The next chapter

Once upon a time there was a little girl.

She always loved learning. Reading. Writing. Creating. History. Geography. Literature. Math. Science. There were never enough books to quench her insatiable thirst for more knowledge, more words, more stories.

And her dreams. Her dreams were as bright as her eyes, and her ambitions as bright as her faith. She wanted to see the world and to make a difference--somehow, someway--in her small corner of the world. 

As the girl grew, she learned more about her talents, gifts, and even changed her dreams a few times. But she never lost her love for learning. In her travels around the world, she learned lessons of empathy and of the power of hope. She learned these stories through literature, through history, and through the lives and examples of those around her . . . but most importantly, she learned them in her own life.

The girl realized that she wanted to use her talents and gifts to teach others the importance of these stories. She realized the privilege of having a voice and she wanted to use her voice to write and tell the stories of those who history had forgotten. And, based on her talents, experiences, and desires of her heart, she realized that grad school was the next step in her life.

And so, the girl applied to grad school programs in history. And waited. And heard back. Yeses and Nos. And she came to a crossroads.

Because she had choices. So many good choices. But choices, nonetheless.

And whenever you come to a crossroads, you must give something up.

Doors open, doors close. Opportunities gained, opportunities lost.

But the girl knew and felt--deep in her bones, sure as blood--that whatever choice she made would be good. She just had to make it hers.

And so, based on pros and cons lists, advice from mentors, family, and friends, inspiration and ratification from God, and ultimately, the desires of her own heart, the girl made a choice.

This, my friends, is what it looks like when you get accepted into Oxford:

But, this is what it actually looks like:

And this:

With a little bit of twirling too:

And so, dear reader, I am happy to announce to my small corner of the world the next chapter of my life. I have officially accepted Oxford's offer for their Master's Programme in US History. I am thrilled, excited, and slightly terrified for this new chapter in my life. But mostly excited. I am also humbled. Because who ever thought that little girl who played pioneers and princesses with her sisters in the backyard would be going to study at Oxford?

Because, let's be honest--I basically just got my acceptance letter to Hogwarts.

#megisgoingtogradschool #megisgoingtoOXFORD

first you dream.

"Put your hand on your heart," 

the old man said. 

"Inside you, there is a power, 

there are ideas, 

thoughts that no one else has ever thought of,

there is the strength to love, 

purely and intensely, 

and to have someone love you back--

there is the power to make people happy, 

and to make people laugh--

it's full compliments, 

and the power to change lives and futures. 

Don't forget that power, 

and don't ever give up on it." -- atticus

 [these pictures are blurry. but they capture a moment. a beautiful moment of expectation, achievement and joy. pure undiluted excitement and joy.]

Yesterday was a good day. Just a very, very good day. Spring is here in Provo. There is hope in the air. And spring in my soul. 

Did you know there is a pink blossom tree right by our stairwell? I don't know what kind of tree it is exactly. Maybe an American Redbud. But right now it is a pink blossom tree. And I love it. 

[hello there, pink blossom tree.]

The real spring is here. And there are so many possibilities. Spinning arrows. Doors opening. Life. Life in all of its forms. 

[the look of a dreamer.]

Because you know what? Life--real life--can be frightening. It can be suffocating. 

But it is also glorious. Glorious, beautiful, and real. 

As Emily Dickinson said, the "soul should always stand ajar, ready to welcome the ecstatic experience." 

Because you never know when that ecstatic experience will come. 

Be ready to catch and embrace it. 

song of the day: "first you dream," audra mcdonald 

dreaming as we ran

The weather has been unseasonably warm for Utah this winter.

Like, 50-60 degrees. In February.

It's spring when it should be winter. And I know that I should be more worried about global warming and droughts and precipitation, but there's nothing I can do to change the weather.

So I'm just enjoying it.

Because honestly, this weather is beautiful and good for the soul.

I have no idea what that purple light is. But it's kinda cool. 

