The Problem with "What If"

(After a snow storm a couple weeks ago)

The end of the year has me in quite the reflective mood.  I think we all get that way this time of year.  All the things we have done vs. all the things we haven't.  And sometimes that line of thought has us visualizing our life as a whole.  At least that's where I've been.

Paths.  All the paths we could have traveled down.  All the paths that have been avoided either because we were not ready or afraid.

We all have those huge regrets in life.  If you don't, congrats!  That's awesome.  But for the rest of us mere mortals there are those things that hang on us, wrapped around us with whispers of "What If."

What if I knew at an earlier age that I would have loved playing the drums in the marching band?  Silly, right?  But I'm a tap dancer.  I love rhythm.  Hearing rhythms actually calm me when I'm stressed out.  During the four years I was at Monache High School, they marched in both the Macy's Parade and the Rose Parade.  The two biggies!!  I didn't realize back then how rare that was, and during the years I was attending.  Our band had a fantastic drum line.  What if, right?  What if . . .

What if I was more brave towards the opposite sex and not so shy?  Of course the times I were a little more forward led to some embarrassing moments, but still, "what if?"  Would I still be single in Utah Valley?  Being single at 30 in Utah Valley is like being single at 30 during Regency England.  Not easy.  But still, "What if?"  Where would I be?  Who would I be?  Would I have kids?  What if . . .

What if I had the courage to try out for the Young Ambassadors while I was at BYU?  I had the courage to try out for the Classical Voice division of the School of Music, which is one of the hardest programs to get into, and I was blessed enough to make it, but I really wanted to be a Young Ambassador.  I saw them perform while in High School, and that led to endless nights of dreaming and imagining how amazing it would be to perform with them.  But when the time came, when the opportunity arrived, I chickened out.  I didn't even sign up for an addition!  And now I'm left with nothing but a "What if?"

The more I reflect, the more I realize how dangerous the "What if" can be.  There's no changing it.  It sits there mocking and blocking, preventing us from traveling whatever road we now should venture down.  And there's not just one good road, but many, crisscrossing and interlaced.

And what if those "What if's" lead me down the wrong road?  What seemed good could have led me away from something even better.

Who knows?  But it's possible.  There's a couple lines from the David Wilcox song "Hold it Up to the Light" that reads:

"The search for my future has brought me here
This is more than I'd hoped for, but sometimes I fear
That the choice I was made for will someday appear
And I'll be too late for that flight
So hold it up - hold it up to the light"  

    

 "I said God, will you bless this decision?
I'm scared, Is my life at stake?
But I see if you gave me a vision
Would I never have reason to use my faith?"   

The past can't be taken back, but what we do have is the present.  Sure, I've been wanting to learn Japanese for 12 years, piles, literally piles of books in my possession proving this, and yet I still only know a couple phrases.  I could be fluent.  Could, but what would I be think 12 years from now not knowing anymore then at present?  "What ifs" travel in both directions, and our choices now prevent future wonder, powered by wanting to prevent further regret.

I don't know, maybe my life would be better.  But then maybe I'm just where I'm supposed to be.  Regardless, this is where I am now.  I'm working with my brothers instead of having a solo career.  My brother, who got his degree in Gaming and Animation, his focus being 3D modeling, would have never discovered an amazing talent in arranging electronic music.  And it is a God given talent, because he's not trained, relying purely on instinct.  I have the music degree, and yet he's so much better at it then I.   

Regardless of all the "What Ifs" that flood my mind, one thing is sure, those "What ifs" led me here, and here is where I want to be.   

Sarah

When I was a Kid I Thought Star Tours was Real

I know, I know, I promised last week that I wasn't going to talk about Disneyland for a long time, but as I was thinking about Star Tours I remembered something really embarrassing . . . so of course I have to share . . .

I've already stated that Star Tours was my first introduction to Star Wars, finally seeing the films in the 5th grade, but I grew up on Star Trek.  My parents are huge Trekkies, loving the original, so when "Encounter at Farpoint," the first Star Trek: The Next Generation episode aired on September 28, 1987, when I was in kindergarten, my family watched, and we continued to watch every single week until the show ended during my 6th grade year.  That set me up as a Sci-Fi geek for life.  You know what else came out in 1987?  Star Tours.  Living so close to the park (a 3 1/2 hour drive) the ride was an instant hit for my Parents.  Not so for me.

