Hairadventure

So, I've kind of been meaning to post about my hair for awhile now. Yes, my hair deserves its own post. It's that great.

Okay, okay, so I'm kidding.

Kind of.

No, but seriously.

I'm actually surprisingly vain about my hair. It's the one feature that I pretty much always have a reason to be proud of. Thanks to my mother's training, my high-end shampoo and conditioner, and good genes, my hair is always silky and touchable, no matter how many times I've colored it. So yes, I'm vain about it.

But this is not so much a "Ha! My hair is amazing!" post. More a "My hair taught me some lovely lessons" post.

First things first, you should know that I've been growing my hair out for two years now. It's the longest I have ever, ever had it, and it's taken much care to keep it healthy, especially since I blow dry and straighten colored hair.

So I had a little bit of a scare.

Which I brought upon myself.

I dyed my hair black.

Okay, not like, BLACK black, but yes, the base shade is black, objectively speaking. I wanted my hair to be gloriously dark and, well, I succeeded. It was just, well, darker than I'd planned.

And I hated it. For the first time in my life, I hated my hair. I wanted to strip the color out and try again, but that would probably cost me a lot of the length and smoothness that I love so much.

Man, it was eating at me so badly. And I had important things to do. But major self-image distress has a habit of overriding the ability to focus on anything else, and it was seriously distracting.

It sounds silly, but I prayed for help. I wanted to be able to focus on everything else that needed to be done and stop thinking about my hair. So I prayed about it.

Guys. The Lord answers prayers. Even silly ones. And He did me one better than I'd asked for. I went to church, deciding that I would fake it through comments on my hair if I had to, but I was surprised. I got a ton of compliments. No one seemed to notice that it was black and totally out of character for me. Instead, they said it brought out my eyes, set off my complexion, and so on. By the end of the meetings, I felt absolutely beautiful.

Yes, this is a slightly silly story, but it reinforces the point I really want to make: What matters to us matters to the Lord. Even the little things matter. If it comes down to letting you feel ugly and self-absorbed or reaching out and lifting others, He'll even help you feel better about your hair. He's never going to let you feel miserable needlessly.

I don't know if that comforts you or not, but it sure helps me out. :)

Oh, and the hair in question: (sorry for the selfie)

Ugh, and it's a bathroom selfie. But I swear, it was the only place
where the lighting was good enough, and I was at work anyway.
Please don't judge too harshly. I know what I did wrong. ;)
(And yes, there's red in my hair too. Makes the black less...BLACK)

Why I Love Men (and why everyone should love them, too)

Okay, this post is going to be a little tougher to write. I'm thankful for men.

That's not the hard part. The hard part is why I'm feeling grateful for them right now. I'm going to try not to mention names, but there're a few men in my life who will probably figure out I'm talking about them by the time this post is done. This is not a love letter. This is a thank you.

I've been doing a lot of reading (of course) and I've discovered a few things. Some of them disheartening.

I have gotten old enough that bad things are happening to people my age. Horror stories aren't just limited to people I've never met or heard of. They happen to people I care about. A lot of them involve men. (There are plenty that involve women, too, but I'm setting those aside for this post. This is about the men.)

Some of the most beautiful souls I know have been abused by men.

Men are painted as animals and predators, and sadly, some of the ones I know personally have come to live up to that reputation.

There is a lot of ugly out there in the world. Horrible deeds done by men and women alike. There is so much of it that I stop and wonder sometimes why I'm not afraid to step outside my house every day. Why I'm not afraid to go on dates, to open my heart, and to trust someone unknown to me.

And do you want to know why?

Because I've figured it out.

It's because the good ones outnumber the bad ones. And it's because I've been incredibly blessed to know some of the choicest men placed on this earth.

For every ugly, horrible act committed, there are more unsung heroes who protect, honor, and respect those around them, treating them with the dignity that everyone deserves as a child of God.

