All Sympathy, No Pain

I scraped up my shin a little bit on that hike last weekend, but it didn't bleed much and had scabbed over nicely by the time we hiked down. Yesterday, though, when I was trying to lock up my bike, I brushed past one of the pedals and tore off the scab. I was a little surprised at the stream of blood that immediately began snaking down my leg. Not wanting my new chacos to get stained by the dark oozes, I kept smearing the rivulets all over my leg as I tried to slip my foot out of my sandal. I thought it would stop, but the bleeding was rather insistent, and drops were appearing on the sidewalk. Before I could clean myself up, however, I just had to snap a picture for bragging rights. :)

I hobbled in to Diane's party and got a bunch of concerned looks. I was worried about crashing her party, so I asked her if I could just have a band-aid... but let's be honest, I reveled in the attention I got for those few seconds. It sure looked painful, but I was feeling practically nothing (aside from the sensations of seeming tough and cool to all those onlookers). :)

Squaw Peak... Minus the Making Out

I try not to follow the crowd, so I didn't do the typical "face" thing at this geographical location (Squaw Peak is notorious for being the make-out spot). But no, I didn't "suck face," as a beloved high school teacher would say. Instead, I very slightly decreased obesity in America, scraped up my shin, and earned a nice sunburn by hiking the face of Squaw Peak. That's right, we went straight up that little peak (at 11,069 feet), blazing our own trail just like pioneers. It's amazing how much more quickly you get higher (check out that grammar!) when you aren't taking a bajillion switchbacks, though it's definitely a lot more strenuous. I was going to mention that what we did was more productive, exhausting, exciting, and memorable than the other face activity... but I know a lot of people who would fight me on that one, on all accounts. You must at least admit that it is a bit more original. :)

Out of the Mouths of Babes

Yesterday as I staggered out the front door of my parents' house, complete with my pile of freshly laundered clothes, 7-year-old Ryan from across the street yelled a friendly hello at me. He's usually pretty shy, but this time he seemed interested in striking up a short conversation. After I asked him how he was doing and he replied with, "Good," he stated in a sing-song voice: "I know that you like to date a lot of boys at BYU."

Well, there you have it. Caught red-handed by a somehow-omniscient spy. :)

It's Been a While... and Here Comes a Stream of Consciousness Post

May 20th?! All this free time and I haven't blogged since then. Once I'm home from work, the outdoors call to me and I can't bring myself to stay inside any longer...

I've been noticing how much I can change and adjust according to my circumstances. When I lived at Bountiful Court, I was accustomed to being around people all the time (really, all the time... sometimes I felt like I never had a moment's peace... but I liked it), and now I'm relearning how to enjoy having alone time. I like being able to ponder and enter the deep recesses of my mind.

So I'm getting older, but I feel like I get younger and less prepared for the "real world" (whatever that is) as time goes by. In high school I thought 20 was so old and that I'd for sure have my whole life mapped out for me at that point -- career, traveling, family, etc. But it's kind of like that idea that the more you learn, the more you realize you don't know: I thought I was so mature, but the more mature I get, the more I realize that I need to grow up.

For a long time I've considered serving a mission. I was certain I wanted to go when I was in high school and complained it wasn't fair that I had to wait until I was 21 (probably secretly wondering if I'd get snatched before then). Once in college I wasn't so sure anymore about going. The thought of being a cookie-cutter anything really bugs me, and so I started to resist the idea -- I don't want to go just because I'm not married and I can't think of anything else noteworthy to do with my life besides school. As I've been nearing the ripe old age of 21, people have been asking me two questions: "Are you dating someone? No? Well, are you going to serve a mission?" (Okay, so that was three questions.) "Mission, Marriage, or Bust" is the message that comes across. So for months now I've resisted thinking about a mission for that very reason, just to prove that I could do something else important with my 21-year-old life.

But... guess what. I want to go on a mission. My desires are good, and I don't want to go because of social pressure, or because I'm having a birthday, or because I can't find someone to settle down with, or because I want a break from school. I want to work and serve, and dedicating all of my time for a year and a half to that purpose is strangely appealing, though a little scary.

This is not an announcement that I'm turning in my papers. Let's just call it a notification -- proof that if I do go, it's because I want to and I know that that's where Heavenly Father wants me.