I don't know if they let me ride so young, chances are they did, and I know I did not like it.  Every time I rode I cried, and that lasted for a few years.  And they weren't small tears.  They were "I'm freaking out!" tears.  I think my Dad found it funny, at least I remember him laughing at me a few times, but I was terrified!!  We were going into space!!  We were being attacked!!

I thought it was real.

At home I would lay in bed trying to fathom how such a thing was possible.  How were we really flying to space?  And were there really all those crazy spaceships in the sky?  I never understood how, standing in front of the Star Tours building, I could never see shuttles flying up.  Then I quickly assumed the ships must be cloaked.  Remember, I grew up on Star Trek, and that made sense.

At some point someone finally sat down and explained how the ride worked, and it was probably my Dad taking mercy on me.  A box within a box.  Motors and machines moving the inner box, creating the sensation of flight, and the film aiding the illusion.

Is it any wonder I made it to the first grade still believing in Santa Clause?

Sarah

Overcoming Insecurities

 (My collection of antique books)

Someone told me once to be careful in my actions towards others; that it's best to assume that everyone we meet is fighting a harder battle.  We all have something we're hiding.

For me it's my insecurities towards reading and writing, and it's founded on some experiences I had in the 3rd grade.  I couldn't read, at all, and was in danger of permanently falling in between the cracks.  My Mom sought help, and found out the school had a reading program for 1st graders, but felt 3rd grade was beyond help.  So they weren't going to help me.

My Mom's pretty special.  She's gutsy and doesn't take no for an answer.  A full-blooded Gryffindor.  She spent many, many hours asking questions and getting help, and with the help of my teacher a program was developed, and during reading/writing time I would go with a handful of other students to learn phonics and read Curious George.  I was told it would take many, many years to catch up to grade level, but I worked really hard and was testing at grade level by the middle of my 4th grade year.  Regardless, I still felt stupid.  I have clear memories in the 6th grade doing social study worksheets and not finding the answers.  My friends would point to the paragraph where the answer was found, and still, reading the section repeatedly, the answer remained buried.

By my Freshman year of High School I received one of only two English awards in my class of 600+.  By my Sophomore year I was placed in honors English.  And in my Junior year I took AP Literature.  Still I felt like I didn't know anything.  I decided to attend Porterville College and took the placement test, and out of 50+ testers I was one of three that was allowed to go right into English 101.  You would think that would boost my confidence, right?  I transferred to the College of the Sequoias in Visalia CA, got a 4.0 that semester, transferred to Utah Valley State College and had a 3.98, making the deans list.  Transferred to BYU and got an academic scholarship.   You would think I would be getting a clue, but doubts still overwhelmed, regardless.  Those 3rd grade memories not giving me any ease.

It finally clicked one day, and it sadly happened the semester before I graduated.  I was in Music Literature 304, and we were about to get our blue books back after having taken our first essay tests.  Before that happened our teacher decided to lecture us, telling us he gave very few A's, and that in all his years of teaching he's never had to tell a group of upper division University students how to write a proper essay.  He went through all the points on what he expected, and each point he mentioned I did; I was freaking out.  Then I got my blue book back, and at the top of both essays was an A.  I went home that night dumbfounded and had a good cry.  Why did I doubt?  Why did I allow myself to feel insecure?  Why did I waste all that time with worry!?  Why?

(This was getting passed around on Facebook)

I worry about kids.  I worry that there are many who are falling in between the cracks and are getting lost.  Who are not learning to read, because someone, somewhere, felt they were a lost cause, unable to see that hidden glimmer of potential.  Of greatness.  How many times are we on the verge of something great, but give up when it's within reach, because we've stopped ourselves?  Some voice from the past coming to haunt?  Some bully?  I had an eighth grade teacher tell me once, in private after school, that I was worthless, wasn't going to amount to anything, would never get into a University, and would never earn a scholarship.  I proved her wrong, but that voice could have eaten me whole if I let it.

We're all special.  We all have worth.  We all have something great to give.  And there is no comparing, because we are all unique and individual, with unique talents (not all talents are showy: love, kindness, patients, understanding are talents as well).  I'm glad Leonardo da Vinci isn't Mozart; that Michelangelo isn't Einstein.  No one would want them to be any different.  