This weather has allowed me to run outside a lot more than I have in the past couple of months. Because, as much as everyone loves running in freezing temperatures, strangely, I prefer not to. (Actually, the real reason I don't like running when it's cold and snowy is not because it's cold, but because I'm afraid that I'm going to slip . . . I hate falling on ice . . . and I hate pain.) 

But, this weather has allowed me to run. And has reminded me why I do it. 

Because, honestly, I'm not really a runner. I only run to stay in shape. I rarely run to train for a race, and I have never experienced a runner's high. 

But running does remind me that I live. 

There is something exhilarating and invigorating as my feet touch the ground in a steady rhythm on the pavement, matching the pounding music of my heart. Those harmonies together, combined with the melodies on my ipod--songs of dreams, cities, hopes, and love--course through me and keep my soul and body in sync. 

but if you close your eyes, does it almost feel like nothing changed at all? and if you close your eyes, does it almost feel like you've been here before? --"pompeii," bastille. 

Today's a holiday. That means I'm at home. And so I ran. In my hometown. I haven't done that in a long time. I'm used to running those Provo streets--going past student housing, Center Street, and "Enter to Learn, Go Forth to Serve" signs. 

But today I ran along my old bus route, past brick houses, past horses, fields, bridges, and parks. The white peaks of Mt. Timpanogos smiled at me, gleaming with sunlight. And I was reminded of how much more there is to this world. My world. My world is so much more than mountain paths and magic stop signs. But then, that is also what I am made up of. 

There was something at once both familiar and new, running these paths I have walked and driven--a new kind of intimacy with these roads, as my heart pounded through my veins and my feet echoed my heart. Becoming one. Like holding someone's hand and feeling their pulse course through your palm. Or placing your head on someone else's chest and hearing--no, not even hearing, but feeling--their beating, living heart . . . or is it yours you feel? After a while, you can't tell the difference. And maybe that's the point. 

That life force of a heart--beating, beating, beating--keeps us moving, breathing, bleeding, loving. I am reminded constantly of my heart while I run. I hear it in my ears. I feel it in my feet. I see it in the way my fingers turn red and painful with cold. My heart circulates, beats, believes. 

Hearts are incredibly resilient. 

How's your heart? 

Beating. 

Bleeding. 

Believing. 

Some people's hearts can hold more desires than others' hearts. But that doesn't mean those with big hearts are better than those who might be more contented or vice versa. Size of heart doesn't matter. But those desires do. Because in the end, we all get the desires of our hearts. 

Those beating, dreaming, living hearts that can hold and handle so much more than we ever thought possible. 

all we can do is try and live like we're still alive. --"chasing the sun," sara bareilles

We can always be chasing the sun. 

"I have a new man in my life. His name is George. And he has a town."

In October 2013, I suffered an existential crisis of sorts. Not only had I just returned from my mission and was trying to find my place back at BYU and make the transition from Cectpa Armknecht to Megan Beth, but I realized that my career goals that I had made before my mission were not appealing to me anymore. 

Before the mission, I wanted to be an editor and freelance writer--now, don't get me wrong, I still love writing and I still harbor a desire to write a book--many books, actually. But I realized that I did not love editing like I thought I would. The editing class I was taking bored me and I did not care about details that much in order to be an effective editor. Soooo, that left me without a day job. 

I also realized that I loved my history classes a lot more than my English classes, but it was too late to change my major . . . plus, I didn't want to be at school for another two years to finish my bachelor's. Soooo, that left me feeling unhappy in many of my major classes. And again, don't get me wrong. I really am grateful for my education--and I still don't know if I would go back and change my major to history if I could do it all over again--being an English major has opened so many doors for me, helped me make some lifelong friends, and has taught me a lot about the purpose and ambiguities of life. Still, it made me wistful for all of those history classes I could have taken and for missed opportunities and connections. 

I was trying to find my place in the world again--really, I was trying to forge my own place in the world. I wanted some control over my future, but what was I going to do if I couldn't figure it out? What if nothing was appealing to me? What if I graduated from BYU with no job, no prospects, and no future? It was fatalistic thinking, but I spent many nights just trying to figure out what I truly wanted in my life--what would make me happy? What would make me a productive member of not only society, but for my family and for the Church? What was my path? I felt that I had something to give--something great to give--but I didn't know how to focus my efforts.

