Failure is Essential

To preface this I wanted to say that I know it's been a while, but I still feel as if this blog is an important part of expressing myself. Please see my post entitled, "I am not a 'Blogger'" for more details of that nature. 

This post is more "serious" than my others have been, but something that is full of some undeveloped thoughts I've been having. Enjoy.

There’s nothing quite like the feeling of accomplishment. This semester I was especially thrilled, because my goal of becoming more self-sufficient was turning into somewhat of a reality! I had landed a job on campus, and I was preparing to be a director for Social. I was proud of myself for pursuing and obtaining meaningful and rare work that would enable me to provide for myself! However, not long ago I got an email from my job saying that I’d need to choose between being a director and working for them.

Initially, I was disappointed, and discouraged. (Alma 26:27) It was very clear to me that I needed to remain with Social, but the thought of calling my mom to say, “I’m going to need some help” was humbling. Things had been so perfect, and now I felt like I’d failed. Conveniently, my personal studies and thoughts had been dwelling on what it means to fail already, so I felt somewhat prepared to cope with the turn of events. (1 Nephi 3:7) There are so many facets to what failure is and why we need it that I hope I can adequately convey not only what is on my mind, but also something that will be valued by you.

I had the privilege to attend Movement Conference (MCON) this summer where the topic of failure was discussed frequently. It was spoken of as a mode of growth, maturity, and as a prerequisite to success – even a rite of passage in Silicon Valley. To increase the rate of success you must also increase the potential rate of failure. There is a method of thinking which says we need to fail fast and we need to fail hard. Have the foresight to see where we might fail, embrace that reality, and make the necessary adjustments (mentally or literally) so when we do fail we’re ready. My high school choir teacher always told us that if we were going to sing the wrong note to sing it loudly so we could fix it. Ultimately, our failures are what lead us to success! If we never fail we’ll never be forced to improve.

This also leads me to wonder how we define success. If we are forever defining success by what we perceive to be a social expectation then we will never be happy or successful. “Tossed to and fro, and carried about by every wind” (Eph. 4:14) of trend and social faux pas. In the parable of the wealthy man who was asked to give up all he had and follow the Savior he was being asked to give up not only his riches, but perhaps also his social status, and other prideful gratifications. In order to sacrifice for a greater cause, even the greatest cause, our Savior, we must be humble. (Matt. 19:20-23, Alma 32:14) It can become exasperating when we’ve made good, righteous goals and they’re frustrated for no apparent reason, but when we can humbly see the opportunities that come from an initially negative situation we are in the process of consecrating ourselves. (Matt. 5:45, 3 Nephi 28:39) So keep making good goals that are stretching even if they don’t become a reality as soon as you’d wish. Those “failures” will push you to see new ways to accomplish your goals, lead you to new friendships, and change your perspective.

While on my mission I wondered how I’d know when I was doing enough. I wasn’t accomplishing all my goals, and I didn’t feel like I could know if I was giving my mission everything I had. My mission president directed me to Alma 29 and told me to “reconcile myself to my own limitations”. In this chapter Alma is lamenting that he isn’t an angel! He wishes he had the capability to cry repentance to every nation! But then he says that he “ought to be content with the things which the Lord hath allotted unto [him]”. He reconciled himself to his circumstance. This being said, I do not wish to trivialize the pain, guilt, discouragement, or frustration that come from the circumstances aforementioned. Even if we can manage to reconcile ourselves to see our perceived failures as opportunities, it will probably still sting. That pain is not dismissed. My thoughts turn to the Savior – He who was praised and sought after and then “despised and rejected of all men”. Think of His crucifixion; while on the cross He cried “My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me?”, but then humbly submitted His will saying, “Father, it is finished, thy will is done.” (Matt. 27:46, 50 JSH) His perceived failure was actually the pinnacle of His success. His actions enabled the rest of humankind to not only to live, but to “succeed gloriously”. (Elder Scott, Oct. 1989)