My life has been blessed and protected by those men. They are the reason that I don't have my own horror story to bear. I understand that not everyone is as lucky as I am. Boy, do I get that. I am not writing this to look down on anyone struggling to recover from the horrors that other humans can inflict. I simply want to convey that there are good men out there.

There are men who hold doors.

There are men who offer coats.

There are men who look a woman in the eyes.

There are men who take responsibility for their actions.

There are men who know how to use the Atonement and use it every. single. day.

There are men who are devoutly faithful to the woman they love, even if they're still waiting to find her.

There are men who fight off the shackles of sins and mistakes.

There are men who defend life at all costs, even if it means sacrificing their own.

There are men who become everything we always hoped they would be.

Believe me. I know it. I know them.

I wrote recently about meeting up with an old childhood friend and how much it affected me. I was blown away by how amazing he'd become. This isn't the first time that's happened.

I have had the privilege of maintaining a vested interest in two different young men (from two different places I've lived) for well over half my life. Sometimes that meant I had a crush, sometimes that simply meant that I couldn't bring myself to weed them out of my contacts, even if I hadn't spoken to them in years. But these two young men are a major reason that I love and respect men as much as I do.

I always saw them clearly, even when I was young. I could see that they were good, kind, sensitive to the Spirit, and struggling to stand firm and unyielding in a world that attempted to bully them into submission. I've seen them face ups and downs, and yes, even make mistakes. I worried and fretted about them, even if they didn't know it. I was never as close to them as I would have liked, and I went through a lengthy period of no contact with each of them during our college years. In the last couple of years, though, I've gotten to spend some real quality time with each of them.

They. Are. Breathtaking.

I'd always hoped that they would grow up to be amazing men.

They have. In fact, both men, despite their vastly different circumstances, personalities, and hometowns, have far surpassed everything I could have imagined them to be. They are honorable, faithful, steadfast, and kind. They treat women with the most genuine respect that I've ever seen. They love their families. They love the Lord. They take care of their friends. They respect me.

I love them. I love who they have become.

And those two men aren't the only ones I know. My three brothers, my father, my cousins (I often tease that they all married women much better than them, but it really isn't true), my exes, my uncles, my friends' husbands, the list could go on forever.

My brothers spend what amounts to hours and days serving the Lord in their callings and at the temple. My last boyfriend respected me enough to tell me that he was taking his time dating me because he didn't want me to be committed to someone who wasn't 100% sure he wanted to be with me (he also paid me the courtesy of not making me wait at all once he was 100% sure). My best friend's husband makes loving her a priority over his other concerns and surprises her with little services and actions that show how much he pays attention to what she doesn't ask for. My best guy friend spent time, money, and gas picking up the pieces of my heart when I got it broken, even though it cut into his own dating life occasionally. My uncle faced the trial of losing his wife with absolute faith in the Lord. My friend confronted a pornography addiction head-on and beat it into the ground.

Again, the list could go on forever. And that's just in my own life, which is just the tiniest fraction of a percentage of the people in the world.

Yes, there are bad men in the world. But there are so many good ones, too. To those men, I say THANK YOU.

Thank you for honoring and respecting both me and the people I love.

Thank you for rescuing others from the bad things in life.

Thank you for being brave and admitting mistakes.

Thank you for putting the Lord first.

Thank you for inspiring me to be a better person.

Thank you for protecting me.

Thank you for giving me the courage to trust others, because you've never let me down.

I believe in Knights, Heroes, and Prince Charmings because of you.

THANK YOU.

Thanksvember: Cabin Fever

So why am I thankful for cabin fever?

Why, because I simply love that caged, roaring-to-get-out feeling, of course!

Kidding.

In a way.

I actually do appreciate it, but more because I have it than because I like the feeling itself. More specifically, that it kicked in after only two days.

