An Orange World and How to Be in It (Trust Me, You Want To Be In It)

Some of my favorite lyrics read, "Stand me up and look inside. So many people shape my life. I am pieces of them all. They are why I stand tall."

To tell you about each and all of these wonderful people would take, well, a lifetime (and it has) and so I will tell you about all of them--by telling you about just one. Her name is Katelyn.

Katelyn is one of those people who lights up the room when she walks in. She makes you feel precious, loved, and special, and I never leaver her but that I feel that I am a better (and happier) person than I was when she found me. In short, Katelyn is an orange person. What do I mean by that? Well, let me take you back to a conversation we had some weeks ago--Saturday, November 14th.

It was a relatively warm day for November. My hands would get chilly when I took them out of the pockets of my navy-blue sweater, and I was thankful for long socks beneath my jeans. It was a cold day for a native Georgian, but, like I said, relatively warm for Utah.

The air was dry and crisp, as it always is in Utah. Even in rainstorms, the air feels dry compared to the stanch humidity of Georgia. It means the nuisance of having to put on lotion at least three times a day, but it also means the brown and scarlet leaves strewn over the sidewalks make a beautiful crunching sound beneath my feet as I walk.

The walk to Katelyn's place is a long one by anyone's standards other than my own. Having no mode of transportation aside from my own two feet, I'm accustomed to long walks, and, the honest truth is, I rather enjoy them.
As I walked, I sang. I talked to myself. I turned around often to look at the mountains. I checked the time on my phone. I talked to myself again. I listened to the crunch of the leaves and the noises of traffic. I checked the time again. 2:30. I was right on schedule.

Some weeks earlier, my sister, Kylie, and her husband, Josh, had taken me to get a root beer float at possibly the most adorable little shop in all of Provo: Pop 'n Sweets. If Willy Wonka owned a tiny little shop in the heart of Provo, this would be it. Along all the walls are bottles of all shapes, sizes, and colors, filled with sodas of all sorts of flavors--"Butter Beer," "Chocolate and Bacon Breakfast Surprise," "Blood Orange and Cranberry Tart," "Sasquatch Sarsparilla," "Cotton Candy Dream" . . . .

The center of this tiny shop is cluttered with displays of various candies and chocolates from a wide span of places and eras. And in the back of the shop is the counter where Katelyn and I sat on our red, cushioned bar stools and sipped our free root beer floats (our prize for taking an online survey).

My original plan had been to go to Pop 'n Sweets later that evening, but Katelyn was going on a date that night and had informed me that she was rather busy with homework and the like, so 2:30 had been our best option. I was surprised, then, when, over an hour later, we were still sitting at the "Mormon bar" talking. It was as though both we and the night had drunken from the waters of Tuck Everlasting, and I soaked in every minute.

By the time we were making the walk back to Katelyn's apartment, the sun was beginning to set, casting a warm orange glow on the mountains.
Katelyn remarked that she loves when the mountains turn orange and I made some remark on how orange used to be my least favorite color but has since become my favorite. "Have I told you this story?" I asked Katelyn.
"No," she replied.
Perhaps you've heard it said that all good stories start with "Once upon a time," but in my experience, most good stories start with "no," as did this one.