It wasn't until a professor approached me after class one day and asked me if I had ever considered getting a PhD and becoming a professor. (Now I realize that this isn't very common--most professors, especially history professors, seem to have some kind of secret pact to dissuade as many students as possible from getting PhDs . . . not because they don't think they'd be able to get PhDs in History, but simply because it's really hard to get tenured teaching positions.) 

But my professor asked me if I had ever considered becoming a professor. "I think you'd be really good at it," he said. 

His suggestion hit me. It was like the room filled with light and everything came into focus. 

Yes. Yes, that's exactly what I want to do. 

As I made that decision to work towards a PhD, the universe began to conspire in my favor. Doors started opening in ways I never thought possible--internships at archives, research assistantships, publications and presentations, incredible mentors--all of these people and opportunities preparing me for grad school. 

Working for the dream of grad school sometimes feels like I'm chasing shadows--false promises and a deluded hope. Believe me. There have been more than a few times where I've considered throwing it all away and becoming a hand model instead. Studying for the GRE was one of those times. Doing grad school application after grad school application was another one of those times. The history department's "Grad School Prep Night" was another one of those times when I wondered why I don't just blow all my savings, move to Lichtenstein, work in a postage stamp shop, and write about my experiences. 

But I'm incredibly stubborn. And, there have been people in my life who have kept encouraging me. Who believe in me. And I'm so grateful to them. 

This week, I've started to hear back from grad schools. 

I've only heard back from 2 so far. But I've been accepted into both of them! 

Utah State and Georgetown. 

I'm in. Whatever else happens, I'm IN!!!!! I have a place to go in the fall. And, I have options. 

(I'm still waiting to hear back from the 5 other schools I applied to--we'll see what happens.) 

I've gone back and forth between feelings of joy, humility, terror, and exhilaration. 

For how do you begin to write about a dream that is finally getting wings? 

Because that's how it feels. This wonderful dream is on its way. I don't have to wait anymore. I know that somewhere wants me, has accepted me, and that next fall I will start a new adventure somewhere.  

I may be small, but I've got giant plans to shine as brightly as the sun. 

                                                                                 --"astonishing," little women 

I'll let you know where I decide to go. But for right now, I'm just holding onto this feeling of success and joy. 

#megisgoingtogradschool

Putin on the Ritz

Today had no rhyme or reason. 

I woke up after the CREEPIEST DREAM IN THE WORLD. I dreamed that Putin forced me to go on a date with him. And then he tried to kiss me. Eww. Gross. Just no, no, no, no, no. 

plus 

equals 

НЕТ!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 

So, after that lovely dream, I was wondering what the day had in store for me. 

Luckily, no Russian despots tried to ask me out. Today, anyway. Which is always a plus. 

Instead, there were free bagels at the corner store. 

And it was 66 degrees today (on February 6th, people! February 6th!) 

And I gathered a slew of wonderful non-sequitur quotes from my Tolstoy professor. 

And my Russian history professor cried when he talked about the 1932-1933 famine in Ukraine. The Holodomoor. Death by starvation. 

So, lots of Russian stuff today. But Putin did not call. 

(Hallelujah.) 

You can't always see when you're right

This semester. Oh, this semester. It's been a tough one. Just really busy, with no time to breathe. A semester that is in-between. Neither here-nor-there. Where I'm moving forward and hoping and praying that dreams come true. But without knowing if they will. Or if they will turn out quite in the way I'm expecting. 

After a while, it starts to wear on a soul. 

But there are the glimpses. The glimpses of glory. And the reminders of how far I have already come. 

And a realization that things seem to work out the way they're supposed to, even if a few of my perfectly-constructed popsicle stick dream homes are destroyed in the process of reality. Because I didn't really want them, did I? When it comes down to it, they are not what I truly want. 

Dream on, but don't imagine they'll all come true. 

When will you realize . . . Vienna waits for you? 