See, here's the thing about me. I'm an introvert. Surprise! No way! An editor/writer who is introverted?? GET OUT OF TOWN! (Sidenote: I wish you could hear that phrase in Roommate's Scottish grandfather's voice, because it's fantastic.) In addition, I've struggled with mild depression for a few years now. Nothing that's like, "GET LYNNAE TO A DOCTOR!" or anything, but it flares up in the "I'm not going outside no matter what you coax me with" form. So it's not entirely uncommon for me to really want to spend a week or so holed up in my room.

This is usually in its most severe form when I get sick, which prolongs my recovery.

So I got sick this weekend. And I holed up, naturally.

But by the end of the day yesterday, I was desperate to get back to work. I missed it. Which, in and of itself, was a little shocking. In addition, the mindless, time-wasting things I tend to do when I'm in hermit-mode just weren't really all that fun or interesting, and I got tired of them pretty fast.

And you know what? I am so grateful for that. I'm grateful that I enjoy working. I'm grateful that I have discovered things that are more enjoyable to do than waste time on the internet. I'm grateful that, left to my own devices, I won't waste my life away doing nothing. I'm grateful that I like being around people and that I miss them when I'm not with them. I'm grateful that I have natural impulses to do good and fill my time with worthwhile things, because I've often struggled with whether I have those or not.

Luckily, my body cooperated with my desire to get out of hermit-mode, and I'm healthy enough to return to work. Another thing I'm grateful for.

Plus, it relieved my cabin fever. And I'm glad that I don't still have that, because it's a frustrating feeling, even if I'm glad that the urges that produce it exist. :)

Thanksvember: Mommy

 There's a line in the fourth Harry Potter book that I think applies to my post today. I don't have the book in front of me at the moment, but it says something to the effect of "Fleur greeted her parents and walked away, chattering in rapid French." That is so not the line. But that's the gist. Basically, Harry is bewildered and amused by the typically coy Fleur speaking so expansively to her family, and yet he can't understand a word of it.

I feel like a French speaker would think the same thing if they overheard a conversation between me and my mother. We. Are. Chatterboxes.

And it's awesome. I love it.

My mom came out to visit last week to help her mom with some legal and technical stuff, but of course no business obligations could keep my mother from spending a healthy chunk of time with her three oldest children, who all live in Utah.

I got her for both weekends.

Go me.

And I just love talking to her. I love being with her. Man, I just love her. All of her.

Yes. I did just use a How to Train Your Dragon reference. You're welcome.

I love my relationship with my mom. She's my best friend, and it's so easy to talk to her, but at the same time, she is always, always my mother, and that comes with wisdom, perspective, and counsel that I soak up like a sponge. I love that she works hard to understand that her children may have different sensibilities and cultural norms than she did growing up, so she's not constantly nagging at us for not doing things the way she did. My mother is probably the most graceful person I know when it comes to accepting change, including the changes in the world and in her children. She adapts without ever losing who she is, and that is one of the most beautiful things about her.

I'm pretty sure that other people may want to argue with me about this, but I'm convinced that I have the best mom in the world. And I really don't mean that in any generic, trivial way. I'm serious. More than an isolated few people have mentioned that they wish they could have a relationship with their mothers like I have with mine. And I have never, ever been jealous of anyone else's relationships with their mothers, because mine equals or surpasses the best of them. I don't mean this to brag. I am so incredibly blessed to have my mother. I don't deserve her any more than someone else does, but she's mine. Forever.

I will never stop being grateful for that.

Also, Happy Birthday in advance, Mom. I'm half your age for the next year. That feels special, somehow. :)

Thanksvember: NaNoWriMo

So... don't get too excited, because I'm still not writing a novel in a month, but my aforementioned short story? Well, it's not really a short story anymore. I mean it is, because all I've written is a short story, but it's not done because there's more to the story. Know what I mean?

