What a Wonderful World . . .

As I was driving home from school today, I found myself in a RIDICULOUSLY good mood. It was perfectly beautiful outside, there was a gorgeous Texas sunset, I'd just had some good hugs, and I was headed home before 7pm! What's more, I had a Good Cello Day, and my performance for Early Music Hour went pretty well! I was thinking about mi novio (it's less weird in Spanish), and that always puts a smile on my face. And then, as if to underscore the wonderful mood, my iPod decides to play "What a Wonderful World." I feel that, Pops.

To add to it all, my dad called on my way home, saying we were going out to dinner: Thai food! My favorite. And especially inviting, since all I'd eaten since 8am was a half of a PB&J left over from yesterday.

I feel so blessed lately. There are so many good and exciting things happening in my life right now. Things are working out pretty well right now, and I know it's because of the hand of the Lord. I'm happy. Except I just got a cramp in my foot--yowza!

Still, life is good, foot cramp notwithstanding.

Motivation = Zero.

There is so much I need to do today, and so far, I've done none of it. I practiced for a few minutes. That's about it.

On my to-do list are things like laundry, cleaning of my room, reading 70 pages of stuff about Indian music, studying for Theory, practicing (orchestra music, Popper #1 and #6, Brahms Trios, baroque cello, and stuff for orchestral excerpts class), listening to the Brahms Clarinet Trio, cleaning the bathroom, getting on the treadmill . . .

So, I update my blog. Good use of time, Harlos.

I was thinking the other day about giving compliments. It's something I'm pretty bad at. The interesting thing is that it's not because I can't think of nice things to say, I just have trouble saying them. You know what makes it worse? Let's say you're talking to your friend, and then all of the sudden your friend compliments you on your hair or something. This catches you off guard. You stumble a while and come up with something like, "Thanks, your hair looks good too," which will ALWAYS sound like an insincere cop-out even if you WERE thinking it beforehand. So I generally avoid saying anything at all in these instances, for fear of sounding insincere.

I wonder why I censor myself so much. Shouldn't I be eager to share with others all the nice things I think about them? The other factor that scares me is that people will read too much into the compliments. Like, if I tell a boy that I think he has a nice smile, he'll probably think I'm hitting on him. Or if I tell a girl her hair looks nice, she'll think, "Well, how does it USUALLY look?!" I guess that's a stupid reason to hold back. I wonder what would happen if I followed every impulse I had to say something nice to someone.

I think I also hold back to keep people from getting too overinflated (as if it's my place to monitor other people's egos). Even though I've semi-recently decided that even arrogance is a function of self-consciousness, I still have reservations about letting people get too cocky. Also silly.

I guess the fact of the matter is that everyone needs building up. And while I'm not the type who tries to tear people down, I guess in my cautiousness to let people know all the good things I think about them, I am missing out on lots of opportunities to allow them to believe what I say. Because you know . . . if I say it, I MEAN it.

I wish I could just teleport.

Today, I tried (albeit unsuccessfully) to be in three different places at once. It might have worked, if all had gone according to plan . . .

As was, I got to rush around from one place to the next, trying not to lose any of my contacts on the way. This was made more exciting by the fact that I was temporarily without a phone, and couldn't alert one of the parties involved of my impending tardiness. It all worked out in the end.

It was a long day, though. You know, one of those days when you get home and you have a list of about five hundred things you want to do IMMEDIATELY: go to the bathroom, drink a glass of water, eat some food, take out your contacts, change into your comfy clothes, etc. The problem is you can never decide what order to do them in. (Tonight, I think I did bathroom, contacts, water, food, change.)

I even had a semi-awkward conversation with an old flame today. I think the moral of the story was "we were so young and stupid." I'm not sure, though. I think he may feel like I'm more hung up on him than I am (which, at this point, is not at all). It's all just water under the bridge for me. We've both moved on, so who even cares?

The point is, as my roommate wisely put it, "nothing gets you over the last one like the next one." None of my past romantic disappointments matter at all to me now that I get to spend time with someone who is (interestingly enough) a much better fit for me than any of them would have been anyway. I keep waiting to wake up.

It's a beautiful dream, anyway . . .

An update.

I don't really have anything specific to blog about, but I guess I just wanted to check in with my loyal readership.

Life is going pretty well. It's hard to believe that October is half gone, and the semester is also half gone. In a month it'll be Thanksgiving time, and it flies after that . . .

Generally, I would say that I don't have too very much to complain about these days. I like my classes and my professors, I get to do cool stuff like play Baroque cello, I have a social life, and the Cute Boy . . . and the list goes on. See? Life is good.