Let your failures define you in an enabling way. The more comfortable we are with failure the more likely we are to succeed. Referring to my personal experience I had not long ago, having to give up a job I wanted was a blessing. Being able to choose between two good things is such an opportunity! One I took for granted! Now someone else who needs a job has one. Now I appreciate the opportunities I’m having through Social so much more because I’ve had to sacrifice for it. Do I still wish I had a job? Of course. But do I regret my decision? Not at all. It is a divine gift to be able to choose, even if it’s just our perspective. (Moses 5:10-11) In the words of President Monson, “one of God’s greatest gifts to us is the joy of trying again, for no failure ever need be final”. (Apr. 1987)

Cotton Hell Tights

                   

                  The pain I suffered, as a child, by having to wear cotton tights was a real struggle, and trail for me during the tender years of my childhood. Thomas Paine wisely stated, “These are the times that try men’s souls.”  In my current situation I couldn’t agree more. He goes on to say, “The harder the conflict, the more glorious the triumph.” Again, I know from experience that this is another truth!  

                    By the end of summer I would have grown a good couple inches and my winter tights would no longer fit me. The annual trip to Target with my mother and sister to get tights was one of soul-ridden anxiety. I knew what we were getting, I knew I would be in pain all winter, and I knew there was nothing I could do.  

                    I was incredibly anxious as a child. Whenever I crossed a bridge, came in contact with tweezers, thought my mother had left the house, had to talk to people, or had to choose a meal, I would be overcome with immense anxiety. The impending doom of uncomfortable tights was not easing my mind any, to say the least.

                    My mom would pick the right size, and we would leave with the goods in tow. I don’t even know why she bothered to bring us if she already knew what she was getting. I didn’t have a choice. Not that I would have known what to get if I had had a choice. The entire time we were in the store my mind would be filled with the noise of my conscience praying that my mouth would open, and I would somehow prevent the choice that could change my winter for the better.

I never did say anything.

                    The first cold Sunday of the season I would put on my stiff, white, cotton tights with apprehension. They fit pretty well the first Sunday. But the next Sunday? No. I struggled for what seemed like hours to get my tights to obey my tugging fingers. I must have grown. My tights were too small. With these tights it only took half an inch for the beasts to fit incorrectly. This was the impending doom I knew had been coming. Before pulling my flocked, green dress over my head I looked down at the uncomfortably low crotch on my tights. Embarrassing. I tried several yoga poses trying to stretch the resistant cotton. Nothing seemed capable of fixing the crisis I was struggling with, and that’s when I knew: these tights must have come from the pit of hell itself. The true conflict was that I thought there was nothing I could do to fix the status quo.

                    I was in pain every Sunday because of the ridiculously low crotch, and incredibly embarrassed because I didn’t want to appear as that awkward primary kid who couldn’t quite get it together during the spiritual thought. I can remember sitting in primary trying to get past the horrible layers of skirt to pull up the cotton horrors. I soon forewent trying to be inconspicuous about hiking up my crotch in the middle of primary. This was a serious battle for me as a young girl who already struggled with the droll and mommy-less Primary. As a solution, every Saturday night I would tie my cotton-hell-tights to the ends of each bed-post so they would be stretched out by the time morning came. But the fight was real, and the struggle was long, so respite from the pain did not come easily. Physically or emotionally. To this day I do believe I am scarred for life.

                    I only had one brother growing up. I never understood why he didn’t have to wear these tights from Hell. And not just that, he got to wear pants to church. The injustice was hurtful. Every time we jumped up while singing “Jesus Wants Me for a Sunbeam” I would tug up through my static-charged skirts to my tights hoping no one would notice. Especially not my brother. If he noticed it would show that I was struggling with my lot in life, or perhaps that I was weak.

