Death, Taxes, and Aquariums.

There are many times I feel like life is too short--It should be lived to the fullest. For example, when we do taxes all we want to do is cry while accountants want to commit suicide with their long hours of desperation and father time's deception of a clock on the wall spinning slower and slower. We live life jumping through hoops, coming to corners in mazes, and double-dutch skipping ropes. All of the things in life cloud our vision and mix our dreams up with our "never-seen" realities.

As I watch Mr. Turtle and the little fishies swim around the small tank, realization becomes the closest friend. Endless opportunities unveil and the urge to never waste a single moment.

So life is short, yes. We live to do our taxes, eat, digest, and die. But then again, we die to live. If you don't, I strongly suggest you start because my turtle is ever excited for the same smelly food he receives every single day. Why not have that mentality?

Start with joy regardless of day's tedium? Sure. Why not?

Song Lyrics

I woke up this morning with the lyrics, "I wake up and I'm sober, don't even know her." Why, you may ask? I have no idea. I have been wondering that all day. It may or may not have something to do with the fact that my best friend, Kendl Crockett is laying next to me...in her own bed of course. We pushed our beds together--there are two falsehoods this song lyric, however. 1. I don't drink...unless, wait, I am officially 21 now and I might "sleep drink..." (that explains where all the hydrogen peroxide went...I'm kidding.) 2. Even if I DID drink I am pretty darn sure I wouldn't be waking up next to a girl.

This got me thinking: Song lyrics are 90.354% dumb and require no amount of intelligence whatsoever to make it big in this era. What happened to the integrity of good lyricism?! I have Brittany Spears one-hit-wonder "Oops I did it again" stuck in my head this moment. What five-year-old made bank on that poetic script? Can I get in on the biz?

There are few artists that spark my interest any more. William Fitzsimmons is one of them. He is a famous singer/songwriter genius that can testify of Christ and all of his fans--Christian or not--appreciate it. He, among few, can pull at my thoughts and express them in ways I wish I could. Unlike diaper-wearing song writers, this man knows what he's writing. It's a form of expressing himself; an art.

So when I hear "how could you be so heartless?" I can tell you why, cause your lyrics have no meaning, Kanye. In fact, even though you said Beyonce was better than Taylor, we all laughed and our response might be something to the effect of "yo, what, I'm cool. Screw dem' gramma teachers...dawg." See? A ten year old can do it.

What's next, a crappy song about Friday? Oh, wait. They already did that. And for your benefit, they told you the days of the week. Remember how we grew up singing Barney and we were mortified to find that out from our parents, never willing to admit that we still know the cheesy songs? Well get this, our kids are gonna learn the days of the week from the legendary Rebecca Black.

Yeah, take that image to bed and never sleep again.

Truckin'

When we are children, we only have the desire to get dressed and leave. We want to play as hard and as long as we possibly can, without the care of getting messy or dirty. Once we learn what is acceptable in society (probably around the age of 8 or 9) we decide that we know what kinds of clothes are best to wear. We mix and match things with the intent of them becoming these wonderful masterpieces that end up being the clothes our mothers laugh at us for. So then we get to our teen years. These years are painful for most. We get to the point where we are awkwardly changing. Our bodies become tall and lanky, all of our clothes don’t fit, and our faces become splattered with acne. In turn, we feel that society is the determiner of our existence. It causes us to feel alone—as if not a single person can understand how we feel. We dress out of conformity: too much makeup, baggy jeans, pierced ears (or everything), and our peers influence all of our trends.

Now, in adult hood, I find that I am beginning not to care. I roll out of bed and feel like there’s never enough time to work as hard and as long as I can. I allow myself to look as rough as possible—no makeup, baggy clothes with an overall homely, expressionless face. My face has turned into another one in the crowd. Isn’t it sad? I’ve made a full circle. I was born bald; I’ll die bald. I wore diapers as a baby; I’ll wear diapers in a rest home.

All we do is live to die. But what gives me hope is that we die to live.

Keep on truckin’.

My Life on an Island

Let me give you an idea of what happiness is to me right now:

1. Waking up to a home-cooked meal.
2. Hidden candy stashes
3. Endless supplies of Mint Chocolate-Chip Ice Cream
4. Everyone wanting to sit by you at the dinner table...to the point of argumentation
5. A little boy running around in his halloween costume...prematurely. He never wants to get out of that dinosaur suit
6. Pushing a dino on a swing at 8 in the morning...while the sun is still rising.
7. Family laughing at all of your jokes, whether these are funny or just plain dumb.
8. Mom always knowing what's best.
9. Dad coming home for lunch to spend it with you.
10. Wild blackberries around every corner you turn
11. Beach and mountains all in one area.
12. Photographers buffet all over the island.
13. Creepy wind chimes that sound in the wind
14. Every long missed movie at my fingertips.
15. Little sisters begging you to get married only so they have the opportunity to wear a pretty dress.
16. Brother calling you small stuff even though you're older
17. A blonde little girl with kind eyes looking up to you in every essence of the word "idle."
18. That same little girl holding your hand where ever you go.
19. Useless random facts shot off by the 17 yr old brother.
20. Passion for BYU sports
21. Hugs
22. Kisses
23. Regardless what you look like in the morning, everyone greets you with a smile
24. Surprises
25. Couches comfier than apartment beds.

And the list could continue. I love being here.

Masks

I have a mask that I wear; just as you often do. We wear these masks usually in busy, crowded rooms. Occasionally, we take them off--revealing our inner selves. When we take them off, it is a special and rare affair. It is only taken off for people we are closest to; ones we truly love and have no fear of disclosing our beauty from within.

However, there are times when we fool those around us. We make them believe we are unveiling our private faces when we are only uncovering another mask. Why do we do this? I think I have found the answer: protection from vulnerable situations. Our masks then turn to shields guarding any useless attempt to know the face that lies beyond the mask.

So then the question must be asked: who do we truly untie the strings for? We have best friends; we have loved ones; we have good company--all of which secrets can be expressed. Who do we trust?

My reluctancy lies within those who mask as open and willing. It lies with those who may seem genuinely interested only to reveal the mask of one who's intentions are the least bit curious about my face. And when I do expose my face, defenseless to all who are around me, I feel as though even more disguises appear around me. Welcoming masks soon turn to masks full of conjectures to dangled in front of you.

Ironically, I am guilty of the prior. I am guilty of my fear of masks. So which mask is it that I wear today? That depends on which you want to know.