"The end is where we start from"

"What we call the beginning is often the end
And to make an end is to make a beginning.
The end is where we start from." -- T.S. Eliot, "Little Gidding" 

Last week, I graduated from BYU.

There still are no words to describe everything.
Endings.
And beginnings.
Pomp and circumstance.
Ceremony and ritual.
Faith and intellect.

So I think. I think the best way to record this is through pictures. Pictures and poetry. And a bit of prose.

"And every phrase
And sentence that is right (where every word is at home, 
Taking its place to support the others, 
The word neither diffident nor ostentatious, 
An easy commerce of the old and the new, 
The common word exact without vulgarity, 
The formal word precise but not pedantic, 
The complete consort dancing together)
Every phrase and every sentence is an end and a beginning." 

 Sharisa and I started our BYU experience together and ended it together. We were roommates for 5 years. 

And the lovely Hannah and I were also freshman roommates. 

The best part of the day? Spending time with my loved ones--friends, families, and mentors. All celebrating this accomplishment. 

Probably one of my favorite pictures from the day of cousin Michael and me. 

Although this one's also pretty good. 

 My wonderful grandmother. 

And wonderful, supportive parents. 

"We die with the dying: 

See, they depart, and we go with them. 

We are born with the dead: 

See, they return, and bring us with them. 

The moment of the rose and the moment of the yew-tree

Are of equal duration. A people without history

Is not redeemed from time, for history is a pattern 

Of timeless moments." 

#ShamelessSelfie

I loved the commencement and convocation addresses. Probably because it was my actual graduation and I'm like, "This is for me!" But also because they were quite good. I especially loved the ones for the College of Humanities Convocation. One of the speakers spoke about Middlemarch and the character of Dorothea. So, of course, I was all ears. Because I love that book (goodness, I wrote my English capstone paper about that book). And I have a lot in common with Dorothea. And I believe in the importance of trying to see the world through another's point of view and to empathize.

And shouldn't humanities graduates be able to do that the best? I think that we have a responsibility to do that the best.

Honestly, as BYU students, we all have that responsibility.

"We shall not cease from exploration

And the end of our exploring 

Will be to arrive where we started 

And know the place for the first time."  -- T.S. Eliot, "Little Gidding" 

Just some good, old-fashioned nostalgia

Guys. A few hours ago I finished my last final as an undergraduate. 

I am done. Done!

This is what it looks like when you finish finals. Relief/exhaustion. 

You know, I always thought that I would finish my BYU career kind of like Rocky making it to the top of the Philadelphia Museum of Art stairs. That I would be exhausted but triumphant. And although that is partly how I feel, in all honesty, I feel like this: 

After the most INSANE finals week I have ever had (including a weekend conference to Philly and a freak, violent case of food poisoning and/or stomach flu which took away prime studying time), I don't feel like I ran triumphantly across the finish line. I feel like I collapsed five feet from the end, crawled, and then face-planted it across that line.

But I made it, right? 

Anyway. Since I've finished classes and finals, I've been feeling a bit nostalgic. (It's me. That's what I do when I come to an end of a chapter. I self-reflect and I get all wistful about parking lots and stairways. It's kind of cute, actually.) So today I walked around some of my favorite haunts on campus and remembered. 

That hill. I climbed it way too many times. 

 This has been one of my favorite walkways since freshman year. 

You just never know what you're going to find. Like tea cups hanging from trees. Oh, those artsy art majors. 

 The HFAC. The number of performances I attended here is enormously high. So are the amounts of dates I went to here. 

Whereas the number of dates I went on here is zero. Which is a good thing, because it would be weird to have a date at the Administration Building. 

 The JKB. I had soooooo many classes here. English, Russian, and history classes specifically. (Also, I have a lot of awkward flirting stories from this building. Especially from before the mission. After the mission, too, but especially before. Anyway. Moving on.) 

I have never had a class here. And I am a-ok with that. 

 The Library! Affectionately known as "Harold." Good ol' Harold. So many memories here. 

The JFSB. My second home at Provo. I know this building intimately. I could write an entire personal essay about how much I love this building. But really. Classrooms in the basement, History department on the 2nd floor, German/Russian on the 3rd, and English on the 4th. Love this building. Love this courtyard. The number of hours studying here and meditating here . . . just a good, good place for the soul. 