                    This deep conflict wasn’t resolved until I grew out of the teeny girl sizes and was tall enough that I could wear real hard-core nylons. When I have a daughter of my own I will not make her wear the stretch-less monstrosities I have been referring to as tights. I am a defender of the common man, or woman as it were. I believe in advocating against these abominable cotton tights from hell. Petitioning and actively seeking change in society’s expectations for young girls to wear such restrictive and embarrassing garments is a role I accept with pride.

                    This past summer I taught a primary class and I could tell which children were struggling with the same dilemma that I suffered from. The awkward lifting up of the legs while walking to try and casually get the tights to fit properly. And I pitied them because I suffered the same indignity.
                    I am therefore resolved to pursue change, and find order in this world of chaos. So many little girls are in need of a rescuer. Many would look at it as an inferior duty, but no task is small if the goal is worthy and appreciated. It will be an eternal conflict in the lives of many adolescents, I do not deny it. Most of the time it cannot be helped. All societies have their martyrs. (I was almost one of them), but through them we have, as Mr. Paine stated: “triumph”! I triumph in that I have surpassed that intense stage in life!

                    Oprah Winfrey said, “I am a woman in process. I’m just trying like everybody else. I try to take every conflict, every experience, and learn from it. Life is never dull.”
She speaks of being “a woman in process,” and that’s what I battled with: a process. One of pain, and very little emotional recovery. But she is also right in saying “life is never dull”.

P.S. This was originally written for my english class at BYU-Idaho. We were asked to write about a conflict in our personal lives. 

LOST: Parents

Being uprooted from your family tree is an unsettling as it sounds. It looks something like this:

Last Sunday it was brought to my attention that part of my family tree wasn’t accurately documented in Family Search. Something to do with codes and numbers and proper familial things mumbo jumbo – I couldn't actually say. The point is, in the process of trying to get my right family back my mother and I ended up deleting both of my parents from my family tree, in turn leaving me with no one in my lineage but… me. It has been a real struggle, but I think I might be able to make it. It’s a lonely road fraught with criticism that I am not doing enough to seek my ancestors. At the moment I am more concerned about being connected to ancestors that are a little closer than a few great-greats. Much, much closer. Finding that long lost grandfather has even become somewhat (dare I say it?) trivial since I started tearing the Family Search search-engine to pieces looking for my parents. I have been orphaned.

If you actually want to know what happened, here’s the scoop: If you have ever been on Family Search you know that each person has a code. While trying to figure out a couple issues, my mother and I were comparing family trees when we realized that the only codes that were the same on our family names was her mother’s (my grandmother). Same names, same people, same, same, same. And yet different. So we deleted the seemingly less accurate names attached to my name. Makes sense? The most disturbing thing about the ordeal is the fact that even my code-number-thing is different from the one my mother has on her family tree. I AM NOT MY MOTHER’S CHILD. A lost soul to be specific.

I plan on fixing this as soon as I can. “Can” being a flexible term that probably refers to talking to a Family History buff and having them fix it. As much as I want to fix this myself I know my unpracticed fingers would do more harm than good. I would probably put the wrong person as my mother for all I know. Speaking of which, if I ever did want a different family this would be the time to take matters into my own hands! I could add pretty much add anyone into the slot that says, “Mother” or “Father”.

Even better, f anyone has an opening in their Family Tree let me know! Female, 5'8'', blonde, feeling lost. If I'm a fit send me an e-mail. I'm also accepting applications for new families daily. If you fit my criteria we might be able to talk details.

However, when I look at the options, I do not want to replace my Mather and Father. Indeed, the people I want as my parents the most are the ones I have…. Or rather the ones I think I have. 

To all families: Please apply no later than January 1st of the new year. Please note: Preference will be given to families that test positive as a blood relatives. 

I am not a "Blogger"

As one who has never had any consistent hobbies I do not expect blogging to become one of them, and yet it seems like something that, even if I do not excel at, it I can do in my spare time. Since getting home from college and starting a new full-time job I have had very little time to spend on extraneous things that seem frivolous… like blogging. But to say I am bored wouldn't be far-fetched either.

