Being Picky

This post has sat in my drafts since 2015. I sort of abandoned my blog because writing frustrates me, or perhaps more accurately, perfectionism and anxiety make writing frustrating. In the last few years (months, really), I've finally started working on some of these issues of mine, and I think writing more will be helpful. 

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I turned 25 this year. I don't know how it happened, and frankly, I was kind of dreading it. Reaching a quarter of a century seems like a big deal, so I felt obligated to make big plans to celebrate before leaving the early twenties age bracket. Honestly, though, I didn't do much differently from any other birthday. Some gifts/cards came in the mail from family, and friends/roommates shared food and fun. I'm old enough to rent a car now! And also old enough for the stereotype that since I'm not married by this point, I probably need extra help to get there.

Several people I've met recently have shown surprise that I'm 25, suggesting I look younger. I guess it's flattering, except that it's probably because I still have acne breakouts to rival a teenager's. It wouldn't be so bad if I didn't have the anxious habit of picking -at my face, scabs, hang nails, split hairs...
Thankfully, nobody has yet tried (at least to my face) attributing my still-single status to simply being "too picky."

Don't get me wrong: I believe marriage is an important part of life both on earth and in eternity, and it is something that I aspire to despite how expertly it eludes me. But it's a big freaking commitment, so I don't think it's anyone's place to suggest someone is being too picky with regard to the most important decision of one's life. My parents divorced when I was 18, and I don't actually know if their relationship was ever healthy during my observations.

So even though many people around me (and younger, I'll add) are finding love, getting married, having children, and apparently progressing more than I am now or will in the foreseeable future, I take comfort in knowing that my life will turn out wonderfully somehow, and I can't judge that based on someone else's timeline: God knows what's best and I have to trust that things will work out incredibly well.

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I've left the post as I saved it back then. Incomplete, oh well. 

I don't think I could have been described as "picky" because I didn't exactly have a long line of suitors... I'll be exploring theories about this in future posts. When I originally wrote this, I had dated a guy for a couple months earlier in the year, we broke up, kind of made up? and at this point he had long-distance ghosted me. Well, for the first time. Ugh, I had so much to learn. 

...but who's counting?

I am, that's who! Today marks six weeks until my little brother gets home from his two-year mission to Japan! Typically, when someone "has a missionary" or "is waiting for a missionary," that means they have a dating history and probably hope to get married when the mission's done. I know several people who have successfully waited for a missionary, and for a brief period I thought I would be waiting for one. In hindsight, I'm glad that didn't end up happening because I'm realizing I'm not a big fan of torture. Dating is tough, as I've been learning recently, but that's a story for another blog post (hopefully it doesn't take another year for me to write it...). Anyway, even though I'm not going to be dating my returned missionary, I'm insanely excited for him to get home.

It's been a pretty weird couple of years. You may recall that a little over two years ago, my older brother, Jesse, passed away due to a car accident. Just a few months after he left for that mission (which will last a lot longer than two years, I'll add), it was time for Isaac to leave on his, so despite the weekly e-mails he sends, I think it's felt a bit like I won't see either of them for a really long time. Family gatherings felt a lot emptier starting that year... but seriously, Isaac's coming back in 42 days!

I must apologize to my older brothers, all of whom served missions, as I was definitely not as excited for them to get back. To be fair, none of them ever declared me to be his best friend, and Isaac and I have been through a lot together. Of the six children in the family, we were the two still living at home when our parents divorced, we adopted a cat, our dog died, and other such hardships occurred. We were both out at school when the news of Jesse's accident arrived, and we made the painful trip home for the funeral together. When I was three and a half years old and Isaac was born, I appointed myself as his second mother, so yeah, we have a special bond. Everyone knows the mom gets to hug the missionary first at the airport, so obviously I get second dibs. I'm sure at some point he'll bring up the time when we were kids and I allegedly sat on his head, and I'll lovingly remind him that - although I have no memory of the incident - I'm sure he was asking for it.