 Did you know that once upon a time I thought I was going to be a geography major and had a few geography classes in this building? Now you know. 

The Testing Center. Ohhhhhh, the Testing Center. 

 The Writing Fellows Office! A haven in the center of the Testing Center. I like this place. 

 And I like these people. Very much. 

The Maeser Building. Every time I walked into this building, something good happened. A scholarship, a job, and some of the best people I have ever met. The BYU Honors Program is full of incredible, stellar people. 

If you got this far, thanks for taking a trip down memory lane with me. There is so much I could say (and probably will, once I have time to actually think, process, and write), but basically, this place has been good to me. And I honestly can't think of a prettier place to have a university campus. 

It's been real, BYU. 

. . . don't forget me? 

"The Holiness of the Heart's Affections"

*DISCLAIMER* This blog post is full of thoughts and feelings which have been searching for a way to get out for awhile now; a culmination, or rather, continuation, of other thoughts I have had about vulnerability. Feel free to disagree with my musings; I doubt that everyone will agree with everything I have to say. Still, it is important to point out that these thoughts are in no way directed at or alluding to any one or any situation. It is simply raw, vulnerable emotion--a blog post I am sharing with the world in the hopes that it is helpful to someone, somewhere. 

I do not pretend to be experienced in matters of love and relationships. I am still learning about myself . . . I always will be, I guess. But maybe being my age and at my stage of life makes me more vocal and interested in love and relationships and the concept of falling in love, especially as so many of my peers (myself included) fall in and out of love on a semi-regular basis.

We're all at different stages of life, even though we're technically all around the same age, we are at different places at life, love, and relationships. One of us might have just gone through a major break-up; another is going through the anguish of unrequited love; yet another considers him or herself ready for a relationship . . . and how are we to know how a person is feeling or where they are on the "relationship-readiness-scale" when we meet them in class or are set up by well-meaning friends? Most people don't shout their deep, dark secrets from the rooftops; it's impractical to wear your heart on your sleeve.

The differences of where we all stand on the planes of love does not even begin to cover the different backgrounds we all come from--politics, religion, culture, intelligence, family--they all play a part in making us who we are. And with all of these differences, it's a miracle people get married, really. It's a miracle they have decided to have faith enough to make a whole-hearted effort to make a marriage last and form a home.

Now wonder we put marriage announcements on the highest place of honor: the kitchen fridge. Because it truly is a miracle when it works out. A miracle.

It's the getting there that's the headache.

And I know it's not one-sided. It's frustrating for guys and girls alike. And we all add to the headaches and heartaches of others. Such is life.

And I think--I think that although most of us love the idea of being in love, we are more cautious when it comes down to the basics of it--when it becomes real and not abstract. I think that love scares us sometimes. That choice to surrender. To give all. It is terrifying . . . but it is also beautiful.

Above all, it is holy. Sacred, even.

I think I am cautious about falling in love for this reason: the regions of the heart are sacred, and I hesitate before letting someone step into the beautiful chambers of my heart. And I hesitate before letting myself try to open the door of someone else's heart. You cannot force your way in; you can only knock with excitement and trepidation and pray that you are let in.

For they must let you in themselves. And then, if they are ready, they will give you the key.

That key could symbolize many things. But I believe it symbolizes trust. A mutual trust to each other, promising to handle the other's heart with tenderness and respect.

Because entering those chambers is a sacred privilege.

Think of it--letting someone tread on your hopes and dreams; your joys and fears. You are becoming a part of their life, and that, for me, is huge. It's not something to be flippant about. It is too precious.

I've always loved this poem by W.B. Yeats:

"Had I the heavens' embroidered cloths,
Enwrought with golden and silver light,
The blue and the dim and the dark cloths
Of night and light and the half-light,
I would spread the cloths under your feet:
But I, being poor, have only my dreams;
I have spread my dreams under your feet;
Tread softly because you tread on my dreams." 

