Softer

I was new in Mrs. Morrison's third grade classroom.  I had only been there a few weeks, and I remember hearing the whispers going around...Sam wasn't there because his grandpa died, and he went to the funeral.

I remember when Sam came back.  He was wearing a cream shirt, which seemed to stand out against his darker skin.  His black hair was short.  He was quiet.

And he seemed softer.  Everything about him seemed soft.

I've thought about this moment since third grade, and I had to wonder why.  I'm not friends with Sam, and I never really have been.  I could almost guarantee that no one else in that third grade class remembered the few days Sam missed.

After this week, I finally understand why I remember this moment.  This was my first acquaintance with grief.  This was my first understanding what the concept meant.

And I realized that, for me, grief does make you softer.  I've felt more keenly for the pain of those next to me.  Crying with a girl who lost her brother.  Talking with a boy who misses his mom.  These people who are still commenting in class and making sandwiches and taking out the trash.  During the hard moments, we still breathe.

We breathe in and out and cry and blow our noses.

And our souls become soft.

Victory Lap

Dear Elise,

Region debate is tomorrow.  You've sat all day today, with that nagging thought in your head.  You have a talent for growing things--caring for them, watering them, cajoling them to bigger than they are.  And I'm not taking about plants.  You narrow in on one thing.  You find something that awakens your soul and you devote yourself.  You did that with volleyball.  You did that with the aftermath of volleyball.  Heck, you've even done it with the idea of growing things.  My favorite food is ice cream.  I like pizza.  My favorite color is pink.  I like the sky.  I run.  I read.  I like to be in charge.  I like clothes.  I cry a lot.

I debate.

You've let all of these things define you...maybe thinking that once you have everything in a nice, neat list life will make a little more sense.  You will understand a little bit better.

You are learning more and more that coming up with a definition is a lot harder than you would expect.  You can't just 'define' something, cite Merriam-Webster, and be done with it.  Life will never be like that.  And you, my dear, will never be like that.

Debate has been something that seems all encompassing doesn't it?  Every aspect of your life seems to be affected by it.  You like it.  You really have devoted an incredible amount of time, effort, talent, fear, and prayers into debate.  And it's almost done.

What do you have to show of it?

You have yourself.  I firmly believe that Heavenly Father provides you exactly what you need.  And He has allowed you to be changed by the debate program because that is what you needed.  It was the easiest, most exhilarating, most happy thing you could have done to get to where Elise is.  Other ways maybe would have worked.  Some methods may seem less painless.  But your high school wouldn't have been what it was without debate.

When you think of tomorrow, when you ignore the butterflies fluttering so fast in your stomach you can barely breathe for the current they're making, and when you hold your head up, know you've done enough.

You have stepped into the ring, not once, but twice.  You have stepped into the ring right after your success--success that burned so brightly you could barely breathe.  And you stepped into the arena right after your failure--failure that mildewed so much you could barely breathe because of the smell it gave off.

You've done it all.

Congrats.  You're done.  You've done enough.  And you now get to run your Victory Lap with three tournaments left.  "You're a sexy beast and you're going to rock this."

xo. Elise

This is my life!

Like a lightning bolt, I jerk awake.  The funny thing is that I was awake all day long.  Sometimes I realize that this is my life, and I have the privilege to live it.  I can be whomever I want to be.  

The irony of being 18.  You are the oldest at your school.  People look up to you, and you're supposed to have the answers.  You feel powerful, and you drink in that power.  You've waited for this feeling for a long time.  

Then I have moments like right now.  I am so small.  So little.  So indescribably young.  I haven't made any decisions yet.  I have my whole life ahead of me.  

That is an empowering feeling, when you finally bolt awake.  When you realize that you haven't done anything with your life.  You have a lifetime to build whatever you want.  I can make as many plans, lists, and goals as I absolutely want.  A blank canvas.  

It's a beautifully freeing feeling.  

I look at this picture of me being so young.  Kindergarten maybe?  She's excited for life and she doesn't even know the little voice exists.  

And then I look at this picture, taken this fall.  I look beautiful and excited and empowered.  It's a privilege for me to look at these pictures and see how much my eyes still look the same.  

I'm excited to start constructing the life I always dreamed of. 

xo. Elise 

The Poems Have It.

There is something about poetry that I just about drool over it.  I think the fragmented thinking is what I love about it.  I think that it is the purest form of writing.  Thus, one of my favorite poems.

If—

By Rudyard Kipling 

If you can keep your head when all about you   

    Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,   

If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,

    But make allowance for their doubting too;   

If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,

    Or being lied about, don’t deal in lies,

Or being hated, don’t give way to hating,

    And yet don’t look too good, nor talk too wise:

If you can dream—and not make dreams your master;   

    If you can think—and not make thoughts your aim;   

If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster

    And treat those two impostors just the same;   

If you can bear to hear the truth you’ve spoken

    Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,

Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,

    And stoop and build ’em up with worn-out tools:

If you can make one heap of all your winnings

    And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,

And lose, and start again at your beginnings

    And never breathe a word about your loss;

If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew

    To serve your turn long after they are gone,   

And so hold on when there is nothing in you

    Except the Will which says to them: ‘Hold on!’

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,   

    Or walk with Kings—nor lose the common touch,

If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,

    If all men count with you, but none too much;

If you can fill the unforgiving minute

    With sixty seconds’ worth of distance run,   

Yours is the Earth and everything that’s in it,   

    And—which is more—you’ll be a Man, my son!

Some of my favorite lines in that poem.  For me, this poem explains exactly what I want in my life.  It's a roadmap.  That perfect equilibrium.  Isn't it beautiful?  If you can meet success and failure like the same instance, and never say a thing about your loss.  If no one can hurt you...

Yes, the purest form of thinking.