That's right, my wonderful best friend came to visit me in Alaska!

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Taking Back Alaska

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Bear watching/clam digging in Alaska I came to Salt Lake at the tail end of the worst 6 months of my life.  After a huge disappointment in the love department I managed to still attend enough classes and beg for enough extra time to finish enough final papers to graduate with my masters degree.  For months after I felt the pressure and feelings of failure of not being able to find a job. I separated my shoulder and so I was not able to run or hike or bike or play frisbee or even swim...basically everything that keeps me happy, healthy, and connected.  I tried to deal with it...and by that I mean I watched every episode of Parks and Recreation.  I spent hours applying for jobs and more hours sitting in parks reading, hoping no one could tell how pathetic I felt. I did the mind-numbing walk/run up and down 'the Y' over and over because it was the only thing I could do with my injury that was challenging but safe.  I was offered a job in St. George.  I asked for a day to think
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My truth about "pretty"

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Is this a pretty picture of me?  Should I put it on facebook?  Someone might see it and then know that sometimes I'm not as pretty as I am in other pictures.  I know I'm just not as objectively attractive as some no matter how flattering the picture.  But does this one qualify as 'pretty' to someone who has never seen me before?   Do I trust someone who doesn't know me to see that I am brave because this picture is hiding none of my flaws?  The wrinkles around my eyes, the dark shadows under them, my wider nose, my puffy cheeks that hide my cheekbones. That's the honest way I look.   Why is this hard?  I think who I am is beautiful and what I look like cannot be separated from who I am.  I was hiking, I was in the mountains, I was awe-struck by the beauty around me, I was totally happy.  It makes me sorrowful to reflect on how much I worry about if I look pretty. Every girls wants to be told they are pretty, right? No.  I thought yes, until I
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my broken heart

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Tonight is among the first chilly nights of Fall.  I decide to wear the almost-too-warm but irresistibly soft zebra stripe pajamas my mom just sent me with my purple jacket as I lay under the stars on my lawn.  Just thinking.  Wondering.  I give myself a few hours to try to feel better...and then it is 11.  I go inside and lay on my bed.  I don't know what has been wrong with me lately.  I ask Heavenly Father, or maybe I'm really asking myself, "What is the source of all this pain I feel?"  I have everything to be grateful for.  Everything.  But I still feel this gnawing pain for something I can't escape and can't identify.  I feel my mind slipping over a certain emotional place every time I try to pin-point it.  It's hard to describe.  There's something there making me sad and someday I'll figure out what it is. A tear slips out of the corner of my eye, so slowly that it dries before it falls to the pillow.  I mentally scan through all the place
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