You tread on my dreams. I believe that is what we do when we love someone or when someone loves us. We spread our hopes and dreams at their feet--a magnificent tapestry of possibilities. We open ourselves up and let another person see our good parts and bad parts, our hopes and dreams and fears all rolled into one . . . and then we pray that they will still love us for who we are and who we can become. 

It is frightening--but it is beautiful. And really, I don't think there could be any other way. 

Love is about faith. It is also about hope. Without hope, we would never allow another in.  

John Keats once said, "I am certain of nothing but the Holiness of the Heart's affections and the Truth of the Imagination." 

Spoken like a true Romantic. But I do believe that the heart's affections are holy. And that is what makes love so wonderful, terrifying, and life-changing. 

"What if it doesn't work out?" 

"Ah, but what if it does?"  

There and back again . . . some thoughts on adjusting

Do you know what the most awkward group on the face of the planet is?

ding, ding ding! You guessed it! Recently returned missionaries! We are the most adorably awkward people on earth. And you can’t really blame us.

I’ve had some interesting experiences the past couple of days with recently returned missionaries. First, I’m taking an institute class for recently-returned RMs. As one person so bluntly put it, “It’s like RM rehab.” We all just cling to each other and as other RMs tell their stories/experiences/share their testimonies, we all get this dreamy, faraway, knowing look in our eyes: “Oh, yeah. I know exactly how it is.” [but the thing is, we really do. just in different ways. and yet eerily similar ways. it’s a weird phenomenon.] We are all crazy and weird together and it is great, because we all understand each other. [yep. RM rehab.]  

Then yesterday, I went to volunteer at the TRC (the Teaching Resource Center) at the Missionary Training Center. And I was with a bunch of recently-returned RMs who all went to Russia on their missions. So, we were an even smaller and rarer group of awkward. We all just bonded over how weird it was to be back in the MTC, and about how we almost died when we went to Costco for the first time, and we spoke Russian with each other and swapped Soviet train stories. We were all besties in like, five minutes. And all so awkward. Wonderfully, adorably awkward. Love it.

But the thing is, the transition back is hard. It’s hard for everyone. And it should be hard. You’ve just left some of the most trying, refining years of your life. And you’ve changed . . . and it feels as though the world around you hasn’t.

There are two ways I like to explain coming home from a mission. One way is from a friend of mine, the other is my own idea.

My thoughts. Coming home feels a lot like when Frodo comes back to the Shire in Return of the King. Do you remember that scene when he’s back at Bag End, writing some memoirs, and he says,

“How do you pick up the threads of an old life? How do you go on, when in your heart, you begin to understand, there is no going back?”

Because there is no going back. You can’t go back. You have to move on—because you’re a new, changed person, and the world around you is different. Mostly because you’re different. So you have to move forward. You go forth with faith.

Wisdom from my friend. Coming home is like the last scene in The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe when the Pevensie siblings come tumbling out of the wardrobe . . . and they’re suddenly back, without any preparation. And the world around them is exactly the same, and they look exactly the same, but they have all of their experiences in Narnia—they have grown up in Narnia, and they have become kings and queens there and their souls are entirely different. But no one understands, except those who have been to Narnia.

[image courtesy of aceshowbiz.com]

In short, coming back from a life-changing experience is not easy.

I've obviously been thinking about this quite a bit. So, I’ve compiled some thoughts of challenges I and others have experienced when coming home and my own two-cents of how to cope with these challenges . .  . at least, what has been helpful for me.

Common challenges of being home:

-          What it feels like: crushing, disconnected, weird, alone, I feel like I don’t belong anywhere. These are just a few responses I’ve heard/I have felt.

-           You know you’ve changed, but people expect you to be the same.

-          You keep wanting to go back; you are homesick for your mission.

-          Not sure where you fit in anymore.

-          Keep wanting to build the kingdom of God/be of some type of service . . . and feeling like you are wasting time/not being helpful.

-          A general feeling of “now what?” You know that last scene of Finding Nemo where the aquarium fish finally get out of the dentist office and into the sea? They’re so happy to be out and “free” . . . but they’re still stuck in the plastic bags and the pufferfish says, “Well, now what?” Yep. That’s us.

-          I know there are more. Too many to count, really. 

