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Here is what I think about at 3 A.M.

I’m being replaced. This is not new, I’ve been here so many times it looks familiar. I know what I am supposed to do, to say, what not to say, I even know how much it is supposed to hurt. But what I always seem to forget, is how long it will hurt. Just a few more treasures to add to my ‘love more than anything but can barely stand to face on a good day’ list. Its James Taylor and IKEA all over again.

I was far, far away last time I got replaced and I remember thinking what a blessing that was. To be so far away, you can’t see what is happening, and you are far enough from the epicenter that the ripples have lost their impact once they hit you. That is how I survived. It was not until I was close again that I realized the repercussions don’t fade, they are just delayed, but you will feel every single one of them just the same. 2 years later and 5 times longer.

Maybe this time will be better. The south might protect me from the consequences of my choices, at least for a little while. But inevitably, my impeccable retention of all details will follow me wherever I go. I will still have a hard time with left hands, the smell of cherry chapstick, and Schnitzel. I don’t think time heals all wounds, we just relive them long enough that they become a part of our landscape, our identity.

And I don’t hate theses experiences, if they mean I am alive, that I have loved enough to feel the difference when things change. And to taste, perhaps for the first time in my life, deepest loneliness, though I am surrounded by people who care. I have a greater sense of empathy for those hearts that are hurting though their other dreams are still being realized.

This is just a little of what keeps me up at night.

Ode to Troy James Thorpe

My lack of desire to do homework has resulted in an increased desire to blog. I figure both stimulate my brain, but one is fun, the other sucks at life. Word Vomit of the day sounds a little something like this...

Since before I can remember, I have had a sidekick. Our mother's sat by eachother in church while we were still forming and it is there that I believe we had our first conversations. Troy being 8 months my senior, told me what to expect, how to make the most of my limited legroom, the best best times to kick. I am sure he was my first exposure to comedy, making me laugh no matter what. And I bet it was him who talked me in to coming 8 weeks early so he would'nt be alone too long.

And then we were 3, and we sat by eachother on small rectangles of carpet at preschool. He hat fat cheeks and duck soft hair. I had short legs and big hair bows. Kindergarten came and we went to orientation together. He got white milk, I got chocolate. We ate a cookie in the cafeteria. He walked me to school every day for the next 12 years. Sometimes we double rode my bike, he sitting on the seat, spread eagle, me peddling.

Once we were old enough to cross the street alone, we played every day. 801-943-4755 was the first phone number I knew by heart.

When we were eight we learned to kiss. Our one and only french kiss made us recoil in total horror. We laughed so hard at how gross that was and wondered why adults even did that. His older brother tattled on us, we denied it the rest of our adolescent lives.

When we turned ten we had the best teacher of our life, Ms. Absey. She was his first love and the only person I knew who called a ziploc a baggie (Bay-gee). We got scolded every single day that year for talking. When we asked her why she didn't just seperate us, she replied, " I can't seperate that good of friends."

We became Jazz fans that year and decided we would train the rest of our lives to play for them, so every day after school we would shoot hoops on Nelson's driveway, dreaming of the day that Karl Malone himself would show up and offer us spots on the team.

I was always the only girl at all of Troy's birthday parties and he the only boy at mine, a fact I never even noticed.

Our favorite games to play were 3 ninjas, monkey orphans or runaway's from mean parents. We liked Oregon trail and the Goosebumps series.

When we were about 11, someone was talking to my mom about Troy and I and she called him my bodyguard. From then on he took that role seriously. He kicked a boy for playing footsie with me when I didn't like it and he has watched out for me diligently everyday since.

We stated a candy club in fifth grade where we took turns bringing treats for the walk home. A new girl moved in and we invited her to join us. Somehow, we convinced her that every day was her turn to bring the treats. That was the first of many shady business ventures.

When we were 13 Troy got an epic sunburn. He played Nintendo while I peeled his back in record sheets.

We learned to snowboard and swear like sailors all in the same winter. I could hear him a hundred yard below me trapped in powder cussing up a storm. By the time I reached him we were both swearing, tears streaming down our faces in frustration. We looked at eachother and our pathetic state and laughed. And laughed. And laughed.