I have three rules for myself with this blog:

1. Punctuation shmunctuation. When writing I tend to be over critical about whether or not it is accurate, thus refusing to show it to anyone else. This cannot matter anymore.

2. Consistency shall be mine! I will try hard to post once a week! There’s no use starting a blog if I don’t have an expectation for myself. A schedule of sorts.

3. I don’t have a third rule.

And there you have it! I’ll be writing about whatever tickles my fancy that week. It might be horrible. It might be really horrible. But if you find joy or even simply mild pleasure from something I have written then I have done my job as a “blogger”.

Best Regards, HH

P.S. You may have noticed that this blog isn’t new. There is, in fact, a post from about two years ago from a previous attempt to blog! Read it and you will know what the content of this blog will probably look like. 

P.P.S. Why the cat? The real question is, "why not the cat?". 

Hungry for Pancakes and Brains

This is from a few years ago...


When my Mom left on a short trip to Utah to see her Mother she told my sister and I to use all of our brains while she was away. It didn't last long. Ok, maybe four hours really is a long time! It was great though! I played in the snow for an hour. After that I read my book (The Hobbit) for another hour! There was really only one thing I was worried about. Food. How was I going to eat while the provider of food was gone? The woman who could create a plethora of food at her fingertips had left and I had to fix my own food? It's true she had talked to us about what we could cook and what we should cook, but still. I had to be responsible? But she had shown confidence in my abilities so I thought I actually had some great hidden power to cook at my fingertips!  My sister Annelise and I had decided to make pancakes for dinner. Easy and yummy. I found the recipe and we tripled it just like Mom had said to do. I wrote down all the right measurements for a tripled batch of pancakes. I did the dry ingredients and Annelise did the wet. I was making orange juice by the time my sister got to putting the butter in. "Nine cups of butter!?" She asked. "Is that what it says?" "Yeah," " Then put nine cups in." It sounded funny, but that's what I had written, so it had to be right! I had been so careful! I watched as my sister scoured the fridge for nine cups of butter. "Is it ok if we only have eight cups?" "That's a big difference. We should probably have at least eight and a half." "Oh! I found nine!!" Oh good! Now our pancakes would be perfect! But that still seemed like a lot of butter. I  made a mental note that we would need to get more butter. Annelise started melting the butter in the microwave two sticks at a time in a glass measuring cup. It was then I suggested she use a big glass bowl instead. "It will be a lot faster." I said. And it would have been!  She had unwrapped about seven sticks of butter when I really began to question the amount. "What is the measurement in the book?" I asked my sister. She looked for about twenty seconds and then said, "Three teaspoons. Tripled it makes nine teaspoons." I had goofed. Screwed up. Erred.  Oops. Now I had to store seven sticks of unwrapped butter. I saran wrapped them. With the melted butter I figured we'd have popcorn later. Honestly I'm just glad my Dad laughed when I told him about it. I remembered what my Mom had told me before she left. To use all of my brain. But that's not possible, is it? But Scienceray, a website that insists to have the perfect sciencey fact for you, says  "Scientists and others in the psychological, sociological fields have asserted that humans use maybe .01 to .10 percent of our brain. Without getting all science geek about it there is an easier way of understanding what that means. First let us clarify, mechanically you use 100% of your brain. Maximizing usage is another subject. So when someone puts a percentage of use on the brain they do not mean that the other say 90% is dormant or useless." I kind of agree! But then again this is the same website that believes they've discovered a 9,400 year old dog. Maybe I should think again? Maybe I should get all "science geek" about it. But my Mom told me to use all of my brain and as everybody knows mothers know best! So maybe they did discover a nine thousand four hundred year old dog after all! Well really all I know is that I didn't use the right amount of brain that I should have. I couldn't believe she was going to be gone for four whole days! They were good pancakes though.