Some things that have helped me adjust:

-          Have a schedule. Whether it’s work, school, or a schedule you create yourself, it is good to have things to do and to be consistent. This is not only good for right after the mission, but it’s just healthy to be organized. Make sure that you make time for gospel study and for service.

-          Be patient. Remember that it is a transition. It takes some time. Also, if being a “weird RM” means that you love and talk about the Gospel more than you used to, that’s not a bad thing. You don’t want to go back to how you used to be. Because you’re better than you used to be.

-         Do talk about your mission. Don’t worry about stereotypes. Find someone who you can trust and who will just listen. And then talk, even if you both know they won’t understand everything.

-          Smile and be happy—attitude really does matter. Humor helps, too.

-          Write down how you are feeling. Writing is a wonderful outlet.

-          Love and move forward. Faith, hope, and charity. 

      You can never go wrong when you follow advice from the prophet: “The past is behind, learn from it. The future is ahead, prepare for it. The present is here, live it.” – Thomas S. Monson

-          Again, I know there are more remedies.*

It’s not easy, this thing called life. It’s full of growing pains, changes, and sometimes it is downright confusing. But, if there’s anything I learned on my mission (and that I need to apply every day), is that I need to trust in God more. He loves us. He knows what He's doing. He really does care for us, and He has a plan for each of us; He wants us to be happy. Because that's what the plan is called, isn't it? The Plan of Salvation. The Plan of Happiness. 

“Trust in the Lord with all thine heart; and lean not unto thine own understanding.

In all thy ways acknowledge him, and he shall direct thy paths.” ~ Proverbs 3:5-6

*If any of you have more advice/thoughts on adjusting—to anything, whether it be post-mission or postpartum life, feel free to comment below.  

Russian . . . is hard.

In my spare time while I've waiting to go into the MTC (only 8 days now! Eep!), I've been trying to learn some Russian.

I can now successfully say "My name is Megan," as well as count to twenty and say a handful of I'm-sure-these-will-be-helpful-somehow-words, including "cat," "blue," "apple," "horse," and "sandwich."

But something I'm still trying to get is the alphabet. Because I hear that will be the most helpful thing to know as I enter the MTC.

Can I just tell you that the Russian alphabet is HARD? It's that Cyrillic script. It messes me up. It makes everything look like it's in some funky alien language.

Take, for example, this word:

газета 


It looks like it should be "raseta" or something like that. But it's pronounced "gazeerta." Like gazette. It's the Russian word for newspaper. But it doesn't look like newspaper. It doesn't even look very much like gazette. But it is a cognate. 


And this is my name in Russian: 


Меган


It looks like it should be "Merah." But it's not. It's Megan, I promise. 


Anyway. Russian is going to be hard. It's going to kind of be like learning to read all over again. So good thing I have my Russian Sesame Street to help me learn my alphabet: 




Best part of this video? The girl in overalls who forgets her alphabet when they sing it the second time. Watch her. It is hilarious.

And yes, their Z is at the beginning of their alphabet while their F is toward the end.

And you see these two little marks?

Ъ 


Ь


They look small and innocent, don't they? 


LIES. 


They are ridiculously hard to pronounce and their names are much too long for the 1/16-inch of space they take up. 


The first one is pronounced "tvYOrdi znak" and the second one is pronounced "mYAkee znak." 


Whelp.  


Russian's going to be so fun. 


But really. Where else can you get a language where "I love you" and "I kill you" sound basically the same? (Type it into Google Translate. Do it now.)


From Russia With Love makes so much more sense to me now. 

Connecting the Dots

Last week I got the weekly update from a friend who's on a mission. I love getting letters and e-mails from missionaries: I love hearing about the work, about the people they're meeting and the places they're seeing, but most of all I just love the spirit of their letters. They're so full of faith and hope, and it helps pull me through when I'm having rough days. 

This week, my friend (who's a total Apple techie) quoted Steve Jobs. It's not scripture, but it's exactly what I needed to hear this week: 

"You can't connect the dots looking forward; you can only connect them looking backward. So you have to trust that the dots will somehow connect in your future. You have to trust in something--your gut, destiny, life, karma, whatever. This approach has never let me down, and it has made all the difference in my life." 