In school, we ran for office like we actually had a chance. We lost a half dozen times between us, and got lucky a time or two. It was between those moments of sweet victory and most bitter defeat that our life mantra was born. "We go in together, we go out together."

When Troy learned to drive, we drove around with the windows down singing songs at the top of our lungs, freedom in its finest sense.

Our drives to and from school were and are some of my favorite memories. We loved to soar off the Brighton Bump, and he would let me control the gear shift or stear the car while he controlled the gas. We had no concept of legality or even death. Sometimes we would sing loud or just talk, and no matter what, we would laugh.

In school, neither of us ever had money for lunch. He claimed his parents starved him and I saved my lunch money to spend at the movies or at Laser Quest. Instead, we developed an impressive system of mooching peoples left over or unfinished food. We particularly loved the salad bar because you could get a ton of food. Whatever people game him, he shared with me, and I with him. We were disgusting, but we supported eachother.

One time we watched a marathon of Arthur on PBS and ate a whole box of Fruiti Pebbles unopened to empty. No one else would do that with me.

When Troy got his first kiss, my other friends and I attempted a stealth drive-by to watch the event. We even ducked as we drove by....as if they wouldn't recognize our car.

Whenever I needed a date or had just broken up with my most recent boyfriend, Troy would always come with me wherever I needed to go. He was my favorite no-stress date, thus dubbing himself "Fallback Troy."

I wrote him twice on his mission, he wrote me the same. We knew it didnt matter if we didnt speak for ten years, we would pick right where we left off, mid-sentence like nothing had even happened.

Somewhere in our twenties we made a pact to marry eachother if we hit 27 and are still single. I turn 25 in a few weeks, and he 26...so we changed the age to 30.

No one makes me laugh as hard. No one thinks I am as funny. I love how Troy never misses a beat in our conversations, hit wit is dead on, our comedy seamless. I love that he is a little bit rebellious, but likes Jesus just as much as I do. I love that we never have to try to be somthing we are not, we never have to explain. He is one of the smartest people I know, and obnoxiously hard working.


In Junior high Troy landed on his head doing his paper route. While he was in the hospital, none of us knew what was going to happen. One girl sat at the lunch table sobbing. I couldn't understand her feelings and wanted to shake her and ask, "Why are you crying so hard? If he dies, you do not lose what I lose. He isn't your troy, but he is mine."

Lucky for me, he lived and the only thing he lost was his sense of smell, which I forget until I ask him to smell something like good cologne or a cool scratch n sniff sticker I have found.

Every year on September 9 I wish Troy a happy birthday in my journal. I have done that since I was 8.


I forget that not everyone has a Troy and I feel bad for them. I often ask myself how I got so lucky, why God loved me enough to not make me go through life alone.

So while you are off having adventures in Korea Troy James, know that I miss you. I can't wait for August and thank you for being my life-long other half and best friend.

Lessons on love Part 2

This week the room of requirement that is love, has taken on many forms for me. Let me tell you what love has looked like as of late:

For those of you who don't know, I had a great opportunity to attended a job fair in Phoenix last week called The Placement Exchange. This organization makes it possible for higher education professionals (particularly those with a background in housing and residence life) to interview with many universities all in one weekend. So I spent my 3 days interviewing with many schools. In the past month and coming month I will have interviewed over 16 times. I am trying to snag a place in graduate school, as well as employment so needless to say I am mentally exhausted.

Above all else, however, I feel blessed. I feel blessed to have found a dream worth chasing, a career that lets me feel passion and curiosity everyday. I feel blessed to have schools that are willing to even give me a chance and to see that every tour I gave, every roommate conflict I mediated, every conference that I lived for, can in reality, be of use to help me fulfill my dream of getting a Master's degree.

Through all of this, I have learned another important lesson in love:

Love takes the form of whatever we most need. For me, nothing says "I love you" like:

Travel Itinerary.

So thank you Daddy, for having no idea why I would want to go to grad school in no where Mississippi, and without even questioning, sacrificing your hard earned Sky Miles so I can get one step closer to reaching my goals. Thank you for always making it possible for me to be whoever I want to be and never thinking my dreams are dumb. I have a feeling you would fly me anywhere if it meant I'd be doing what makes me happy.