But it is fun. I haven't written for fun like this in a really long time. So it's fun. Let's see how many times I can say the word fun. Fun is a really weird word, when you think about it. Also, it's always been intended to be a noun, which is why everyone has such a hard time with its adjectival and adverbial  usage. Have you ever tried to say "that was funner than what we did last time" and just cringed? But "more fun" just sounds stiff? And forget trying to say "He did something funly." Yeah. Not going to happen. *whispers* That's because it's a noun. You have fun.

Granted, modern English usage has accepted "fun" as an adjective too, and the preferred method is to say "more fun" or "most fun" when qualifying the amount of funness something has. Isn't English grea--HOW DID THIS TURN INTO A USAGE LESSON?? I WAS WRITING ABOUT HOW I'M GRATEFUL FOR WRITING!

Geez, Lynnae. Get your nerdy little butt back on track.

Did I mention I've been writing for like, two whoa, FOUR hours straight, plus proofreading for 8 hours prior to that, so I might be a little loopy? No?

Well.

Now you know.

Welcome back to Lynnae the Writer. She's a bit of a nut. Editor-Lynnae tends to be more polished. Writer-Lynnae usually takes Editor-Lynnae and jams her in the corner, stuffs her face full of cookies, and bullies her into silence. Incidentally, that's also what we do to Editor-Lynnae while online, so I will never judge you for poor grammar online, because Editor-Lynnae is tied up and gagged to spare her from the pain of it all.

Yes, I'm switching in and out of plural first person. It's a weird world in here.

*AHEM*

Back on topic.

This November, I am thankful that my amazing writer-roommate (who, between you and me, is going to be the real author in this dynamic duo because she's just brilliant) is sending off her writer-vibes so strongly that my own urge to write has lifted its sleepy head. I may not be as dedicated a writer as she is, but I appreciate the creative outlet.

In the meantime, in case Roommate ever reads this: AISLEY. YOU GOT THIS. Own that book. I've been betting on you from day one.

Also, for your enjoyment, a slight peek at what an apartment of two writers looks like on a Thursday night (and if that doesn't sound dramatic enough, don't worry, we'll definitely be holed up like this on Friday night, too... who needs boys? (I'm just kidding. I do. I love boys.)): <-- That is not meant to be a frowny face. It is a colon, meant to present to you the following. Oh, who cares. PICTURE.

Me on my fluffy beanbag typing away. Roommate wrapped in snuggie
and cozy hoodie, also typing away. It's a wild night in this house.

Thanksvember: Old Friends

Day 1 of Lynnae's Thanksvember. :)

I'm actually cheating just a little bit and using an experience from a few days ago, but it totally still counts because I'm still in a good mood because of it. So stop that judging. ;)

So I have this friend. We were kids together. Cute, adorable, obnoxious little kids. We were a week apart, and since I was the older one, I never ever let him forget it (proof that the forgiveness of children is truly remarkable, because I was a little snot about it and he still talks to me anyway). I moved away when we were 12 years old, but we stayed in touch off and on all through high school and even saw each other a couple of times. (I may or may not have nursed a crush on him for a decent portion of that time... and if this friend reads this blog and didn't know that... surprise! You do now.)

The last time we saw each other was about 6 years ago, at his brother's wedding in Salt Lake. We fell out of touch after that and got busy with life, significant others, and everything. Hadn't spoken to each other in years.

But we fixed that this weekend, and that's why I'm happy.

We reconnected and reminisced a little over Facebook (make fun if you want, but I'd lost his phone number and email... see? Facebook is good for something!) and I told him if he was ever in Utah, he should stop by and say hi.

Turns out, he was down this last weekend, so I totally ditched my mom (who is in town for only this week) and went to see him.

Guess what? It was awesome. For all you could tell, it might have been 6 days instead of 6 years since we'd last talked. Some friendships aren't ever harmed by the passing of time, and he is one of those friends.