It's so good to know Who I trust in; that the Rock of my salvation is the Son of God. He makes all the difference, and He has a plan specifically for me. I have faith in that. And that faith guides me through. I just need to have faith to step out into the dark, knowing God won't let me fall. 

I might not know where my life will take me in the next year, semester, or week. But I have seen the dots connect in the past, and it's turning out to be an extraordinary picture. 

School Days

Oh boy, oh boy, oh boy school is starting again!

It's crazy to think that I'm a JUNIOR at BYU! Upperclass(wom)an, baby!

And I forgot how stressful first days at school can be. Honestly, this was probably the hardest one since second grade (but no dogs chased me this time, fortunately).

But there are always silver linings:

--Friends (and friends-to-be) in all of my classes
--A Shakespeare class that I'm ueber excited for, even though it will probably be one of the most demanding classes I've taken so far
--Texting/calling freshman sister (Hi, Sarah!)
--Friends who take time out of their day to help me
--Courage found in the unlikeliest of places

This ain't gonna be an easy semester. But I know it will be worth it.

Hard things unfailingly are.

A Year Ago

. . . I went to my first Cambridge prep class.

It was exciting for me, but I had no idea how much the summer in Cambridge would change my life. 

More importantly, I didn't realize how the people I met because of Cambridge would change my life so much.   

Last night, I went to a banquet where Carole Mikita, the religion correspondent for KSL News, spoke. She talked specifically about God opening doors for us, our responsibility to open doors for others, and how God usually opens those doors for us through other people. 

Cambridge was one of those doors God opened for me.  

Thank you, all of you, for being my friend in some way or another. 

Wow. It's amazing the change a year can bring. 

I hope and believe it's for the better. 

Of Books and Time

When I was about five- or six-years-old, I remember a Sunday afternoon in Las Vegas, watching "My Turn on Earth" with my siblings. There's a song toward the end of the musical that talks about how fleeting life is. One line of the song says that there are "stories that you will never hear."

I distinctly remember hearing that line and thinking, in my proud, world-conquering, naive, five-year-old way, "Nu-uh. Maybe they can't read every book in the world, but I will." Yes, my friends, at five-years-old, I was determined to read every book in the world.

And I meant it.

What I don't remember is when I found out that it would be physically IMPOSSIBLE to read every book in the world. Not only would you have to learn every language known to man, but how could you possibly even KNOW how many books there are in the world?

Even eliminating every book in another language, it would still be impossible for me to read every book in the English language.

I am reminded of my childhood goal the other day when I'm in the Harold B. Lee Library.

The Harold B. Lee Library has over 98 miles of shelving for over 6 million items in its collections.

I believe over 3 million of these items are books.

The 5th floor alone overwhelms me with the mountains of information, stories, books, and knowledge there for the taking.

And just like the 5th floor of the library, hearing about and choosing life experiences can be so overwhelming for me. There are so many options--so many good options--that it can be a bit saddening to know that I can never experience every good thing. People tell me about good things that have happened or are happening in their life and I think, "Oh! I want that! I want that experience, too!" And I know that if I went for it, I could have that experience and I would be blessed for it.

But there is only so much time. There is only so much I can do. There are only so many books I can read.

So I guess the challenge is finding the best things for me to do. There is a plan I am following, of course, and I hope that my choices are aligned with what God would have me do. But even then, those choices must be filtered through "good, better, and best."

That's hard to do. It's hard to say no to good experiences. It's hard to realize that I can't read every book in the world.

But I think there is a beauty in wanting it all, too. My five-year-old self still yearns to know it all, to experience it all, to embrace and love the world and sing every song. It is this yearning that encourages me to grow and to keep going on, especially during dark times.

And I hope that I can learn to combine this thirst for life with choosing the best of life. It's no easy task.

But it's one that I'm excited to try.

A Thing of Beauty is a Joy Forever

There are some days and weeks when I wonder why I am an English major. I usually wonder this when am forced to analyze something I hate and write paper after paper for that class. Those are hard days.

And then there are classes that make it all worth it. These classes make the bad days disappear and I realize, "Yes. Yes! This is why I'm an English major!" 