"When I was little," I began, "my mother read to us a book called I Love You the Purplest." I turned to Katelyn, "Have you read it?"
Katelyn responded in the negative and so an explanation was in order.
Essentially, I Love You the Purplest is about two brothers who asked their mother which of them she loved the most. If you have a sibling and have asked your mother this question you've probably gotten the typical "You're my favorite second-oldest daughter" or "You're my favorite oldest son." The mother in this story decides to, instead, give each of her sons a color. "I love you the redest," she says to one. And to the other, "I love you the bluest."
Well, at some point in our childhood, my sister and I got smart and decided to ask my mother what color she loved us the best. And she loved me the orangest. At the time, orange and purple were my least favorite colors--the only colors, in fact, that I didn't like. So you can imagine I was a little disappointed that she loved me the orangest--that is, until she told me why.
I reminded her of the sunrise--and the sunset. I reminded her of the sunrise because I was always hopeful, positive, and radiant. I reminded her of the sunset because it is calm and peaceful and because the world feels like a better place after a sunset.
Katelyn told me about one of the goals her uncle had shared with her--one that she had subsequently adopted as her own. The goal was simple and it was this: to leave people better than you find them.
"It's just like you were saying," she told me. "It's an orange thing." She paused, smiled, and then paid me one of the greatest compliments I've ever received, "You really are an orange person, Brooke. I'm always happier when I'm around you."
Have you ever been paid a compliment you weren't sure you really deserved but wanted to and so you resolved to do things that would make yourself feel worthy of it? I had just been told I was an orange person by one of the orangest people I know. Of course I didn't feel worthy. And so all month I've thought about that simple goal--to leave people better than I find them. And can I just tell you it has been an incredible month.
Now, every time I look at the mountains, I think of the conversation we had on our walk back from Pop n Sweets that night in early November. I look at the orange mountains and I want to be like them. I want to make people happy. I want to inspire them with just a glimpse of their unlimited potential and beauty. I want to leave people with a smile. With  a lighter heart and with the knowledge that they are loved. I want to leave people better than I found them.

In short, I want to be like Katelyn--and all the other wonderfully orange people I have been blessed to know and love in this wonderfully orange world.

*to read more about this and how to "Leave People Better than You Found Them", check out Katelyn's latest blog post "Leave Them Better Than You Found Them" 

When Sadness Makes You Happy . . .

The flat that I call home is still and quiet
But I've been up since five
Tip-toeing across the creaky floor
Afraid to make a noise
The rumpling of my bedsheets
Seems the echoing of thunder
So I straighten out my quilt
And call it good
I grab the rose gold ring
The one my brother gave me
And the necklace from my sister
With a silver elephant
It's upturned trunk a symbol of good luck
I keep them on a shelf above my bed
That groans beneath the weight of all my books
Austen's "Pride and Prejudice", "Walden's Pond", "Unwritten"
'The Road Less Traveled", books of poetry
A bible and at least a couple journals
Stuffed with notes and letters
Thirsting for my pen

Cautious of the screeching hinges
That guard our bedroom door
I gather all my books
My black boots, laptop, pencils
A scantly sleeve of crackers
And the Nutella that I snacked on all last night
And exit to the kitchen
Where I at last turn on the light

It's in that very moment
That the grand debate begins:
I really want cracked oats again
But my bananas aren't quite ripe
I could cook some Spanish rice
Roll it in soft tacos
But there are days when even instant takes too long
French toast seems in order
Because I'm really craving syrup
But nearly all my white bread went to feeding Bae and Steady
(My two web-footed friends down at the pond)
Cold cereal was yesterday
And I go through milk too quickly
And this is why two dozen eggs
Barely lasts a week
I turn on podcasts while the eggs cook
Videos of conference
And creative writing lectures
Because I haven't yet let go of dreams
To one day be an author
And with my schedule so demanding
This is sometimes the extent of my pursuits
As I make the walk to campus
I write stories in my head
Like an enchantress with her magic spells
I tell them all out loud
But never to an audience
Except that rare occasion when someone overhears
So I just pretend that I am talking on the phone
Because talking to yourself
Is weird.

