were leftovers from a recent baby-sitting outting). 

I can't remember the last time I read a book that wasn't canonized or written by a General Authority or prophet; which most decidedly is not something to be ashamed of. But I LOVE to read. I used to read all the time; anything and everything I could get my hands on. But my last "extra-curricular" reading was probably for my last English class, which I finished at least two years ago. I hadn't even had a library card before last week (barring the one I used to have in elementary or middle school) so the whole situation was rather tragic when you think about it; especially considering the close proximity of the public library to my house. I did manage to find a couple of books and finished a good portion of the first one this afternoon.  As I bookmarked it with an Aldi receipt from my more than obliging wallet, I remembered something; I mean, really remembered it: 

I LOVE to read. 

Why haven't I been checking out books all this time? I should be reaping the rewards of some kind of frequent-borrower program (someone should put that in the suggestion box; it would be, like, a free cup of frozen yogurt for every fifth trip within a month's time--or maybe that's too frozen yogurt-based for bibliophiles? Perhaps the only reason this promotion hasn't taken off...). 
Back to the point: I also realized that as much as I love reading, I love writing even more. And I definitely haven't written anything since my last English class, aside from a few sporadic scripture journal entry. Which is fine, but not fulfilling. Not as fulfilling as writing what I think, anyways.

See, half the time I don't know what I think about something until I write about it-- and then it's obvious. I'm very opinionated but also quite empathetic; I can see both sides of things. So unless it's written down in a hard-copy for me to read back to myself, it's hard to sort out my feelings. 

I love the self-discovery; the feeling of knowing that I know myself. It's the most basic of all starting points but-- or maybe because of that basic-ness-- crucial to reaching the full measure of one's creation.

So why the long sabbatical? What am I so afraid of? 

Lots of things, I guess--serial killers, public speaking, that Hillary Clinton could actually run for the presidency and win...

The thing is, the past few years I haven't particularly wanted to wade into my feelings, which is what writing is for me-- a very personal journey into the very depths of my (often) labyrinthian mind and heart that leaves me, my very being, splayed across a page for God and everybody to see, including me. I guess these past five years or so I've been afraid of what I'll see in the splatter. But that's silly. Who's afraid of a Rorschach Test? 

It's the height of ridiculousness to not do something you love because you're afraid that you're not  perfect or that you aren't reacting to personal trials the way you know you're supposed to; that you haven't reached the smoothed down version of yourself that's supposed to result from the tumbler of personal difficulty. Just because you're not at Point C yet like you want to be doesn't mean you need to ignore Points A and B; you can't even get to Point C without them. Because the purpose of this life is not to Be right out of the gate; it's to Become. There is no perfection without the journey; without the trial; without the experience.

How can I ever be an influence for good in the world so that there are less mentally unstable people who end up as serial killers, or more people who come away from communicating with me feeling empowered and uplifted and educated (so they don't vote Clinton 2016) if I can't even get past this stupid thought process I have where I can't even look myself squarely in the eye when I feel like I'm struggling? 

Recording my thoughts, even the not-so-great ones, on this blog is my way of sticking it to myself, then I guess. Not the self that I always am or want to be, but the self that tells me I can't or shouldn't. That stupid-- yet persistent-- voice that always decides to rear its ugly head the minute I'm feeling down or overwhelmed with this experience called mortality.

So what am I so afraid of? Nothing. Not even a rambling, unedited blog post.