It's times like these that I start to feel like it's not fair that I get to be so blessed. At the same time, I almost feel like saying, "Well, it's about damn time!" After all, I'm realizing that my experience at BYU, while key in getting me to where I am now, was not everything it could have been. The difference is that while I was there, I felt like every opportunity was passing me by. Here, I feel as though I'm being welcomed into life with open arms. It's a good feeling.

Whether cause or effect (probably it's both), I'm also noticing that these days I'm liking myself more (for the most part). In any case, I'm enjoying the benefits of a healthier self-image. I guess it's true what they say about how great an effect we can have on one another. I want to be the person that everyone all of the sudden thinks that I am.

It does seem sudden, too. Adjectives that I've never really thought of as applying to me are now being used regularly: spunky, dynamic, delightful, etc. I suppose that's all helping me redefine myself (I myself would use words like unintrusive, awkward, or something along those lines). Now that these other adjectives have come into use, though, I can find evidence to support them.

So, I'm on the upswing.

The light at the end . . .

So this week has been rough. Midterms and assignments and classes that just don't quit, plus concerts and extra rehearsals and all kinds of gobbletygook . . .

Nevertheless, it's Thursday, and the end is in sight. I was excited yesterday to be home by 6pm for the first time in I don't remember how long. I still managed to stay up till midnight, though, even despite the fact that I vaguely promised myself to be in bed early. Ah, well.

I feel a little strange that my mom had an appointment with the eye doctor, who said I was a "delightful" person. I guess he then asked her if I'd be interested in playing at the office party on Saturday, for a years' worth of contacts. Curious. I don't know how to feel about that--it seems a little shady. I wonder if I should decline, on account of the fact that I think he's unusually attracted to me and may try to seduce me. On the other hand, maybe I'm just being paranoid, and he really DOES just think I'm delightful, and wants to help me out? Eeep. I'll have to consider this carefully. I welcome any input . . .

In Other News, I'm realizing that my body doesn't like me very much when I abstain from things like food, sleep, water, and exercise. It's been interesting to me that when I was at BYU, I was a big stress-eater (hence I gained weight); however, since coming to UNT it seems I've become a stress-NON-eater (and hence am losing weight). While such a side effect (i.e., weight loss) is not at all undesirable to a woman of my Rubenesque proportions, the accompanying constant threat of illness and lack of any energy and vigor certainly are. Maybe I should revise my plan to become a supermodel. Or go with the Mario Heffers plan: Nutty Bars and Diet Coke.

I suppose that is all, my loyal readership. I hope I don't die before I see you next . . .

I don't know karate, but I know ca-razy!

Yep. My life is ca-razy, but in the very best way possible . . .

Okay, we'll pick up where we left off:

Thursday was a pretty normal day, except that I was distracted all day by thoughts of a certain Cute Boy. That evening, I went to the Dallas Symphony with the 'rents to hear Ralph Kirshbaum play the Elgar Concerto. I found his performance decidedly uninspiring, especially when juxtaposed so directly with Edgar Meyer's brilliant work the night before. Kirshbaum had one speed and width of the vibrato--slow and wide--which only worked for parts of the slow movement. The rest of the time it sounded like the silver-haired lady in every church choir . . .

Friday I had no classes all day, so I did some laundry and so forth and then went to Friday Forum, where I got to see Cute Boy. After hanging out for a while, I had to head out to my eye appointment. They'd moved offices, and I had so wisely written down the address and phone number, in case I got lost--and foolishly left that sheet of paper at home. So, I finally found it, 20 minutes late.

It was the strangest eye appointment of my life. First of all, my optometrist started out the visit by just chatting with me about Einstein and brain development and literature for classical guitar and so forth for what seemed like at least 20 minutes. He finally got around to checking my eyes, and after I looked through the machine and all of that, he just started staring at me for another good minute or so (which felt like 15). "You have beautiful eyes," he said. "Very beautiful. And your eyebrows, too. It's a nice design."

What the ?! "It's a nice design?!" Thanks, I'll tell God that when I see Him. He then proceeded to recount what, specifically, about my eye structure was so appealing--using technical terms I can't even remember. Then he said, "Let's just for fun try on some colored contacts."

So I did. While I was trying on some different eye colors, he came in and stared at me some more. His assistant, a girl in about her early 30s, had been in there gushing to me about this color and that when he entered. "What do you think of the blue?" she asked. "I don't know," he said, staring squarely into my eyes. "I'm just . . . mesmerized. She's so beautiful!" Awww, shucks, Doc. Yet another example of a man 50+ who thinks I'm hot.