Campus is deserted
And when the anthem plays
People turn to statues
With their hands upon their hearts
Shivering beneath their scarves and coats
Their thoughts turning to the busy day ahead

In my thoughts, I'm in my Mandarin class
Rachel's giving me a look that says "Morning came too early
Again."
And I reciprocate
She talks excitedly about her fandoms
And I cry over my recent breakup
With my pillow and my bed
She laughs when someone says her favorite word
"Interesting" in Mandarin
My favorite word is "Pungyou"
Which means friend

In my mind we're walking to my next class
And before I know it
Rachel is reminding me I have another class to go to
Because she knows that I could talk with her all day
After class I go to get hot chocolate
I order a float: hot chocolate with ice cream
And the sweet lady beside me takes the bill
I run into a friend whose eating lunch
And stay to chat a while
She asks me to in just two minutes
Recall life's recent highlights
I recall game nights with Savannah, Tyler and Cameron
Ultimate Frisbee tournaments on a Saturday afternoon
Dancing in the rain with my friend because we're both Pluviophiles
Watching movies with the girls downstairs who help me grade my papers
Walking down the street to pick up pizza Friday night
Getting called in for an interview with Writing Fellows
Which is every writer's dream job, or at least it's mine
I recall grabbing FROYO samples as I walk to my apartment
Walking to the temple Wednesday nights
Drinking hot chocolate floats at the "mormon bar" (just rootbeer and coco)
Talking with a friend for hours
Going on a late night run with my running buddy, Laura
Playing Banana Grams with my sister and her hubby
Walking out of the testing center with a smile on my face
Receiving a sweet note that I keep in my phone case
Because it makes me smile every time I read it (even though I have it memorized by now)
Editing a paper for a friend (because, yes, it's true, I actually enjoy that)
And then lying in my bed at night
And smiling
Because I know that when I wake
All I need to love
Will be right before my eyes


My bedroom door no longer creaks. I fixed it with a bit of the grease I use for my French Horn. And I've actually been out of eggs for a while. Come to think of it, I've been out of everything for a while. I keep meaning to go shopping, and it will happen eventually. In the meantime steel cut oats has become a staple. Breakfast. Lunch. And dinner.
I have, since this poem, strengthened my relationship with my pillow and bed, which is a good thing really; our long distance relationship wasn't working out so hot.
And I've taken my writer's dreams beyond podcasts in the morning; I recently entered a speech contest, but it'll be another couple weeks until I hear the results.
I made it through my last round of midterms and am celebrating on Friday with Oreos and Peanut Butter while I watch Inside Out with Rachel, who I can't believe hasn't seen it yet. In case you couldn't tell, I kind of really love this movie. I find it a little ironic that Sadness is my favorite character. Why? because she makes me happy.
And when even sadness makes you happy . . . life doesn't get much better than that.

Candidly,
Cookie

A Writer's Debut

I was reading back over some of my old blog posts and came across a post called "Writing from the Heart."
It got me thinking about where I've taken writing, and where it's taking me. There's a quote that I love that reads "Writing may be as much a matter of what we do to it as what it does to us."
And, for a time, I felt as though I was ignoring it and it, in turn, was killing me. I was editing all the time. But I hardly ever had time to write. Often I would be in the middle of editing a paper and think, why am I editing this? I could write this. And then I would be upset that I hadn't. I hardly wrote more than two poems a month, I wrote only the occasional blog post, I hadn't touched my story, and all the while I'm surrounded by incredible writers and left wondering how I could ever measure up.
Then I watched the movie "Magic Beyond Words", the story of J.K Rowling's childhood, career, and ensuing rise to fame and realized all I really wanted was to write. So I rearranged my entire schedule to fit in two writing classes, and I was happy. Then I wrote a blog post and was met with all-too-kind comments, comments such as "You are an incredible writer--few people have as much talent as you do," "How do you write this well? This is uncanny", and "Can you write a book? Please? I just want to keep reading. Your writing has a way of sucking me in and making it all feel so comfortable. Like snuggling up in a blanket next to a fireplace on a rainy day . . . Seriously. Love your writing Brooke! Don't stop doing it!!"
I let myself believe them, and I started writing more. I wrote another blog post. I wrote in my journal, and I even pulled out the story I've been working on for far too long now. I allowed my friend to convince me to enter a speech contest. I'll find out how I did with that in a couple weeks. I applied to work as a Writing Fellow next semester. I wrote a draft of a paper to submit to an online journal.
And, sitting on the couch, as the credits rolled, after watching the movie that started it all, "Magic Beyond Words," I hurriedly scribbled the following poem.

