Too Perfect

"You're ugly."
"You're fat."
"You're stupid."
It's easy to see the negative effects of such judgments. But what about, "You're perfect"?
"You're perfect" has come to have a much different meaning than what Christ meant when he commanded "Be ye, therefore, perfect."
We hear it all the time now in a sort of jest. "You're just too perfect."
Pride can look down, but it can also look up. So too can judgment, and "you're perfect" has become a form of judgement. It is no more a compliment than "teacher's pet."
To call someone perfect is to say they're a suck-up, a perfectionist, or that the level they have reached is unattainable. It is effectively, isolating.
The other day I was told, "Brooke, you're so perfect. You have no idea how many people look up to you."
No, I have an idea. Because when everyone is looking up at you, no one is looking at you.
I don't want to be looked up at. I want to be looked at.
I don't want to be up on a pedestal. I want to be down in the crowd, where there is someone to place their arm around me and realize, "Hey, you're human too."
Besides, when you're up on a pedestal, it's so easy to fall, and when you do people notice your stark imperfection and look down at you. But down in the crowd, everyone's imperfect. And you know what? That's okay. Because we're in this together.
We're all imperfect beings just striving to be better.

Candidly,
Cookie

The Birthplace of Dreams

I was staring at a shelf full of books - Dante's Commedy, Jane Austen, The Adventures of Tom Sawyer, Canterbury Tales, Aristotle's Rhetoric - a copy of Walden Pond by Daivid Thoreau clasped in my hand. The cover was of fine brown leather, as intricately patterned and precious as an elephant's hide, concealing within a whole other life, an entirely other world. I read the title in its flowing script, and the letters blurred.
Tears do that.
I'm note sure exactly why I was crying. Perhaps it was all those beautiful books, more than I should ever have the time to read . . .
Sometimes I wish I could just live in the library. I wish time would stop and I could sit and read for as long as I like. But knowing me, if that ever were to happen, I would lose all my contacts and my glasses would break. That, or the library would catch fire and, simultaneously, ebooks would cease to exist.
And so I must be content with the few minutes before bed when homework has ceased to make sense; when reason has shut its door and the imagination (the middleman of reason and affection) can take only from the emotions - which is what reading is for.
Staring at that shelf full of books in the BYU bookstore, I had imagined for a moment that there would be time to read them all, and in so doing had shut the door on reason; I had poured out my emotions in order to feed an impossible dream, in order to live for just a moment in my own Walden Pond, beneath the beautiful brown leather, within the elephant's hide, where the imagination soars and emotion thrives, where for a moment dreams are born, and for a moment reason dies.

When I don't have much time to read, I write about it. Kind-of pathetic . . . But what can I say? I'm an English major. And I'm loving it.

Candidly,
Cookie

A Belated Valentine to Adveristy

Dear Adversity,

You have been so good to me these past few months. You have such a generous nature, imparting to all of your substance and love, and by so doing, teaching all to be a little more humble, a little more selfless, a little more compassionate, a little more understanding, and a lot more loving. Who couldn't love such a benevolent teacher and boundless giver? Sure, you brought tears a time or two, but so do sappy romance novels, and those always turn out okay in the end.
My dear Adversity, we have spent so many a night together that sometimes as I curl up in bed I feel an emptiness, particularly an absence of the gentle pressure in my chest when you snuggle up against me, that constant confirmation you are there.
Unfaithful as you are, for I know you like to come and go and often need your space, there are times that I will miss you when you leave. There are times you come unwelcome, in fact, this is most often how you come. But because you know I need you, you stay despite my selfish love and gross ingratitude. You stay because you have my best in mind and in this you are both faithful and deserving. Because of this, in hindsight, I shall miss your sweet embrace. But you, knowing this and knowing me, never fail to leave with me a token of our time together, one that I may keep and hold until we meet again.
I used to hold your tokens, keep them close, but then I realized I could purchase with them so many precious things - things I never could otherwise have owned. I took these tokens to your elder brother who for these tokens only would sell to me his many priceless wares.
It might have been much easier had you told me where to take my heavy tokens, but you must have known that I like puzzles and so left me on my own to find his store, at least, I must assume that's what you left these tokens for - for me to buy the things that make me happy, to fill the empty space while you are gone.
I purchased understanding and a little extra love. I purchased some forgiveness, some acts of service to bestow, a little introspection to help me myself to better know. I purchased some more confidence to lend a helping hand, some more patience, some humility - I first must kneel to stand. I purchased ears to listen. I purchased eyes to see. And in the end found gratitude for the time you'd spent with me.

Candidly,
Cookie

Blind Date

Today I had my first blind date. And I learned a good lesson.
I could try to avoid the cliche by saying stuff like "all that glitters is either gold or got rubbed up against glittery wrapping paper", "don't assume a penguin can fly just because it's cute and has flippers," or "not all black dogs are evil" but I think I can correctly assume that you have already translated these in your mind to the unavoidable "don't judge a book by it's cover." Perhaps in my case it's not so cliche, because it is in fact literal.
All right, so my first blind date was with a book. I picked it from a rack of books wrapped in dark brown paper with short descriptions on the front. The description for my date read, "People are messy, unpredictable things . . . you look curious . . . do you question what others don't think about? Can you appreciate the humor of being human? If so, you're in for a treat because you and I were made for each other." Sounded alright, but when I opened it, I found that the book within was one that I wouldn't have picked out had I lived a hundred lifetimes in the library.
I found it fitting that I opened it while eating a lunch that someone had recommended to me, that in all honesty sounded disgusting but was actually delicious, and all while sitting with two incredible people I never thought I'd find myself friends with.
Not that I'm wishing to be blind, but just as life has much to offer for those who keep their eyes wide open, I think it's much more exciting to just every now and then keep your eyes shut.

Candidly,
Cookie

What Makes You Smile?

Just the other day I was asked the question, "What makes you smile?"

I thought about long walks in lanes of fiery orange, where the crisp leaves crunch beneath my feet, and the air stirs with the impatient anxiety of the coming winter, unwilling to yet relinquish the warm memories of summer.
I thought about the wide eyes of a newborn boy, the firm grasp of his hand around my finger, the way his mouth stretches into a shy sort of grin before he even knows how to fully smile, or even what a smile is.
I thought about chocolate, because, well, who doesn't smile at that?
I thought about elderly couples that are not overbearing in their passion, but who breath each others laughter and hold each others hearts, not with a grip that is afraid to let go for the fear that if they do their lover will slip out and leave them, but with a hold so light and tender that they choose to stay linked of their own accord, because that's how they are happiest. Their love is like the air they breathe; like the constant gentle thumping of the heart - that unnoticed, and that necessary.
I thought about handwritten notes, especially those not spurned by any occasion but that of love and a thankful heart, that are not beautiful for their eloquence nor penmanship, but for the thought that lead the pen to write.

Handwritten letters: they make me feel so loved! :)

I thought about friends' successes, that contagious joy that allows me to live their moment of rapture vicariously, so much is my happiness for them.
I thought about that one song that whenever it comes on the radio my heart comes bursting out my mouth and I just want to grab whomever I'm with (or the nearest unfortunate object if I'm alone - and yes, this has been done with a ladle) and twirl about the room, finding such a lively beat inside me that I fail to notice when the music stops.

I think of all these things and I cannot help but smile.
To return to the question of "What makes you smile?"
A smile. Or even the thought of one.

A cute little video to make you smile :)

Candidly,
Cookie