Rambunctiousness, Recklessness, and Restraint

I suppose you could define me by my willingness to forgo sanity and do the stupid and incredibly fun things that could certainly kill me if anything went wrong. I’ve always been reckless, even since I learned to walk and probably before that, I have no doubt that even before I was born I was getting into some kind of catastrophic mess in one way or another. The earliest disasters I caused happened so long ago that the only reason I know they happened is because my parents took pictures. 

"A Picture is worth 1000 words." - Fred R. Bernard 

In my case they seem to repeat the words 'oh no', 'ouch', and 'yikes' a lot.  Yes that's me in a torpedo tube.

Living Authentically (and Loving It?)

A personal essay by Anna Christensen

"It is far better to live your own destiny, duties, and nature imperfectly than to live an imitation of someone else's with perfection". -The Bhagavad Gita

"Let Peace Fill Your Body"-Sage Friedman

There have been points in my life where I preferred to surf the tides of trends and societal norms. I went crazy for chia pets and Lisa Frank folders in the early 2000s, as did my classmates and friends. More recently, I bought velvet scrunchies, a denim jacket, and suede boots at the same time that everyone else did.

More importantly, I've chosen specific paths in my life because that's what everyone else was doing. I applied to BYU, I served a mission, I got married. While I did all of these things willingly, I do know my desire to conform contributed to the confidence with which I made these decisions. During some of these decisions, I seemed to be living "an imitation of someone else's [life] with perfection". All that mattered was that the boxes were checked.

Jump?

A personal essay by Sarah Wiersdorf

Is the little voice telling me that I can't do something sometimes right? 

Photo by Kelli McClintock on Unsplash

Atticus Finch said to Scout, “[courage is] when you know you’re licked before you begin, but you begin anyway and see it through no matter what.”

Great quote, isn’t it? But here’s the thing. What things are worth seeing through no matter what? At what point is it best to give up? A part of me, the little, analytical scientist in me, may pretend to know the answer to everything, but I can’t seem to figure out which things are worth being courageous about.

I didn’t question myself as I stood at the edge of a cliff, waiting for my turn to jump. Most of the kids in my teenage youth group were much larger than me, so none of the lifejackets fit me correctly. But I didn’t have to wear the suffocating things. My dad was there to give me permission not to. “Is she a strong enough swimmer?” they asked him. Yeah, yeah, I’d been swimming since before I could walk, thank you very much. Just let me jump.

Running Toward the Future

A personal essay by Breanna Staten

A newly-converted long distance runner uses her endurance skills to cope with her husband's upcoming admittance into medical school.

White earmuffs. New tennis shoes. Two jackets layered up to stave off the chill. My resolve was as fragile as the ice crunching beneath my feet with every labored step. The top of the hill came slowly, slowly. That breathtaking view of Utah valley was veiled by my huffing, puffing breath.

Photo by Hunter Johnson on Unsplash

Whoever said, “You were born to run,” (Florence Griffith-Joyner, I think. Along with every motivational sports commercial ever) must have been at least a mild-mannered masochist. I wasn’t born to run. I was born to read for hours on end and eat grapes and goldfish all afternoon. As I reluctantly turned from that view to finish my run, I thought of the rest of Ms. Griffith-Joyner’s quote. “You were born to run. Maybe not that fast,” (like me), “maybe not as efficiently as others,” (also like me), “but to get up and move, to fire up that entire energy-producing, oxygen-delivering, bone-strengthening process we call running.”

A Time to Speak

A personal essay by Elizabeth Niamh Keeney

“To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven.”

-Ecclesiastes 3  

Even though she is my oldest friend, Bronwyn has never made a lot of effort to keep in contact with me. Even with our friendship of eighteen years, it took a worldwide pandemic for her to initiate communication. I know that people grow apart, people change, and that friends come and go, but I never thought it would be that way with her.

Our friendship has survived a lot. In college, she once stopped talking to me because of a difference in opinion, she apologized and we moved on like normal. During my year-and-a-half in Taiwan, she maybe emailed me once, but we still hung out after I returned home. So, after months of sporadic replies to my messages, she contacts me at her most bored, when she is confined to her living space.

Maybe it’s because we have nothing to talk about anymore because we view our shared past in such different ways.

Sincerest Performance

A personal essay by Benjamin Gappmayer

LIFT me close to your face till I whisper,
What you are holding is in reality no book, nor part
of a book,
It is a man, flushed and full-blooded—it is I—So
long!    - Walt Whitman

Don’t worry. I’m not as ambitious as Whitman was. I don’t expect to be reborn on this page, to crawl out of this paper for some secret meeting with you. Even if I could, I don’t think you would want that, either. I certainly don’t. 

Orion and One Family's Story

A personal essay by Andrew Oakes

Orion used to be the only constellation I ever bothered to look for--and it still is.