You cannot fear the waiting page

It’s white space like a snowy field

Hardening with age

It’s icy crust like dragon’s skin

Impossible to penetrate

The fire, cold within

Ready to consume whatever words

You attempt to mark upon it

It chills the writer’s hand

Freezes thoughts

And keeps the words in fear

Huddled in the pen for warmth

Afraid to die, yet never brought to life

You cannot command the words

Any more than you can rewrite the laws

Which govern all the earth

For who can govern gods

And who can own the words,

The tools of their creations?
Words, you see, cannot be commanded

But they are lead

A writer is a leader

Someone they can trust

Endowing them with human passions

Arraying them like strokes upon a canvas

Like an army, to stand before its enemy

Endowed with confidence and order

Marching down the author’s arm

Rushing out the pen

Leaving tidy black footprints

Upon the icy field

Then, finding their intended resting place

They lay down upon the feild

They make their sacrifice

Such are words:

Memorials

Imprints of their lives

When we write

We send these valiant words to die

And this: the paradox

Those afraid to die are never brought to life

Those afraid to live will only die

But those that do not fear to live

Change lives

That is why we write

Greatness

Comes with sacrifice

And writers do not fear

To pay the price

I wrote this poem because I realized I could not let the fear of striking out keep me from playing the game. I was given a gift that makes me so happy--I could see no good reason not to use it. J.K Rowling went through a lot before her work was published, but she wrote because she loved it. And that's why I write. It's true that writing changes lives, but I think the life it changes the most is the author's. It's true that writing comes with a price, a risk, but only if you're playing to win. Me: for now, I'm playing to play. One day I'll play to win, but winning isn't about being famous or published. It's about being satisfied and being happy, and right now I get that just from playing. And the best part? I not only own the board and the pieces. I own the rules. I know all the rules, so I know all the loop-holes. And I know the greatest secret of writing: there are no rules, just passionate preferences. And I passionately prefer to make up my own. 

No fear here.

On the contrary, I'm having a blast. 

Candidly,

Cookie

Coincidence? I Think Not.

It was almost Tuesday night and I had just gotten back from a much-needed run with a friend. I had a quiz due at midnight, an essay to finish, a dialogue to memorize for my Mandarin class, readings to do for my grammar class, and readings and exercises to do for my Modern American Usage of English class which were to prepare us for the take home quizzes that were due the following morning.

The following night, Wednesday, I went straight from orchestra rehearsal to the temple and returned home equally late with an equally long to-do list. Both mornings would see me up by six and to bed some time long past midnight. Monday had been a late night too.

But let's rewind to Tuesday night. I got to bed around one a.m and got up around 5:30 the following morning. By the time I had showered, grabbed breakfast, packed a lunch and dinner, and made it up to campus I had roughly half an hour to memorize the dialogue for my Mandarin class. Usually, this takes me at least an hour. Not to mention this was our longest dialogue yet. By some miracle, I got a perfect score on the dialogue. In my next class, grammar, we had a pop-quiz on the readings, which, of course, I hadn't done. I guessed on all the answers and got them all right, plus the bonus question. With five minutes left in the class and only fifteen minutes before my next class would start, I realized I had not done the take home quizzes for my next class. Skipping the readings and the practice exercises, I went straight to the quizzes, finishing them as I walked to my next class, where they'd be due. Out of three quizzes, I missed only one question. 

I don't say this to flaunt my intellectual prowess, nor to brag on my vampire-like abilities to, evidently, function rather well with limited sleep. On the contrary, I function rather poorly on limited sleep and spent the weekend making up for it. 

I tell you this because I believe miracles happen, and this to me, was most definitely a tender mercy. It would be easy to say that it worked out by coincidence or due, in some part, to my own intellectual abilities, but it would be making a mockery of God to do so. 