While I suppose those who are waiting for their missionaries in a romantic sense may also be ecstatic at approaching homecomings, I will say from experience that dating does not always work out the way we hope it will. No matter what, though, Isaac and I will always be siblings - and hopefully best buddies, too.

Close Encounters of the Ursid Kind

Well, it would seem I forgot I had a blog for about a year. I guess I was focused on a lot of other things like applying to graduate school, finishing the ol' bachelor's degree, trying to think of good blog posts, and other hectic life stuff that happens.

This and last summer, my job has been working through the university as a contracted field researcher for the US Forest Service. Along with two or three other crew members from school, I visit study sites in the national forest to look at vegetation trends. Some of the sites are easily accessible with a 4WD truck, but others require hiking and even bushwhacking. We had a new experience this week, and since I woke up the other morning with the clever title you see above, I decided I'd share it.

Wednesday was a hiking day at work; fortunately, there was a good trail to follow so aside from the steep incline, the two miles weren't too bad. The district's range technician had chatted with us in the morning and mentioned that we'd be in bear country, which usually means it's a good idea to stay alert, make noise (so as not to startle a bear by suddenly happening upon it), and carry bear spray, but it isn't likely we'll see anything. My coworker brought her 8-month-old cattle dog for the first time this week, and it turned out to be nice having her with us on that hike. She was keenly aware of our surroundings, noticing every bit of movement/sound made by birds and rodents. At one point, she stiffened and raised her hackles, so we knew something different was in the woods. Nothing happened, so we kept going. Much later, when we were almost to the first site, the dog and her owner heard some crashing branches and rustling plants: something big was in the clearing up ahead. We all stopped and couldn't see anything so dismissed it as a deer that had bounded off, but after another step or two, I saw that it actually was a bear - the first one I've ever seen outside of captivity. It was a smallish (for a bear), light brown-colored black bear and was just checking out a tree about 100 or so feet from us. I told my companions what I saw, the one grabbed her dog (who was alert and growling) and the other reached for her bear spray in case it charged. It took just seconds for the bear to notice us and take off running up the hill in the other direction. Breathing sighs of relief, and glad we wouldn't become one of the horrific bear encounter stories our professor enjoys sharing, we were able to appreciate the neatness of the experience. It could have gone so much worse than it did, and although we were all a bit freaked out for the rest of the day, we were grateful to be safe.

Two Months

Today it's been two months since the phone call came. My brother, Jesse, was in a car accident in Wyoming; his car spun out and rolled into a ravine, he got out and told the witness he was okay, and then he collapsed and died.

We hear a lot about death on the news, in movies, etc., but it's still such a vague, abstract concept. To think that one moment Jesse was on his way to a job interview - planning to visit other siblings and me on the way back - and the next he was gone from this life - never to meet that interviewer or be greeted by his favorite niece - is just so confusing. It brings up feelings of guilt for things said or not said, shock at the frailty of life, and heartbreak at the realization of each future event he will miss.

I didn't get to say goodbye to Jesse, and every now and then I feel the sting of that fact. I called home the evening before for my regular weekly chat, but he had gone to bed already, and Mom said she'd have him call me when he got to his hotel the next day. I did speak to him the week before, but I don't remember what we said to each other or what my last words to my brother were - probably the usual "Well, have a good week; talk to you later." Knowing I have to wait for probably decades to say anything to Jesse again has changed how I interact with my living siblings. I'm so afraid of not getting the chance to say goodbye, so I'm trying to be better about hugging, saying "I love you," and always including my new parting phrase: "Be safe."

I don't know that I can say Jesse and I were really close; we're separated by a 7-year age gap, and he graduated high school before I reached middle school. However, he influenced the person I've become in many ways. My earliest memories of Jesse are of his teasing me (trying to scare me like a normal big brother), but there were also times he entertained and played with me. I know that I tried hard to be funny and develop a sense of humor largely because I wanted to keep up with Jesse and earn his approval. I was lucky when it came time to move to college that Jesse and Aaron were living out here. Jesse did so much to help me get here and get settled, he helped me with car maintenance, and he even built the computer I'm using to write this post. I wish we could have had more experiences together, and I wish he'd get to meet the guy I marry someday (I'd like to meet him, too- ha ha).