I'll spare you the play-by-play of the rest of the weekend to this point, and help you out by saying that much of it was spent in the company of The Cute Boy. (I say "The Cute Boy" because it's a less weird phrase for me than "my boyfriend." I've never thought about needing to say that phrase, and I think he'll understand that it'll take some getting used to on my part before I can say that particular phrase without making some weird face or giggling uncontrollably or anything else I might do. Of course, it's no fault of his--just weird is all.) Anyway, he's great and I liiiiiiiike him . . . oh man, what a week.

Like I said, CA-RAZY.

My 95-year-old boyfriend, Lloyd.

BACKGROUND:
Those of you who are not members of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints may not know that twice annually, the entire body of the church gathers together to hear the words of our leaders, who speak in Salt Lake City at the Conference Center, a building which holds some 20,000-plus persons. People often travel great distances to be there, although it can also be viewed at virtually any LDS church building in the country, as well as many abroad (or even in your home, if you have the BYU channel). In order to actually attend the meeting live in the Conference Center, one needs a ticket. It's a pretty crazy scene at Temple Square during General Conference--LOTS of people, including Mormons and anti-Mormons. There are five sessions total: Saturday morning, afternoon, and evening (Sat. evening is just for the men), and Sunday morning and afternoon. And here begins my tale--April, 2005:

While I was at school at BYU, about an hour's drive from Salt Lake City, I had been given tickets to the Saturday morning session, by a friend without a car who didn't want to bother with finding a way there and back, and was feeling more like staying home and watching it on TV anyway. I eventually hooked up with a friend who was going to SLC already, though he was going to watch it with his family and was going to stay for all three sessions . . . nonetheless, it was the best I could do. So, he dropped me off at Temple Square, and we said we'd be in touch later about getting home. I skipped along my merry way.

The morning session was wonderful. My seat was great, and it's always amazing to sit there in that huge conference center and to feel such a sense of community. I wanted to go to the second session. Without a ticket, though, I was reduced to waiting in the Standby line.

In the line, I was standing next to an old man who began to talk to me. He was the oldest working man in the state of Wyoming, I discovered, and he told me about his wonderful experiences at the convention he'd just been to for the older workers of America. He showed me a pamphlet, with all the pictures of the oldest workers from all fifty states, and told me which of the ladies were good dancers, and so forth. I was so amused, and I kept formulating in my head the story I would tell to my roommates about my General Conference Boyfriend.

"We started talking in the Standby line and we just hit it off really well."

He offered me his chicken nuggets, and (being vegetarian) I respectfully declined. He did, however, manage to give me a peanut M&M.

By the time we reached the front of the line where they turned us away, he and I (his name was Lloyd) were buddies, so we went along to try and find an alternate venue to watch Conference. Our first try was the Assembly Hall, but they were only showing it in Spanish there. We eventually found our way to the Visitors' Center.

The meeting had already begun, and it was dark in the theatre, so I helped Lloyd into his seat. He squeezed my arm in thanks, and I giggled to myself about the story I would tell my roommates. As the speakers began, Lloyd put his arm around me, and I thought the fictional boyfriend story was just getting too good. He was being so affectionate and grandfatherly . . . great-grandfatherly . . .

The speakers continued, and I felt a hand in my hair. Lloyd was stroking my locks. I was taken aback. I continued to allow it, though for three reasons: (1) stroking one's hair is still a pretty benign act--something I would do to my girl friends, (2) it was General Conference, and there were lots of people around, so I felt assured that he wouldn't try anything REALLY funny, (3) even if he DID try something funny, he was ninety-five and I felt pretty sure I could take him out. I leaned as far away from him as I could in my chair and tried to take notes, which came out mostly as scribbles. It's kind of hard to concentrate on Conference when you're being stroked by a man seventy-five years your senior.

Some people came and sat next to us, and he withdrew his arm. I thought that meant he was going to behave, so I relaxed back into the center of my seat. Before I knew it, frisky old Lloyd had taken my hand, and was lovingly stroking that. At that point, I was pretty certain he had crossed the line. I felt very uncomfortable, and couldn't hear a word of what anyone was saying--with the exception of one line from Elder Scott's talk.

"Love is the foundation of all effective missionary work," he said, in his gentle way.

At that point, Lloyd took my arm, squeezed it a little bit, and with a wicked glint in his eye said, "It's the foundation of A LOT of things!" It was then that I knew I had to flee. As soon as that talk ended, and we all stood for the intermediate hymn, I grabbed my things, muttered, "I've got to go to the bathroom!" and scurried out of the theatre, with an expression of befuddlement, terror, horror, hilarity, and shock plastered on my face. I did go to the bathroom. After I regained my composure, I went to the Assembly Hall and listened to the rest of the session in Spanish. Even though I do understand Spanish, I didn't really get much out of that session, either. I was pretty shaken.

