The One Item on my Checklist I Know I Can Check Off

I like to abide by the checklist;  I'm also a bit of a perfectionist - a bad combination to have when my checklist grows to the length of the week and the week lasts barely a day.
On a typical day, here's what my checklist might look like:

1. Read 30 pages of the Faerie Queen for British Literary History (Note to self: if you try to do this past midnight, you'll have to start over in the morning.)
2. Read the first half of the debate on Free Will between Erasmus and Luther (A very interesting debate, but I'd much rather discuss it than read it. Too bad you can't really discuss what you haven't read.)
3. Review for a quiz in Linguistics (well, it's for extra credit, which for anyone else would mean, "oh good, I can wing it" but me, I know how rare a gem "extra credit" is, so this means a good hour or two of review)
4. Practice for my ballroom waltz test (this means finding a time that works for both myself and my dance partner, which is quite the task when my schedule alone leaves little to be negotiated.)
5. Read the assigned chapters for my Book of Mormon and New Testament class (if this weren't being squeezed in some time after midnight it would actually be a quite enjoyable, if not refreshing task)
6. Edit articles for the student journal Schwa (yeah, so I really don't know what I'm doing yet. I'm told that's okay - I'm not expected to know exactly how to do it, but once again, I'm a perfectionist, and so this sense of incompetence is not okay)
7. Review and rate articles for the student journal Criterion (they're actually quite interesting, it's just finding the time. That, and after reading all my other reading assignments, I'm generally not in the mood to read more)
8. Finish an essay on Chaucer (this is one of those reoccurring items that just keeps getting transferred to the following day's list, with a little extra weight each time. Usually we gain weight together, as in, "This essay is stressing me out. I need some chocolate.")
9. Practice my French Horn (getting down to the practice rooms definitely counts as practice time, right?)
10. Do laundry (to be done in the wee hours of the morning so I don't have to wait for enough washers to be open so I can get it all done at once)
11. Buy more milk (cold cereal's pretty bland without it. Besides, what else would I have for my second dinner? The dining center closes at 7:30 and around midnight I'm thinking, what college student is still satisfied at midnight with a dinner he ate five hours ago? That's what the vending machines are for, true, but even those can get old, and somehow a bowl of cold cereal always sounds good.)
12. Make my bed (I consider this accomplished so long as it is done before I climb back in it at night)

Looking at this, all I want to do is take a nap, but of course there's not time for that - I have to finish my checklist first . . .
But then I had the brilliant thought to add "nap" to my checklist. No sooner had I done so than I was crawling in bed, smiling, and thinking to myself, now at least there's one item I know I can check off.

Candidly,
Cookie

The Art of Rambling

What do I mean by the Art of Rambling? I mean the art of being able to continue on in a thought that is both unprecedented and unrestricted. I mean being willing to accept the first words that come to your mind as both well-intentioned and meaningful, despite that at first glance they may seem lacking in both sense and beauty. I mean being able to say something like "oatmeal is like a roller coaster" and "rolling" with it despite the audacity of such a comparison, which is precisely what I did when I encountered the seeming "slip-of-the-tongue", which could be the only possible explanation for such an absurd assertion.

But this isn't just any oatmeal we're talking about - it is a work of art. It is a presentation of what I affirm to be the best compilation of condiments to ever ornament such a measly brand of porridge. We're talking a crown of raspberry sauce, sprinkled with shreds of coconut, adorned by a ring of walnuts, and consummated with a shake of salt.

As you take the first bite, the gooey porridge gives way, allowing your tongue to sink in, in much the same way your stomach sinks and then all but drops out as you step on the ride, pull down on the harness and hear the click as it locks in place. The warmth of the raspberries relaxes your palate like the warming rays of sun that brush your skin as the cart emerges from the covering and rounds the corner, gradually picking up speed. You bite down and the walnuts crunch against your teeth like the clickity-clack of the cart as it trugs slowly up the tracks. Then comes the coconut, that sweet rush of wind as the cart plummets down the track with a gush of speed. As all else melts away you're left with the bitter sweet tang of a speckling of salt, its savor as entirely unexplainable as the mix of fear, relief and thrill that's pounding in your chest as the ride comes to a stop. It is that ultimate satisfaction that leaves you paradoxically dissatisfied in your bottomless craving for more.

Candidly,
Cookie

Looking Out

What causes the most unhappiness in life? I'll tell you. Selfishness. Much of the sins in this life are due to selfish thoughts. If you're view point in life is "What's in it for me?" there won't be enough for you in life. You'd assume it follows then that selflessness brings the greatest joy. I'd assumed so too . . .

A couple weeks ago I wrote the following journal entry,
"Today was one of those days that I wish I could bottle up in a jar and then take just one sip every day for the rest of my life. This semester is going to be wonderful. This morning I told God in my morning prayer that I wanted Him to give all my blessings to a friend. Tonight, as I sat reflecting on my day, I couldn't help but smile and think, "He must not have heard."
Well, I'm here to tell you that God does answer prayers.

I should be happy then right? Well . . . in a perfect world, I would be. But the world's not perfect and neither am I. At times you could say I get jealous.
In the weeks following that prayer I lost a good friend, but I've also learned what it truly means to be selfless.

I was sitting in church when the thought occurred to me, "Brooke, would you be willing to give up nearly all your friends and loved ones if by so doing you could ensure that no one would ever go without a friend?"
I thought about it for a moment. I wasn't sure. Then the thought occurred to me, "That's what Christ did for you."
He did nothing for himself.

Though at times I am jealous, though at times I wish that I could take back my prayer, when I am truly thinking of others and filled with the love of God, I could not be happier.
I could not be happier for my friend, and as I am able to find joy in her successes I find joy in my own life as well.
There are so many reasons to be happy, if only we have the heart to look outside ourselves.

In short, happiness is found while looking out.

Candidly,
Cookie

Looking Up

My favorite building on BYU campus is a rosy tan goliath. It is adorned with eyes of light from which those inside observe the world with an air of perception, and those outside look in with the wonder of a child perusing a picture book, wondering, were there words, what they would say.
It forms a square around a courtyard where a tall fountain and paths of green form my Eden. Long ago in Eden, God communed with man. He walked in the lushness of his own perfect creation. Every blade of grass would bend to hear his voice as he imparted to Adam and Eve the wonders of heaven. Here in my Eden the great writers of every age impart to me their wisdom and my every fiber reaches for their words.
Room 4142 on the top-most floor is claimed. It is to be mine when I am numbered with the great ones. It stands today as the office of Patrick Madden - a creative essayist. Soon, my name will adorn the plaque beside the office door. With my boxes of books and a framed bar of chocolate with the caption "In case of Emergency Break Glass" I shall make that space my home. Books spilling off of every surface like molasses, thick with the sweet words of wisdom, the gushiness of romance, and the slowness of a meditative mind . . . I shall kick back in my desk chair, my fuzzy black boots that lace to the knees propped up on the desk, a book or three in my lap, and a cup of steaming hot chocolate right within reach, stacks of papers enclosing me in my own little cubicle, light streaming in from the large window from which I shall pear out at the world with new eyes. Having reached the peak I shall look back on the climb, take in the beautiful vistas, and then, in pursuit of ever greater heights, I shall spread my wings and fly.
Somewhere along the way, I shall look down and see a young girl looking up with her eyes fixated on room 4142, a book in her hand, knee-high black boots walking amongst the Eden, with dreams as high as heaven . . .

Candidly,
Cookie