And I'm thankful to have people in my life I love.

Sarah  

In which I get to Sing Happy Birthday to Elder Scott

With this being General Conference Weekend (always a big deal for us Latter-Day Saints) I thought I'd share a fun little story.

On November 7th, 2008 I was at a Relief Society retreat with my ward, which was then called the Aspen 12th YSA.  We were staying at the BYU cabins, just up the mountain, like a mile or less, from Sundance Resort.

It was night and we had just finished eating dinner and I was sitting on a coach facing the windows.  Suddenly a car pulled up right next to our cabin, in front of our window in full view.  Three men got out and went to the trunk.  Watching, and recognizing the man in the suit, I shamefully asked the girl next to me if that was Elder Holland.  Then she looked and said, "No, I believe that is Elder Scott."  ( I know!  I should have known!  How can I confuse the Apostles?)  It was him, and this caused all the girls to take notice and look out the window.  Our bishop walked next door and asked if we could meet him, and Elder Scott came right over.

We learned that it was his birthday, and he was staying with his family that night as a celebration.  We sang Happy Birthday to him, and then gave him a famous BYU Mint Brownie.  (I wonder if he ever ate it).  We all got to shake his hand, and we were all amazed at the chance experience.  The next morning Elder Scott was constantly in and out of the cabin with one of his family members, looking at the scenery and walking around.  When us girls were leaving, a few girls walked over and started talking with him.  I could have gone and listened!  But his family was sitting on the porch, and I hate being intrusive (technically he was already being intruded upon, though he's the kind of guy who would never think, nor feel it.  I'm sure he's very used to it.)  So I stood from the distance with another girl and watched.  I so regret that now!!  Oh well, I'm still thankful for the experience :0)

Sarah    

Remembering 9/11

(Photo Information)

It's always surreal when September 11th rolls around, because it feels like yesterday when we were honoring the 10th anniversary.  So many specials were on television last year, each showing the attacks (the Twin Towers/World Trade Center, Pentagon, and possible White House) from a different perspective.  There was a program that aired last year, two hours long, that took personal videos from those who experienced the event first hand and pieced it all together.  The result was a real time experience feeling a lot like the television series 24.  The show was eerie and brought back a lot of memories.

9/11 will go down in history in the same way the JFK assassination, Moon landing, and Pearl Harbor did.  For years people will be talking about "where they were" or "what they were doing" when they saw on television the towers get hit and then fall.  It's a unifying moment that everyone has a response to, and its still fresh on everyone's mind.  I was just on Facebook, and already many of my friends have posted "Never Forget" pictures and status updates of what they were doing that day.  11 years later we still remember and honor the fallen.

I will never forget.  I'll never forget getting ready for my three hour block of Institute of Religion classes at Utah Valley State College (now Utah Valley University), back when I was waiting for Utah residency status so I can attend college classes again.  It was about 7:45 am mountain time, and my Mom had just dropped my brothers off at school.  She came in screaming "Turn on the TV!  Turn on the TV!  We're under attack!"  Emotions poured through me, a mixture of disbelief and fear.       

The TV went on, and the two towers were on the screen, smoking and still standing.  Replays of the planes flying into the buildings on repeat.  And then, suddenly, the South Tower fell, and my Mom, Dad and I just stood there in disbelief, tears streaming down my face.  In between all this were reports that the Pentagon was hit earlier, and that a plane went down in Pennsylvania.  It was later discovered that the 4th plane, United 93, was filled with brave men and women who found out about the Twin Towers and Pentagon by family members, and they united to fight against the hijackers.  The target of 93 is assumed to have been either the US Capital Building or White House.  Around 8:30 my time the North Tower fell.  

Shortly after I was in the Institute building, and it was a surreal three hours.  Passing from class to class I saw that all the Instructors TV's were turned to the attack. And before each class the TV was focusing on the tragedy.  I remember walking around, feeling the moment as I watched each TV as I passed.  It was quiet and somber.  

But still, being that I was attending three religion classes, each class began first with a reading of the scriptures: Last day stuff, passages of hope and peace, what those in the Book of Mormon experienced, etc. I wish I could remember the scriptures, somewhere I have them written down, but what I do remember is the peace I felt, and that peace stayed with me throughout day.  

I will never forget 9/11 nor the brave men and women who became heroes.  

Sarah