The best part is that time slowed down. After so many weeks where my days ran together and nothing stood out, it surprised me a little bit. There was one point where we were talking and I thought we must have been talking for at least an hour, so I surreptitiously glanced at my phone. 15 minutes. Not even kidding. We managed to fit so much conversation into each second that time was actually crawling by (in the best way possible). I loved it. I had something to savor. Something to hold on to. A reason to wish that time moved slower instead of simply allowing myself to be sucked along with the current. I was with someone whose conversation and companionship I valued very much, and I stopped going through the motions. It was something new (and something old, which made it that much more valuable).

Now I'm not saying that I don't have those kinds of moments with the friends I see all the time, but I needed to reconnect with a friend I never thought I'd see again to realize how special all of my friendships are. Friends are a gift. A gift that deserves to be cherished regardless of whether you see each other every day or every decade. I might have to be stuck in a routine of obligations and responsibilities, but that doesn't mean that I should treat my friends like they're part of that routine.

So yeah. I'm going to do better on that. Love you all, even if I don't see you very often.

Thanksvember

Yes, I know. I'm terrible at this blogging thing. However, Roommate is doing NaNoWriMo (which is National Novel Writing Month, for those of you not up on the bookish acronyms) and apparently it's slightly contagious, because I got bit by the writing bug again (finally). I probably won't be formally attempting to write 50,000 words by the end of the month, but I'm going to attempt my own form of it by blogging more, journaling more, and probably pumping out a short story or two.

Oh, and I have letters to write.

Plus, it's November, and gratitude is a common theme, both in blogs and on Facebook. Sometimes, it seems a little hypocritical to see some of my highly opinionated and often-complaining friends suddenly switch to the things they're thankful for, just because it's November, but it's better than not doing it. I'm okay with my friends softening up and becoming more grateful, even if it's only because of the month. The world can always use a little more gratitude.

Which brings me to the purpose of my post. Because I'm going to try to keep up with things that I'm thankful for this month, and not just because that's what everyone else was doing. I've been sitting on this for a while, actually.

See, I got a promotion of sorts at work. It's not like I'm a manager, supervisor, or anything that sounds cool. In fact, my job description is pretty much exactly the same. I just get to be the team "mom," which means that I come in earlier, keep more copious notes on day-to-day tasks, and serve as the sounding board for the real supervisor's ideas and concerns. It's quite enjoyable, actually.

It came with an unexpected side effect, however, which is that my days are all blurring together. The earlier schedule takes a toll, and because I still (kind of) have a social life (which mostly involves just Roommate), I don't get to bed as early as I like. Somehow, I've been running around in a bit of a daze, stuck in a monotonous routine of work, home, sleep, work, home, sleep.

So where does gratitude come in? (Because it does.)

Well, the fact is that it needs to, because that's my problem. It's not like I'm out of time, or I'm wearing myself absolutely thin doing a million things. My days are usually quite pleasurably filled, but I haven't been appreciating them.

You know how, when you're really happy, you savor each and every moment? You treasure and replay the memories, over and over again, wanting to hold onto them forever? I hope you do, because everyone deserves to have days like that. I want to have more moments like that. Because I haven't really been doing much that I feel inclined to hold onto. Or at least, that how it seems, because I haven't been as grateful as I should be.

Because that's the fastest way to turn a seemingly mundane life into a memorable, wonderful one. It's not by changing everything and going out and doing memorable things (though that is certainly one method). You might be doing exactly what you can and should be doing, bound by schedules and the needs of others to seemingly endless monotonous tasks. But the joy of being human is that we are constantly changing. The world around us is constantly changing. Every day, we are a little different, and the people we encounter are a little different, too. All we have to do is take time to notice.

So that is my goal for this Thanksgiving and Christmas season. I want to notice those little things that are different or special about each day and express gratitude for them. I may not be able to change things up very much (one thing about adulthood: responsibilities and obligations must be met, no matter how much you don't want to meet them) but I can take notice of the things that do change.

And do you know what's cool? The more you notice and express gratitude for change, the more memorable and varied your life becomes. :)