How Little Women Relates to My Life, Part 1

To those who aren't aware, I've been working on my Honors Thesis. It's about Louisa May Alcott's Little Women. 

Needless to say, I've been on a Little Women kick recently. I just finished re-reading the book (and it's amazing--simply beautiful), and then I decided that I needed to watch the 1994 film with Winona Ryder, and then I found out there's a Little Women musical, so I've been listening to the music and falling in love with it.

Here are some highlights from my research so far:

Just kidding. That is NOT the most important thing I have learned from my research. But, Christian Bale is perfect as Laurie. Also, Christian Bale is just really attractive, okay? 

And this scene? Where Jo completely shuts him down? You feel so bad for Laurie. Also, let's just talk about how she turns down Christian Bale. Takes a brave woman to do that. 

Anyway . . . 

Really, one of the most fun and interesting things for me as I've been doing this research on Little Women is relating the characters and situations to my own life. I'm an English major, and that is just what I do. Let's be honest, I'm a reader and that's what I do. One reason I love to read is because I can relate to and see myself in characters, and I learn from their joys, mistakes, and heartaches and work through my own as I enter their world. I could go on about the joys of reading and literature, but that's a series of blog posts for another day. 

So, of course I have been trying to figure out which March sisters my sisters and I are most like. (Because there are four of us, just like there are four March sisters.)  

If it's been awhile since you've read Little Women, or if you're not familiar with the story, I'll give a brief description of the four sisters: 

Meg--she's the oldest. When she's younger, she wants to be rich, marry wealthy, and go to fancy parties. When she grows up, she falls in love with a poor man, and she's more than okay with that, because she really loves him. 

Jo--she is the independent, fiery sister. She wants to be a writer. She wants to change the world, and no one is going to stand in her way. As she grows up, life mellows her out a bit, but she still never abandons her dreams. 

Beth--she's the sweet, quiet, shy, kind sister. She is truly an angel. She ends up dying. 

Amy--stereotypical youngest child. She's selfish and ambitious, but at her core she has a heart of gold. 

Honestly, I feel like I am a mix of all of the sisters. Some days I'm more like Meg, other days I'm Beth, and sometimes I am fiery, determined Jo. 

Recently, I've been having a Jo-streak. (And I'm totally okay with that, because Jo is awesome.) 

Let me explain. 

This semester has been full of changes for me. It's been different in so many ways. It's been stressful, but very fulfilling. One of the reasons this semester has been so rewarding is that I actually have a life plan that I'm excited about! Like, I have a career goal and plans. And I'm excited about them. 

I won't go into too much detail (if you really want to know, just ask me, and I will talk your ear off), but let's just say that it involves academia. And probably too many years in grad school. And it may end up looking something like this: 

[image courtesy of buzzfeed.com]

But I promise there's a reason. A really, really good reason to go to grad school. Now I have a dream to work toward. And I'm excited. 

Which brings me to why I feel like Jo. Because she also has her goals, and she is determined to reach them. She's not afraid to dream. She's not afraid to work for her dreams, even if they seem impossible. Right now, this is me. 

I may or may not have been listening to music from Little Women: The Musical (which is brilliant, by the way--it's so, so good--I love it) and I just have to share the song which has been the theme of my life for the past few weeks . . . minus the part about someone asking me to marry him. Because that hasn't happened and probably won't for some time. So don't worry. 

The song begins to describe my life around 1:20. So you can just skip to there. 

Here are the lyrics: 

"I thought home was all I'd ever want
My attic all I'd ever need.
Now nothing feels the way it was before
And I don't know how to proceed.
I only know I'm meant for something more
I've got to know if I can be
Astonishing

There's a life
That I am meant to lead
A life like nothing I have known
I can feel it
And it's far from here
I've got to find it on my own

Even now I feel its heat upon my skin.
A life of passion that pulls me from within,
A life that I am making to begin.
There must be somewhere I can be
Astonishing
Astonishing

I'll find my way
I'll find it far away
I'll find it in unexpected and unknown
I'll find my life in my own way
Today

Here I go
And there's no turning back
My great adventure has begun
I may be small
But I've got giant plans
To shine as greatly as the sun

I will blaze until I find my time and place
I will be fearless,
Surrendering modesty and grace
I will not disappear without a trace
I'll shout and start a riot
Be anything but quiet
Christopher Columbus! 
I'll be Astonishing
Astonishing
Astonishing

At Last!"

