The "Dangers" of "Safety"

(This post was inspired by Pride and Root Canals by Katelyn Dalton. Check it out--she is wise beyond her years and has a gorgeous way of expressing that wisdom in writing).

In her post, Katelyn discusses why it is that we are often so reluctant to ask for help, boiling it down to one fault: pride. With this, I couldn't agree more. But I believe there can be another motive for hiding weakness: it's safer. It seems counter-intuitive. And honestly, it is. But not entirely.

One of my very favorite books of all time is Ender's Game. I still have memories of lying in bed with my dad as he read it to me back when I was--oh, probably ten or so. He was so good at the voices--my favorite was Graff's. I loved the book so much that I've read at the start of nearly every school year since--roughly eight times now. With each reading, I found myself empathizing with different characters and gaining new perspectives. One of my favorite quotes from the book is when the main character, Ender, reflects on his relationship with his enemy, the buggers.
"In the moment when I truly understand my enemy, understand him well enough to defeat him, then in that very moment I also love him. I think it's impossible to really understand somebody, what they want, what they believe, and not love them the way they love themselves. And then in that very moment when I love them - "
"You beat them."
I've always loved that quote, but it wasn't until my much later readings that I began to truly understand it.
To be loved and understood is to be vulnerable. When someone knows your struggles, knows your weaknesses, knows what you love and what you fear, knows your secrets . . . they can hurt you.
They can judge you, condemn your weakness as folly, leave you when you need them most, tell your secrets, betray your trust . . .

And so, especially for those who have been hurt, it seems better--safer--to handle things alone.

But there's a terrible flaw in this.
It's hard to wipe a tear that hasn't fallen.
How often do we lend comfort or counsel to those whose lives seem perfect?
Most often, we don't.

And that's where this idea of "safety" becomes dangerous. It's harder to get hurt, but it's also harder to get help. We aren't meant to suffer on our own.

This is where pride comes back in. Because some are too prideful to admit faults, others fear to do so.
Because some are too prideful to ask for help, others never get the chance to give it, and to realize they are not the only ones who need someone--that they are not alone. They miss out on one of the best cures: perspective.

When we pretend to be perfect and fine we not only give in to pride, but we contribute to the fear and insecurity that stifle so many cries before they can even be uttered.

When we are willing to ask for help when we need it we are not only helping ourselves but helping those whom we ask it from and those who would have otherwise been too afraid to ask. Perhaps it may be eye opening, but not wrong, to say then, that when we try to do everything on our own we are in fact being selfish.

So today I want to ask you to do two things. One, give someone the opportunity to help you and, two, dry a tear before it falls--give someone a hug, call a friend, leave a nice note.
Just because some are too afraid to cry, does not mean there are not tears to dry.

Candidly,
Cookie

Perception is the one reality

Reality is not the things we see

But rather, it’s connections, friendships, love

The things, unseen, we only can perceive

How great, how glorious, how complete this sight!

One in which our hearts and souls delight

A world that shines by filaments of love

Where all are seen for their potential light

A world where sep’rates only true in sight

Sight, that instrument that sings us lies

For though we may feel all alone, our love

Does bind us with inseparable ties

So hug me. For a moment, hold me close

That my eyes may see the truth that my heart knows

I'm Falling In Love . . .