Sometimes love looks like Skymiles.

Nothing says "I love you" like:

Laundry

Today I came home about 8 PM, exhausted as I am most days, and literally concerned about the fact that I have no clean G's to wear tomorrow. Here I am praying I have some unopened pair in my drawer because I don't have time to wash anything.

And then I go in my room. Every single item of clothing in my room is washed any laying in neat piles on my bed. At my feet, a brimming basket of clean, white G's. Even my bed sheets have been washed and the bed re-made. Today love has never been so sweet as the smell of clean clothes, so thank you Mama, for answering a simple and unspoken need for help. You are always so in tune and the most thoughtful person I have ever known.

Sometimes love looks like a basked of clean G's.

For now I sleep. Until later and another case of word vomit, let me know- what has love looked like for you this week?

Insomnia... Somtimes

I have a favorite blog (besides me own, Obvi) that I like to read. I stole this "Sometimes..." Prompt from her...so thanks Sam!

see her cool life here:
http://lovesamandchas.blogspot.com/

When I can't sleep, I talk about myself, with myself, to myself, I am that fantastically egocentric. To Insomnia!

Sometimes...

I watch guilty pleasures like "You've Got Mail" even though I have seen it enough times that I can not only tell you every single line, I can also tell you what song is next and exactly what Gap and/or Eddie Bauer outfit Meg will be wearing in the next scene...pathetic. And not stopping. EVER.

I'm glad it's cold outside because I can wear my teal long johns under my pants. Doesn't matter that no one else can see them. I know they are there, and they are AWESOME!

I wish I could just pay someone good money to dress my like my "Style I Wish I Had" board on Pinterest. Then I might finally look as adorable/ witty/ eccentric/ smart/Adorbs as I mentally feel inside my head.

I love discovering unexpected movie gems like Charles Nelson Riley's A Troll In Central Park. "Its like looking into the face of God and having him say, You are my my most wondrous creation."

See the SNL skit if you have no idea what I am referencing. (I will post the link soon)

For real though, my favorite, didn't expect that to be so awesome film award goes to....a tie between Road to El Dorado and Treasure Planet. Best under-appreciated cartoons for sure.

I feel like a 5 year-old when I order a chicken nuggets kids meal with Dr. Pepper and Honey Mustard sauce every single time I go to Wendy's. I started doing that in high school and have yet to order anything else...I can't break away from the perfect meal size, the fact that you get a frosty AND a drink, and the honey mustard is like crack...that good. I remember when it used to cost me $3 even... now its almost 4 bucks....it's not like honey mustard and fake chicken are in short supply... just sayin.

I feel like it's one of the world's great injustices when realize that I left my only partially finished V8 fusion beverage in my car. Instead I am 15 minutes into the world's worst lecture and I could be drinking the rest of my breakfast. But I can't, its 1,000 yards away, mocking me.

I write a blog post and realize that my biggest frustrations revolve around beverages and stories that happened when I was 17....

I feel inspired to be a better person when re-read my blog and realize how badly I need better material for my "Fans" to read. I also feel inspired by my boss Janzell, who suggested that I give up self-criticism for Lent. Clearly, a weakness. To help me, Janzell keeps a bell on her desk which is conveniently located next to mine. When I say something critical about myself she then proceeds to ring the bell. Either I am going to be loving myself in no time, or I am going to be salivating. Here's to you, Pavlov!

Lessons on love Part 1

I have a tendency to see the bad in the world. At least in my immediate world. When I get like this, I want to punch myself in the face and say, "Don't you see all the good going on? Do you not know how lucky you are?!" It is in these moments that I need to sit back and think of all the good things going on, the moments in life where I wasnt so frustrated and I saw with more perfect vision, and felt with a more tender heart.

Let me share a few moments in my life that have taught me powerful lessons, mostly about love.

When I think of love, here is a list of what comes to mind:
Chapstick, Paisley, Ski poles, throw-up.

I'll go in chronological order.