I was terrified that I would have to hang out alone in SLC until my ride was done with the Priesthood session, until the clouds opened up and the light of heaven shone down upon me, as my phone rang. Earlier, I had run into Sam from the ward (who was also up in Salt Lake for conference), and he and his friend had been planning on staying through all three sessions, but changed their minds at the last minute. He was wondering if I wanted a ride home. And of course I did.

The moral of the story? Just because it's General Conference doesn't mean it's safe for you to be alone. And just because he's ninety-five doesn't mean he's harmless.

Best. Day. Ever.

. . . and even THAT is an understatement.

I could not have asked for a better today.

Actually, the day started out kind of crappy. I slept in this morning, waking up ten minutes before I had to leave for my 8am class, in which we had a quiz. Suckity suck suck suck. On top of that, it was raining.

After the quiz (which didn't go horribly, but could have gone better--not that I'm concerned, since Dr. Cho told us he'd probably drop our first three grades anyway), I practiced for my 11am lesson, which went well. I did kind of have a cry, but Mr. O is so kind and so tender (a welcome change from certain cello teachers of yore), and I can tell he sincerely just wants me to be the best that I can be. We talked about things, and I realized (yet again) that I for some reason censor out the positive voices in my head and amplify the negative ones. So even when I am practicing, I don't take time to enjoy what went well, or to applaud myself for it. I am constantly in search of what's wrong. I suppose self-criticism is part of the package when you're a musician, although I think self-congratulation is also a necessary component (not that such an idea had ever occurred to me before today).

After that, I came home for lunch and the shower that I missed from sleeping in, which was good, and then headed off to the dress rehearsal for the concert tonight. I got Edgar Meyer to sign my favorite album of his. It made me happy. After that was Chamber Music departmental, which was made better by the fact that I was actually sitting next to people instead of by myself, which is typically what happens.

This is where the day turns from "good" to "indescribably fantastic." I came home for dinner--my first nutritious meal all week--and to change for the concert.

Mr. Meyer was A.MAZ.ING. I've been a HUGE fan for a long time, and it was beyond amazing to be on the same stage as him. I'm sure (and have had these suspicions confirmed) that I was beaming any time I was watching him (missing entrances left and right)--he is an utterly captivating performer, and all I could do was grin and stare in awe. He's great. Wow. And so I ran out of words. I could have died right then, and been perfectly content, but the night got even BETTER.

I feel awkward blogging about this, so I'm going to be scant with details, but the Readers' Digest version of it is this:

We're official. He's adorable. I'm . . . elated.

Yes, this has truly been a day for the books.

"For God hath not given us the spirit of fear . . . "

" . . . but of power, love, and of a sound mind."

I realized something (again) today: I am afraid. I'm afraid of lots of things, and that's what keeps me from progressing much of the time.

In rehearsal today, with one of my very favorite musicians of all time, I was TERRIFIED of playing something wrong, so I held back a lot of my enthusiasm and gusto from my performance. That's what always happens when I get scared: I withdraw, I try to shrink into the background. The thing is, though, my fear was 100% responsible for the fact that it wasn't as special an experience as it could have been. After the rehearsal, I went up to shake Mr. Meyer's hand. I had a million things in my head that I wanted to say, "I saw you at Bass Hall when I was probably 14, and it was one of the most influential performances I've ever been a part of" or "I love everything I've ever heard of yours" (etc.), but I got really scared when I was standing in front of him, so instead of saying any of that, I thrust my hand forward and muttered, "Thank you," as I walked away. Again, fear kept me from making a special experience.

Fear is a protective measure, so acting cautiously is a pretty good guard against personal injury, be it physical, emotional, or otherwise. However, it also significantly reduces the return of any given action. Sure, I can play a piece of music really cautiously, and not miss a note--but at the same time, I think it means that I didn't really PLAY a note either. Life is all or nothing; either you're in it all the way or you're not really in it at all.

Of course, I'm not just talking about music here. It seems, both generally and specifically, that I am in a period of my life ruled by the unknown. I am standing outside a door and I have no idea what will happen if or when I cross its threshold. It's kind of terrifying, yes, but I get the feeling that if I stick with caution and stay out on the stoop, I'll be missing out on a lot. I guess it's like skydiving or something: the scariest part is trying to convince yourself to take the jump, but after that--well, it's a hell of a ride.

Even if the your chute doesn't open and you end up plummeting to your oblivion, I bet you go out saying, "At least I was really LIVING."

So here's to giving up my spectator seat and jumping into the arena. I'm ready to be an active participant in my life, and perhaps get a few bumps and bruises along the way.