With Quotidian.
I came across the word in a narrative essay. It was love at first sight. It made me think of old quills, scratching out chinese characters--the dark ink seeping out of the feather and flowing on to the page , settling the way it was intended to rest, in perfect characters. And when I think of characters I think of Shan Yue, my friend. I think of studying together in the library, in a one-windowed study room on the top floor. I think of spontaneous study breaks, like when I told her about the bridge in the Fine Arts Building that's been nick-named the Star Wars Bridge. Of course, we had to go find it. And we did.
When I think of Quotidian, I think of quotes--not the kind you hear across the pulpit from eminent speakers, historic heroes, or pop-culture celebrities, but the kind that influence in a more intimate way. I think of those quotes I hear every day like, "I love you" and "It's good to see you" and then  I think of those quotes that, though you hear them only once, strike you so deeply that they are replayed in your sleep like a favorite song that plays itself over and over, creeping into the most mundane moments. I think of what I was told by a classmate in my English grammar class. "You're a very eloquent person," she told me. "Also, you have a very good . . . feeling about you. I just think you're great." I used to think eloquent was one of the highest compliments I could be given. If ever I was told that by someone such as E.E Cummings or Jeffrey R. Holland, my life would be complete, but surprisingly, it was what followed that meant the most.
I think, too, of another time when I was in my Chinese class. A group had just presented a dialogue in Mandarin and our teacher was writing notes about their scores. "He's writing a lot," said one of the presenters, "we must have done pretty bad. He's writing down all our mistakes."
"Or he could be writing down compliments. There's just so many to give," I countered.
"Brooke, you have to be the class optimist," Shan Yue said, laughing. And then, after a pause. "That's why Brooke is my soul." Of course she said it loud enough for our small class to hear, but I didn't care, because by then anyone who hadn't figured that out had zero powers of observation. I only laughed because it was the first time such a thing had been said and it was just like Shan Yue to say it so candidly, so emphatically, and just grand enough to actually be true.
When I think quotidian, I think "tidy." Not necessarily as in "neat" but more like "routine." There's a certain sense of order and  . . . oh, what's the word? Control. There's a sense of control and security that comes from following a routine, which is why I have one. Every morning I wake up and make my bed first thing. After getting dressed, I fold my pajamas and put them neatly under my pillow. I grab the rose-gold CTR ring that my brother gave me and slip it on the middle finger of my right hand. From the same spot on the shelf above my bed, beside my journal, my scriptures, and my favorite books, The Giver, MoonRaker's Bride and Unwritten, I grab the silver necklace with a small elephant charm from my sister, and put it on, the elephant's trunk always facing to my left. I grab my laptop, backpack, and scriptures, and exit quietly to the kitchen where I pull up General Conference talks on my laptop to listen to as I make breakfast. I try to listen to a new one every morning, but sometimes I come across ones such as Dallin H. Oaks' "Strengthened by The Atonement of Jesus Christ" which merits more than one listening. I give it a week's worth. After washing my dishes, I curl up on the couch and read for half an hour or so, then head up to the library on campus, looking for familiar constellations as I walk, amazed that anyone could sleep so long they miss the view I get every morning. One morning, I discovered my own constellation: a question mark. It sits right above the mountain I see outside my bedroom window and it makes me smile because it's right above the big cement Y on the mountain. I smile because even after all you learn in college, there seems to be more questions than there ever will be answers. Sometimes it's absolutely daunting, and other times the intoxicating thrill of uncertainty is also the promise of unlimited possibilities. It's all in your perspective.
I get to campus and find what I am convinced is the best kept secret in the library--the comfy chairs in the far left corner of the second floor. By then it's seven o'clock and the library is empty, which is how I like it best. At 7:40, I leave for class, which doesn't start till 8:00, giving me just enough time to sit down at the piano in the lecture hall and play "Velvet Tear" until my mind is calm and relaxed. Then it's on to class with Shan Yue.
After class, she walks me to my next class in the Joseph Fielding Smith Building, my favorite building on campus. I milk every minute. Sometimes its so hard to go to class, even though I love it, because it's those little moments and those little things we share and laugh at that I know I'll miss the most.
Every Tuesday and Thursday when I walk home from campus, I take the long route that goes by the Frozen Yogurt place and grab a free sample. It's not quite a sampling though, because I know beforehand exactly what I'm going to get and it's always the same--coconut and chocolate. And then on Wednesday nights after Orchestra rehearsal, I walk to the temple, and on my way home I grab a small bowl of coconut-chocolate frozen yogurt, and recall those summer days when I would bike with my brothers to the frozen yogurt place by our house and pester Dallin for taking so long to eat, while paradoxically wishing he would never finish so that our time would never end.
Come to find out, Quotidian means"daily", "ordinary."
The key to living  a happy life and loving it is to fall in love every day with quotidian things. Every day there is something to love and when you find it, you'll begin to love every day. You'll find that it's in the small and ordinary that we find the great and extraordinary. It's the smile from a friend you take for granted. It's the constellations that paint the sky every night. It's the things you hear so often you're almost sick of hearing them, but that you'll miss so desperately when they're not said.
It's the quotidian things that we'll remember, cherish, and love.

And so, I am delighted to say that I am falling in love . . . with Quotidian.

Candidly,
Cookie