Ski Poles:

The first time I fell in love (that I count as real love, first true, cognitively appropriate love) I was 14 years old. I had glasses and a gap in my teeth. I had a thing for country music, trampolines and snowcones. Some people wonder what happened to their first love, if they grew up to be anything like the flawless person you saw that first day at the snow cone stand. My first love's wife reads this blog, so it is to her that I address this post. At 14, I was blessed with a great friend, my best for many years to follow. Here is one snippet of my life that taught me about love:

He is a great athlete, at the time an avid skiier. He wore a bright yellow coat that was easy to see in a blizzard. I loved that. I was a beginner snowboarder and I was not talented in any way, which meant I fell ALOT. We skiied at the Canyons or Park City that year, both of which have areas that are very flat. Not only did Mr. Yates ski at a third his normal pace, just so we could ski "together," but every single time I fell, he did not laugh or lose patience. Instead, he walked slowly back to where I had fallen, extended his ski pole and pulled me the rest of the way to a steep spot. That was a lesson in true love.

Chap Stick:

I don't have an adorable anecdote for this memory and love, however I cannot seperate the scent of Cherry Chap Stick and love in my mind. The first kiss I ever had was laced with that scent... however that was not love for me. I loved the keeper of the chapstick and the way he removed the lid and applied the balm with one hand. Try as I may, I could never do that. Sometimes I still try to, and cannot. It was nothing special, and my heart was obsessed. I love that smell still, makes me feel 17 all over again.

Throw up:

Sound sick huh? Well, it's not, in fact it is the most beautiful moment I have been blessed to witness, a turning point in my life.

I have a best, best, best friend, Whitney. My right hand and love of my life since before anyone even knew who Blake Shelton or Harry Potter were. When we were 17 Whit got a boyfriend that I was not a fan of. I was not sure if he could speak and based on his dress and taste in music, I questioned if he knew he was white at all.

And then Whit got the flu. In sickness and in health, I was doing my duty to come sit outside the bathroom and keep her company and maybe take her mind off of things. I walked in without knocking like I always do, called for Whit but no one answered. I went downstairs. There before me was my Whitta, leaning over the toilet, sick as can be. Behind her, holding back her hair, stood Jordan. In that moment somthing said to my mind and heart, this is true love, your Whitta will be fine. In that moment Jord did what I would have done, and he looked at her like I look at her. They have 7 wonderful years under the belt and 3 beautiful babies (almost). That is love.

That leads me seamlessly to my last thought,

Paisley:

Paisley Belle is one of those 3 beautiful little girls I mentioned above.
I had been in the MTC 2 weeks when Whit wrote to tell me this little baby was joining their family. I was so happy, and yet a part of me hurt to be missing the first baby of my very best friend. Several babies were born while I was in Germany and each of them were terrified of me when I got home. But not Pais. She was instantly my best friend and love of my life. I thought I could never love a soul as much as I love her mama, but my goodness I was wrong. I cannot fathom the love I will feel for my own babies, because when I think of my Pais, my goodness I would die for her a billion times over. There is a strange bond between us, I do not know why, but I am so thankful for that little girl. I wish I spent more time with her, and I cannot wait until she grows up and finds her own best friend. I look forward to telling her funny stories about her mom, and teaching her what a best friend looks like.

I had a bad day a few weeks ago. I didnt get into a graduate program that I wanted so badly. Moments after I got the news my phone rang, on the other end I heard this, " Hello?.... Hi Hayley....I love you....". It was Pais. Her brilliant and always in-tune mother knew exactly the one thing that would instantly heal my broken heart. My eyes filled with tears and do so now just writing this. Things will not always go my way, dreams may not be realized, but I will always have that angelic voice in my head and those little arms to wrap around my neck. That is love.

Somthing that never fails to make you HaPpY

Happiness is a fascinating concept to me. In the last 2 years of my life it has also been the most complicated of emotions. In my earlier years I believe I may have been the happiest person in the world...not a cloud in my robin-egg sky. And then I got old, I got frustrated and I believe I had my first few teaspoons of sorrow. Theses moments were gifts, however trying moments spent in the Gethsemane's of my life. I see and feel sadness more regularly than ever before, but I am thankful for the many, (not one or a few) things that never cease to remind of the good in even the darkest moments of life.