My later British literature class with Professor Steve Walker is one of these classes. One of these amazing, inspiring, life-changing classes that make me rejoice in the beauty of language, ideas, and literature. It's a class that I'm excited to go to every day. It could be at eight o' clock and I'd still be excited to go to it. 

Really. 

The discussions Professor Walker conducts are incredible. I learn so much from him and from my fellow classmates. And I hope they're learning from me. I love how Professor Walker's words of advice: 

"I'm a dreamer," he says. "True love and high adventure. I say go for it." 

My roommates can attest to how much I love this class. I come home every day and just gush about how interesting and inspiring the ideas we discussed were. 

Like our discussion on Keats's "To Autumn." We talked about the movement in the poem, and how it moves from life to death, company to solitude, light to dark . . . but that the tone is not melancholy, because it talks about fulfillment. Autumn is a time of harvest and commencement. Yes, life is ending, but there is a story to be told. There is so much beauty to be found in a life well-lived.

Or our discussions and questions in Keats's "Ode on a Grecian Urn": How important is anticipation? Is the first kiss really the best kiss? Is the anticipation of the first kiss even better? How do we find joy in life knowing that, more often than not, our expectations will fall short of reality? How big should we dream? 

Or when we discussed Wordsworth's "We Are Seven" and talked about loss . . . and what is gained in loss. 

I don't know how well I'm expressing myself . . . but I hope that you at least get a taste of why I love this class so much. 

The questions of literature really do address the fundamental questions of life. They don't always have the answers, but they ask the questions so I can answer them myself. 

Literature helps me to live deliberately.  

"Then Shall Your Confidence Wax Strong in the Presence of God"

While I was home during the break, my mom gave a lesson in church during Relief Society. (For non-LDS readers, Relief Society is a women's organization the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. It is the largest women's organization in the world, and it focuses increasing faith and personal righteousness, strengthening homes and families, and seeking out those in need. Its motto is "Charity Never Faileth." See Relief Society for more information.)

The lesson my mom gave in Relief Society was based on a 1993 BYU devotional by M. Catherine Thomas, who was an associate professor of ancient scripture at the time. My mom's lesson was about self-esteem and confidence. She mentioned how Professor Thomas said that the search for both of these is a red herring, leading us off the trail of what really matters: our relationship with God, and realizing who we truly are--sons and daughters of God. Realizing this and realizing His love for us gives us the confidence we crave. 

There was a quote from the talk that my mom used in her lesson that really touched me: 

"Often doors have closed before us that seemed to lead to the opportunities we thought we had to have. We assumed that the closed door was a reflection of some inadequacy in ourselves. But perhaps the closed door had nothing to do with whether we were good or bad or capable or incompetent. Rather, a loving Father shapes, even now, our path according to a prearranged, premortal covenant (see Abraham 2:8). The opening or the closing of these various doors is absolutely dependent on the Lord's perfect perception of our developmental needs. All the elements that we really need for our individual experience here, He puts onto our path. The most important things that will happen to us in this life will come to us often by no initiative of our own, but they come because He is piloting the plan. He says that He does nothing save it be for our benefit (see 2 Nephi 26:24); He has promised that all things work together to our good in order that we may be conformed to the image of His Son (see Romans 8:28-29)." -- M. Catherine Thomas 

I needed that quote. 

And I've been thinking about the lesson a lot, and have now read the devotional address. It talks about how when you give up the search for self-esteem and essentially "lose your life" for Christ, and really seek Him, you become liberated and stresses dealing with self-esteem disappear. 

It's the giving up of the self that is a bit overwhelming. But it is step-by-step, day-by-day, by actively choosing  to look to the Savior that it can be possible. 

I've always been fascinated with fairy tales. One motif that I'm particularly intrigued by is in stories where a girl magically becomes more beautiful with each passing day. I've pondered about that concept, and decided that confidence adds to beauty, poise, and grace, and as a girl becomes more confident, she becomes progressively more attractive--not only in looks, but in manners and in spirit. 

Now I'm really beginning to see that really, this beauty with each passing day is found in "seeking this Jesus" (Ether 12:41), and striving to receive His image in our countenances (Alma 5:14).  It's definitely a thought. 

For those interested, here's a link to the talk by M. Catherine Thomas. Enjoy.