And, as proof that I really couldn't do it on my own, after roughly four and a half hours of sleep a night all week, I nearly failed my Mandarin quiz on Friday and then slept the rest of the day, all night, and well in to the following morning. Coincidence? I think not. 

Saturday found me thinking back on the first few weeks of school. Obviously, the first few weeks aren't as rigorous, but even so, I was so much more on top of things--there seemed to always be enough time. Aside from the increased amount of tests and other assignments in recent weeks, I felt there must be something else . . . 

I pulled up my hour-by-hour schedule of the first few weeks and instantly realized what it was. Tuesdays and Thursdays after class I had gone straight to the library to study. Friday nights were spent at home grading papers or in the library. Wednesday nights, after attending the temple, I walked straight home. Sundays were spent catching up on the reading for my religion classes. Free time was spent studying. 

Now, most Tuesdays and Thursdays I "study" after class with Shan Yue, which most days translates to spontaneous excursions, episodes of Death Note, long conversations, laughter, and the possibility of the occasional assignment getting some attention. 

Friday nights are spent on dates, watching movies with roommates, or walking with Katelyn to Pop 'n Sweets to grab hot chocolate floats at the "Mormon Bar" and talk as though both we and the night had drunken from the waters of Tuck Everlasting. 

Wednesday nights I no longer attend the temple alone every night. Occasionally, a friend will join me and another forty-five minutes to an hour is added to my night, walking her home.
Most of my "free time" now is spent editing essays for friends.
Most Sundays are spent doing visiting teaching, having my sister and her husband over for dinner and games, or walking over to the freshman dorms where my best friend from last year works as an RA. We're both so busy that Sunday tends to be our one and only time to catch up, and it's time well spent.    Last week, we came across a group gathered in one of the dorm rooms jamming. Pretty soon it was over twenty people and two guitars crammed into a dorm room having the time of our lives.

So what happened? What made the difference between those first few weeks when life was pretty easy and I was on top of everything, and now? The answer's simple: I found friends. And I put them first.

Do I regret it?

Not one bit. 

Grades and learning are as important as ever, but last year I learned an important lesson. Last year, my first semester of college, I studied hard, and I reaped the benefits. I thought my first semester was pretty close to perfect. Then second semester started and my roommate moved out. It was quite the eye-opener. It was then that I realized, while I had been in my dorm studying, I had missed Foot Ball games, late night runs to the creamery for ice cream, chats out in the hall with my hall-mates, and games and socialization after ward prayer. All the girls were sweet to me, but, when it came down to it, I had no friends. Second semester was harder: my grades were good, but not perfect. BUT, I had friends. 

Sure, my grades are glued to my transcript. They aren't going anywhere and they'll follow me all through college. But good friends will stick with you long past college. And even if they don't, their memories will. No one remembers their grades with fondness, or looks back with a smile on those nights they spent studying alone in the library. 

My first semester I honestly thought college was a lot easier than I'd thought it would be, but I've realized the hard part comes with the realization that college is more than classes and text books. It's not just learning -- it's enjoyment, discovery, relationships, memories . . . friends.

When God created the world he saw everything as good, except one thing that was decidedly "not good." It was not good that man should be alone. And so, I think the Lord smiles down on friendships. Were it not so, why would He have so obviously and so quickly aided me in finding them?

I remember one day when I was walking with Shan Yue to one of her classes, she was asking me something or other about fandoms and Marvel and Animae and it lead to the spoken observation that we really have almost nothing in common. I've known people with whom I've have shared nearly every possible commonality and it didn't work at all. And then I've known people for whom it worked because they had just enough in common. But what Shan Yue and I realized that day was that virtually none of our interests are similar and I wouldn't have paired us based on personality either. True, we both like Mandarin and we both enjoy the occasional spontaneous excursion, but right about there, the commonalities end. And yet, we're such good friends.

Coincidence? I think not.

Candidly,

Cookie