A few recent and not-so-recent JOYS

- Remembering the first moment I saw Simi, the missionary I trained on my mission. When God's will for you and your own agenda are on the same page, miracles happen. Simi is my miracle. My soul recognized my dear friend and my soul will never, ever forget how it felt to hold her in my arms. My angel.

- A weekend I had with the Posse of Love (see previous blogs for their story). One summer my 4 favorite boys came to town and shared their lives with me. Distance does something powerful to my heart, and embracing my long-lost boys is heavenly. I can't drive past a Jason's Deli without my heart wishing Ry would materialize out of the walls and hold me.

- Allie-Bug (she is my niece, age 2.5) running, talking, laughing, smiling, scolding, praying (in which she names every member of the family and the 3 pets and says ahmen), hugging and just being. She is a ball of stubborn, petit cuteness that I cant get enough of. I love nothing more then coming home to my girls and just hugging them, brushing teeth with them and telling them how much I love them.

- A good conversation. I have always loved a good chat, but this is the first time in my life that I have really physically craved a valuable talking partner. I love to talk to a good friend, or a stranger who captivates me because they are fascinating or faithful, perhaps they are eccentric or simply curious to know what makes my heart thrive. I love a genuinely interested person. I hope I am someone like that.

- The Aim and Ignite album by Fun. there is something about this band that just puts me in a good mood. This is my default pick-me-up album, every single time.







- Slurpees. Seriously. What would I do without them? I wouldn't, that's what.

- A full gas tank. I'm not joking. Even if I just filled my tank up 2 days ago and am frustrated at the price of gas, seeing my tank on that lovely F...man. I feel like I could go anywhere, do anything even for just that moment. Full tank = endless opportunity!

- You've Got Mail. Meg. Tom. Nora Ephron dialouge. Cardigans. Books. Fall. ARE YOU ONLINE? Best 90 minutes of my life. This time. Every Time.

I could go on and on but I need to be up in about 7 hours, and I am old, like I said. I sleep 8 hours and I don't care who knows it. Add some of your JOY to my list. I'd love it.

Somthing You Can't Seem to Get Over

Something you cant seem to get over

When I was 21, I felt a strong impression to go on a mission for the LDS church. Of all the decisions I have made in my life, that one will never be a regret. Some people must sacrifice a great deal to follow their beliefs, be that money, distance, or even their lives. At 21 I had not yet learned what it means to sacrifice.

I would come to know what sacrifice means through studying the life of Jesus Christ and his seemingly constant concern for others. I came to know that sacrifice meant giving up your self esteem because your calorie intake just skyrocketed. I met sacrifice on cobble stone streets where everything I believe was mocked, hated and laughed at. I came to see sacrifice in the hem line of the skirts my companion wore, because each skirt was lovingly paid for by hard hours in a cement factory. Every second of my mission filled me with a better understanding of what it means to think outside of yourself and I could not wait to come home and share that love and perfect vision that I had gained.

I felt that God has chosen me to be exactly where I was, each second of each day, to refine me to be the best version of myself. I could not wait to share my new wisdom with the person I loved most. Of all people, the one at home had to put up with the old selfish me the most. The one at home, deserved so much more but settled for me. He was my love at first sight, my hero and my best friend. And he loved me even though I had not yet learned what it means to sacrifice.

I loved to testify of love, of family, of the priesthood, because I felt that power from the one at home. I had seen his life change, and mine get better because of those principles. I thanked God for letting me live in northern Germany, become the best version of myself and come back home to a life I also loved.

And then it was November. I was 4 weeks into a transfer of painful silence. I had a companion who had a hard time loving me or most days even getting out of bed. Mail from home felt like the only conversation I had that whole transfer. Except for that mail.

The spirit has a way of warning us of things that could cause us harm. A part of my heart died with that letter, though I hope it never showed on my face, nor in my stride, nor my faith. There was no time to hurt when on the Lord's errand.

Love had changed, that I could accept. But my concept of myself has never been the same. The words hurt, but more than that they cut because they were true. They were all true. I was that terrible person scribbled in small, slanted print on the page. WAS.

But I had changed. But he will never know that.