One thing this has taught me is that we are never immune from tragedy; I thought our family had gone through enough before I got to college, and that those were maybe the hardest experiences I'd ever have to endure. This has certainly trumped them all, and I hate to imagine what else is in store for the rest of my life - or how short that life may be.
 
Through it all, I've been so grateful for the knowledge the gospel of Christ offers that our lives did not begin at birth and they don't end with death. Our bodies may break and rot, but our spirits are eternal, and eventually all will be resurrected as the Savior was. I know that Jesse is in a good place, and he's happy. I have to trust that everything is in God's hands, and maybe this was the best way for Jesse to progress eternally. I know that our family isn't truly broken and that we can live with Jesse again when we pass into this next phase of life; I expect it will be a happy reunion and hope that he's already had warm greetings on the other side.

Gestalt

I've been doing a lot of introspection lately, trying to figure out who I really am and what I want in life. To be honest, I have some weird combinations of personality traits.
I know I'm very much an introvert (I need alone time to re-energize), but I'm also shy - meaning I crave social interaction but lack confidence when it gets down to it. It's actually quite frustrating to have this inner battle going on where I want to be by myself, but then that's not good enough, but I feel incapable of making necessary changes.
I recently spent a Saturday evening working on my taxes while all my roommates were on dates. That's unusual, though: most weekend evenings I'm even less productive and only some of my roommates are on dates.

But on to more lighthearted stuff:
I enjoy birdwatching - especially when I can also ID the tree the bird is in.
Very few songs on my MP3 player feature female artists, and even so, most of the songs are comfortably within my vocal range.
Despite being a homebody most of the time, I love the outdoors and camping.
I'm an independent young woman, and I hate when girls rely on guys to change a flat tire, for example, but I also hate crazy feminists.
I listen to Greenday at my sewing machine and oldies while I clean the apartment.
I hate driving in snow but enjoy skiing and sledding.
I once designed and sewed a Mario-themed cross-stitch for my friends' wedding gift.
I prefer clever, intelligent humor, but I can't resist a good pun.
I love naps - any time of the day.
I'm not into the non-committal stuff, but I quite enjoy cuddling - it's been a while.
Loud people don't hear me, and I hear them way too much.
I feel uncomfortable listening to country music outside of a 4wd or 12-passenger vehicle.
I don't think I know how to effectively flirt.
I play the flute - which is why I hate most flautists; I have a soft spot for brass instruments and a weakness for brass players.
For Christmas I was given a ukulele by one parent and a bolt-action .22 long rifle by the other; I loved both gifts.
I really hope I don't end up being a weird dog lady - because I will have 1-2 dogs, single or not.
I like to imagine that driving standard transmission is something a guy will find attractive someday.
I've used my pocket knife to make a Valentine.

While many people will find it perplexing, I find that the more I learn about natural history and such in my science classes, the stronger my testimony grows of the creation and God's plan of happiness for His children.
The word "conservation" in my major title does not indicate that I'm some sort of chain-myself-to-a-tree yuppie: I am, however, a firm believer in managing natural resources responsibly, as we have been given stewardship over the earth.

What seems like an eclectic conglomerate of traits is actually what forms the essence of, well, me. Like most people, I haven't always liked myself or thought I'm worthwhile, but I've learned in recent years that, while there's always room for improvement, it's okay to be who I am, and the right people will appreciate me for it.

Work Adventures

Now that I haven't posted in six months, I guess I should maybe talk about something...

