Hard Things Are Cake

When I was a wee lil senior in high school, I really wanted to run for BYU. Dream came true when I looked at the ringing phone's caller ID: Patrick Shane. Only there are lotz of crazy NCAA rules about recruits, so when there was a mess up with the plane tickets or the dates for the official visit, Coachie couldn't call me, but I didn't know that. I was scared to call him, intimidated. I remember holding the phone, sucking in, and telling myself I was holy-cow not going to let this chance pass me by. Turns out he had just postponed the dates, n even a bd.

Okay so maybe we did have basically all the ingredients we needed.
We still make a pretty huge cake.

When I first started substitute teaching, some of the junior highs would hand me a free lunch pass for subs when I checked in at the front office. If walking through a crowd of middle schoolers in a lunch room, waiting in line with them, and eating their food doesn't sound uncomfortable to you, then buy me a box of chocolates. Honestly, it really wasn't that hard, and it tots def for sure's not a big deal. I mean you just walk into the lunch room, grab your food and leave. Why do I sometimes think some of the easiest things in the world are hard?

Like yesterday. I bought a plane ticket for myself. I have flown around quite a bit, but someone else - my mom, BYU travel, random people off the street - have always arranged my travel. And don't ask me why, for some reason I thought buying a plane ticket would be hard. I've purchased a few train tickets in my lifetime, but planes? Different story. That is why people used to hire travel agents isn't it? Well guess the penny, buying a plane ticket is easier than scooping ice cream.

And reading 30 books in half-term? Easy. Planning out how to teach an entire school year to eight graders? Easy. Running 10 miles in the snow when there is icicles forming on your eyelashes? Easy. Just one foot in front of the other. Baking a giant cake, without flour or sugar or eggs or milk or frosting? Easy. Easy as cake actually.

So ya, sometimes easy things seem hard, but they're not. After the fact, I always look back and laugh at myself for ever stressing. And I blog about it so you can all see the awk little quirks of mikeln.

*I have never, and would never, let someone random off the street buy me a plane ticket.

Nicknames

Yonder four years ago I was not a big nickname user. Sure, I called my siblings by their nicknames, but I can not think of anyone else who had that privileged. Okay, sometimes, rarely, I called my friend Makayla a little shortened Makay. But I always called my friend Liz, Elizabeth even though more people called her Liz than anything else.

Things have changed. Sarah Edwards is Sare; Sarah Darby, Darbs; and then there is my roommate Sarah whose initials are S.A.Y: so I call her Say - or Say-Say - or even Say-Say-Felipe - sometimes just Felipe. Faith is Faithy. Candace is sometimes Candy-Candy-Candace. Nikki became Nic. Kathryn: Fafryn. And Carolyn turned into Carolyn-a-lyn, or Carolyn-a-lyn-lyn, which is sometimes Lyn-a-lyn, and sometimes Lynie.

Why was I not a nickname user before??? I love it. Nicknames mean so much more than just referring to that person. When you call someone by a nickname you are saying their name and saying you love and care bout them at the same time.

But you have to earn the right to call someone by a nickname. My name is Michaelanne, but my family almost exclusively calls me Mike. But don't you go calling me Mike unless you mean it. My roommates, teammates, and close friends also call me Mike, but if you only just met me on the street, I would not tell you that was what I go by. You have to earn it; you have to mean it; but when people do start calling me Mike, I really love it.

Here's Lynie and me just hanging out on our backpacking trip Freshy year.

Spring/Summer

Yaaa, it is finally summer. Here we go baby: GOALS aka LIST OF SUMMER LIFE

1. Read all twenty of the YA books that I have to read for English 420.
2. Paint my nails lots and do some crafts.
3. Read three books I am not reading for school.
4. Hike to the top of Y mountain.
5. Write a lot, even if it is bad, sappy writing.
6. PR in the 5k and rock regionals.
7. Be a super great sports camp counselor.
8. Meet a new person every day.
9. Sew some skirts and other things maybe.
10. Become a New Testament scholar.
11. Climb trees and have picnics.
12. Hike Timp.
13. Jump in Lake Powell.
14. Go to weddings and bridal showers!
15. Memorize scriptures.
16. Do a triathlon.
17. Go on a trip.
18. Write letters and cards.
19. Float the river.
20. keep adding to this list and work on my real LIST OF LIFE

The Rise of the Pocket Watch

Let's rewind a three months ago. Routine checking of my email. Subject line: Christmas wish lists. Click. Scrolling down...Sophie - baking supplies, games, a pocket watch...wait, a pocket watch? With a nutrition quiz due at five that evening I moved on forgetting about the strange or not so strange things my little sister might be asking for for Christmas.

Three days ago. Christmas morning. Michael Bublé on in the background. We were all sitting around in our pajamas. Sophie pulls the ribbon off a little box to reveal her treasured pocket watch. Check this out:

Now she wears this everyday. It is like she straight out of a movie, only I have never seen anything like my little sister in a movie. Trend setter or individualist? I am curious to find out.

A note about nationals

So I was running in the national NCAA cross country meet. It was cold and wet. I was trained for this kind of thing. I was ready. Everyone was fast. I was fast. (I had to remember that one.) The course was hard. I was almost 3K into my 6K race. This was where I planned to serge. My heart was willing. My legs were trying. But I was falling behind. I could hear someone coming up behind me. "Right here, Mike." I heard my teammate Rachel say. All I had to do was stay with her. Here comes the hill. "This is my favorite part." She reminded me. Draw from her strength, I thought. I remembered why I was doing this crazy thing: it was for them. The six other runners our there battling with this race. They who put their whole heart into this sport that we love. It was because there is something so real, so raw, so...well right now it was so painful. I finished that race, turned around because I thought I was in dead last. I wasn't. I kept walking because that was all I could do to keep from falling over. Sure I have raced better, but I wasn't disappointed. That race had created me - like every race does. And I had crossed the finish line while giving everything I had left. That is racing.

Something to think about...

Is our sense of identity, sense of self, created from within or imposed upon us by our surroundings and those around us?