This is me right now. 

I am Jo, standing on the threshold of something bigger than myself. At least, that's how I feel. Idealistic? Yes. But I am a dreamer, and ever will be. 

I may be small, but I've got giant plans to shine as brightly as the sun.

                                               [image courtesy of thedisneyprincess.tumblr.com]

The future is bright. No more waiting for my life to begin. It begins today. 

I'll be astonishing at last. 

I just have crazy dreams, okay?

Remember how I like to post crazy dreams I’ve had on my blog? And remember how my psyche is inexplicably morbid? Well, the dream I had last night is too good to pass up. I just have to share it.  

I dreamed that the people in my neighborhood had just survived a nuclear holocaust, but all of our houses were destroyed. There was rubble everywhere, and my family was living in what used to be our kitchen, because we still had some food.

There were also thieves roaming the streets, trying to steal our food. I think I beat some people up. Because no way were they stealing food from my family. Not with me around. No, sir.

The thieves went away, and everyone in the neighborhood was starting to figure out what to do next. We were picking up the pieces, so to speak, and life was starting to look good again. The sun was shining, the grass was green, children were laughing, we were all talking, and feeling like we’d be able to move on and have normal lives. We were just really bonding. It was a like a post-apocalyptic neighborhood barbeque. Except for the part that we were all in rags and we were roasting hot dogs over piles of embers.  

Then a small child pointed up to the sky at a helicopter. At first we were like, “Oh look! A helicopter!” But then the helicopter plummeted to the earth, and we all knew we were going to die. There was an explosion, and we all started running away from the fire as fast as we could. But the explosion kept rolling toward us.

It was like this:

{picture from National Geographic}

Or this:  

{picture courtesy mfran}

I was outpacing my family, and there was—I kid you not—epic, sad, soul-stirring music going on in my dream like we were in a movie. Kind of like that music in “Return of the King” where Sam is carrying Frodo up Mount Doom. “I can’t carry it for you! But I can carry you!” So tender. 

Except the music was not as triumphant. Because we were all going to die. And there was no one to carry us up the mountain. And no eagles either, for that matter.

I kept looking back to see where my family was. My mom was just behind me, but I couldn’t see anyone else.

Then, my mom looked up at me, raised her hand in farewell, and said, “I love you.” I knew she was about to die, and that I was going to die next, because it went all dark.

. . . and then the credits started rolling.

I’m dead serious. There were movie credits in my dream.

Which makes my dream not as sad as it could otherwise be. I mean, it was only a movie, right? A movie within a dream? (ooh . . . it’s like Inception.)

And we all got to die together. Kind of like the Pevensie family in The Last Battle. (Except I don’t know if my sister Sarah was in my dream. Sarah, you could be Susan. Sorry. I still love you. And I’d carry you up Mount Doom if you had to destroy the One Ring. Dead serious. My love is that deep.)  

Sweet dreams are made of these?

I still have to blog about Boston. But let me just say, it was a great trip. Pictures to come soon, because they make me giddy.

Umm . . . so I have some crazy dreams. Anyone who knows me knows this. Sometimes they are Harry Potter-awesome. Other times they are as crazy as Willy Wonka.

And--more often than you'd think--they are morbid. 


When I tell people this, they usually say: "Sweet little Megan, morbid?"

Well, it's true folks. 11 out of 10 Freudians agree that my subconscious is fascinated with morbidity.


My Cambridge buddies remember that weird avant-garde dream with pineapples and head-mashers, right?

Yeah. Last night's dream was even worse. Hard to believe, I know.

But can you say concentration camp and blood-saturated grass?

It was terrible.

Any suggestions on what I should do to avoid morbid dreams? Any idea why they keep happening?

Heeeeeeeelllllpppppppp meeeeeeeeeeeeeeee.