I've mentioned before that I've had jobs like mail sorting and survey administering, but this summer I got a job related to my major. Along with two other ladies, I worked as a field research assistant for a couple of our professors. We drove a huge pickup truck to various locations in the Great Basin Desert (sites were previously selected and marked on GIS maps), using atlas and GPS to find each site. Every week was a different area, and we set up grids of live rodent traps at 3-5 sites every week. We also dug little pitfall traps for insects and did plant composition surveys (lots of sage and desert plants). Each week included three trapping days, so we set up Monday, camped and checked traps daily, and took down everything and headed back to town Thursday. It was a bit of an adjustment to living about half the time fairly primitively, but I came to appreciate the quiet time and all of our wilderness experiences. We caught some neat animals - lots of kangaroo rats (two species), deer mice, grasshopper mice, white-tailed antelope squirrels, wood rats, voles, a dark kangaroo mouse, and we even managed to get a weasel and a gopher snake! That was exciting. Oh, and because there seemed to be a lot of confusion when the girls and I would tell people about our job, we didn't kill or eat the rodents. We simply measured them, marked them by shaving a small patch of fur, and let them go. We actually recaptured a lot of them too (free food, a safe place for the night, and I don't get killed? Sign me up!)

So now it's back into school and I don't work on the research job anymore. I'm actually a teaching assistant for a different professor, although I don't work with a class exactly. You may remember the plant ID team I joined last year; well, the grad student that was the main coach is busy with her thesis this year, so I am now the coach/teacher while she still makes practice quizzes (since I'll still be competing as an undergrad) and shares her vast knowledge with us. It's kind of an overwhelming task: by the time we got meeting schedules arranged, we had only six weeks to learn 200 plants, and I still felt pretty inadequate trying to teach about all of them. It's also a bit scary because we lost some of our top people from last year to graduation. Nevertheless, we went to state competition last week, and as a team we took 2nd place on the plant test, the management test, and the combined scores. Individually, I came in 2nd  on each test (tied with my friend, our management coach on the management exam!) and won 1st for the combined score. It's a great feeling to be recognized for hard work and studying, and I hope we'll all do even better at the national meeting next semester.

In other news, I'm still having fun in my major. One class in particular includes lots of field trips and learning different field techniques. We've electroshocked fish in the local river, used radiotelemetry, tried out GIS, shot dart guns (we're not talking foam darts), and even set up motion-sensing cameras to sample the feral cat population on campus.

For a while I was wondering if law school would be a good option for me after I graduate (there's environmental or natural resource law), but after being in a law lecture series this semester, I'm thinking it's not the best fit. I will most likely go to grad school in a similar field to my current major but may try a different university just to shake things up a bit. It's kind of scary, but I'm not graduating quite yet. At any rate, I'm certain that it will all work out splendidly.

A Curious Thing

Love
When you don't have it, you want it - even if you wish you didn't. I'm currently surrounded by happy, engaged, and in-love couples - even more so than is usual for around here - and I'm trying very hard not to hate them. Many of my once-single friends are in relationships and I'm still very much in single limbo.

It's really just a matter of convincing myself that I really don't care - no matter how secretly I do deep down. If I don't let myself care, I can't really feel the pain of disappointment when I am once again home alone on a weekend.

There's nothing inherently wrong with being single; it gives me a ton of freedom to make my own choices and plans. I can work in the field this summer, camping four days a week, and I can have adventures with friends and focus on schoolwork in the fall. A lot of the time I can convince myself that I like being single... that is until I'm at a movie night with friends, and they're cuddling. Curse my innate desire for closeness!

I don't hate my friends; I don't hate love; and I don't hate myself, but sometimes I struggle to shake the frustration of what seems to be a chronic condition I have. Around here, singleness is sort of looked at as a disease - I mean something must be wrong with you if no one wants you, right? I've heard singles wards described as "leper colonies," and it seems the one I'm in has a high success-rate for recovery. At this point I'm the bitter leper that doesn't get healed yet.

Don't worry, though: I don't feel bitter all the time. Someone I respect told me recently, "I know your turn is coming," mentioning all the people in the ward that have gotten engaged or started dating this semester. I hope it is coming, and that when it does, I'll know how to fit all the pieces of my life together in a satisfactory way because I want an education and to work and support myself, and I don't know how it's all supposed to fit.

The Lord was mindful of the lepers, so I know He hasn't forgotten me. I suppose I just have to wait until it's the right time to be healed.