"Stars"

How can I do justice to Grandma, and to stars? I am not the first person, neither will I be the last, to have gazed, somewhat stiff-necked, up at the night sky. I am not the first person, neither will I be the last, to have tried expressing (clumsily) the camera obscura holes in our dark, warm night-blanket, which open on unexpected realities on their other sides. I am not the first person, and I will not be the last, to take pride in knowing the constellations, and relaying their stories to my friends. Neither am I the first—as these last several months have taught me—to pay homage to a life which now finds itself among those stars.

An Internal Glow

A personal essay by Kendal Clawson

Two landscape photographers inspired by the same place. One a hero to the other and the other attempting to follow in his footsteps.

"Turning Time" by Peter Lik

“This grand scene needed that special lighting. On day eight, Mother Nature revealed her glory.

I stood in awe right on the edge of the amphitheater, watching the clouds gather, and a stunning reflection on the river below.”-Peter Lik

Unlike my landscape photography hero Peter Lik, I did not camp out eight days to capture my image of the horseshoe bend. But in a way, I’ve been camping out my whole life to capture that landscape. It has been a preparation that I’ve done ever since I heard of the place, saw Lik’s photo and heard of his inspirational experience.

The Forest: An Awakening

A personal essay by Eli Hovey

“44, you’re in!”

I only picked 44 because Nick took my favorite number, so I had to repeat it in double digits. I had just moved to Plymouth last year so of course he always beat me in the popularity contest. The referee told me to toss my PHITEN necklace—my good luck charm—I couldn’t wear it on the court even though I needed it to make me popular.

It was my first travel game on the team: my shorts hung low and bagged below my dry, skinny knees. I tucked into them my bulky, cotton white shirt and the overhanging blue pennant-jersey; I wasn’t allowed to wear just the tank top—plus it was a cold Massachusetts morning anyways so I didn’t mind.

It all happened so fast. Rebound. Full court press. “WATCH OUT FOR THE STRIP.” I felt a bulky presence trailing my heels trying to take the ball away from me. Jump. Shot. Hit. Fall. SNAP.

Home Is Where The Heart Was

A personal essay by Tanner Weyland

“Home isn't where you're from, it's where you find light when all grows dark.” 
― Pierce Brown

Photo by Author

Dip and rise—the ferry slowly undulates across the windy bay as my wife and I stand by the guard rail. Snap a selfie—I try to stand so the wind does not mess up my hair, but—too late. She smiles and I copy it. Why do I feel uneasy? Seattle, the city we are leaving, is literally in sight across the water, but as the waves dip and rise, unease splashes into the boat, wetting my shoes and chilling my feet. Driving off the ferry, over the hills, through quaint towns with white houses and sky-piercing trees, it looks beautiful. But it’s not home.

Later, we sit, watching waves from a log that has been smoothed by one-thousand sittings. Peace. More than I had felt the entire trip, sitting by her with nothing to say. It feels almost like home—when can we go home? Away from the cold water, the winding roads, the encroaching trees that are so beautiful in the daylight but so intrusive at night—where is our home, and how can we get there?

Bloom Where You are Planted

A Personal Essay by Marin Pinkham

Standing out was something that seemed to be a common characteristic of my life, but it wasn't until I physically stood out  that I realized the beauty of differences.

"yellow petaled flowers near the cliff and crystal clear ocean"

My blonde hair billows in the humid but warm breeze as I saunter down the gray sidewalk that parallels the black asphalt road. The aromatic scent of carne asada and grease wafts towards me as I pass the local’s favorite taco joint - Pedro’s Tacos. I think about my possible order - fantasizing over a fish taco smothered in cabbage - as I wander closer to the enticing body of water at my favorite beach - T-Street.

It had been about a year and a half since I had wandered aimlessly through the colorful streets, remarking on the beauty and nonconformity that the houses gave in contrast to one another. It was here that I discovered the beauty that lies in the different, the unexpected. It was here that I realized the danger that comes when an individual strives too hard to fulfill the same future as the next person. It was here where I realized the beauty that I hold in calling T-Street my favorite beach.

Roads, Relationships, and Realizations

A personal essay by Tyler Erickson

Sunset on I-15

“On the highway of life, some ‘drivers’ may cross your lane and you may take ‘the wrong exit.’ Remain watchful until you reach your destiny.” – Assegid Habtewold

The north to south running freeway, I-15, winds through the diverse landscape of Utah. Through mountains high and valleys low it snakes. Beautiful red rocks with snow-capped peaks are seen as faces are pressed on the windows of cars. Yet, from Lehi to Provo, the freeway turns into a wild go-kart track.
This track, about four lanes wide with cars and semi-trucks and motorcyclists all sharing the same roadway, is where flat tires are born, as vehicles navigate the gaping pot-holes – those deep, dark, and endless potholes.

Fiery anger, from endless drivers, leads to curse words combined with inappropriate gestures and usher even the best of saints down a slow and slippery slope.