tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22509554777896043252023-11-16T00:39:21.375-07:00Anecdotes from Jamie LynJamie Lynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14494016892841167585noreply@blogger.comBlogger47125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2250955477789604325.post-14145513274503128312014-10-09T15:37:00.006-06:002014-10-09T15:37:48.506-06:00Gilmore Girls, Welcome to NetflixNot long ago, my dad caught me in their basement watching an episode of Gilmore Girls.<br />
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"<i>Again</i>? How many times have you <i>seen</i> this?" He asked this not bothering to hide his dismay. It must be difficult to have a child with an obsessive enough personality that she enjoys watching her favorite TV shows over and over. Still, I find myself lacking sympathy for his plight.<br />
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The truth is, I have seen every episode of Gilmore Girls at least a dozen times. There have been many shows over the years that I've enjoyed. Some I've even loved. But Gilmore Girls takes the cake. Gilmore Girls is like that pint of Ben and Jerry's Everything But The.... on a bad day (though I admit GG and Ben and Jerry's are best consumed together). It's pure comfort food, people.<br />
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But it's also a really, really well-written show. The characters are believable and likeble. The dialogue is witty, intelligent and fast-paced. The relationship dynamics keep things interesting. And I would love to visit Stars Hollow. (If only it was a real place.)<br />
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So even though I own all seven seasons, since some of my discs are scratched from overuse, I am excited to welcome Gilmore Girls to Netflix.<br />
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Earlier, I stumbled upon this <a href="http://mormonchildbride.blogspot.com/2014/10/if-i-ever-write-memoir-all-my-major.html?m=1" target="_blank">tribute</a> to Gilmore Girls. I think Stephanie does an excellent job of describing why women are drawn to this quirky, charming show.<br />
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So yes, Dad. I am watching it <i>again</i>.Jamie Lynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14494016892841167585noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2250955477789604325.post-33107931574915927552014-05-06T19:25:00.000-06:002014-05-06T19:25:20.651-06:00QOD (Quote of the Day)Apparently it's a two-post kind of day. Lucky you! Yes, you-- that one reader that stumbled upon this blog by accident. Don't you feel special? Like it was fate? Well you should. <div>
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So here it is -- the QoD (get ready):</div>
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"The word that comes to mind is courage. Anyone can live by a formula. It's much harder to leave the straight and narrow. Yet many of us have found that we must leave. The imperative from deep within is too strong. Life beckons and to dishonor the call would be spiritual death."</div>
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- Dr. Marlene Winell</div>
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YES! Choose life. This makes me think of a song I have been listening to a lot recently:</div>
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"Well I was dying to leave this place I know. Traded it in for something I can relate to. I'll find out who I really am. It may take some time, but maybe that's okay, yeah. Trying to make my way past hope, do what I can with everything that I've been through. <b>I'll take my chances to live again</b>." </div>
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LOVE that song. (It's called "I Should Leave Right Now" by an angsty band called The Dangerous Summer).</div>
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Life beckons, but some do not heed the call. Many probably don't hear it. </div>
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But me?</div>
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I'll take my chances to live again, too.</div>
Jamie Lynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14494016892841167585noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2250955477789604325.post-35230678177716618532014-05-06T19:12:00.001-06:002014-05-06T19:12:11.342-06:00A Flippant, Yet "Brilliant" PostEr, that's "brilliant" in the British sense of the word. Alas, this post will not be brilliant in the American sense.<br />
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But that's okay. Because today I bought my airfare to London! That's right! Now I can jam to Fergie's London Bridge (what a life-changing song) while I make plans to hang out in pubs with the young upstarts of the Mother country. I'll order bangers and mash and say things like "bloke" and "blimey" and "cheers" and, of course, enthusiastic declarations like "that's brilliant!"<br />
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And I will practice my queen wave (just in case I need to use it) and buy the sort of fashionable hat that no one looks good in but one could get away with in London. Oh, and I can't forget to pay tribute to the Spice Girls!<br />
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Just kidding about the Spice Girls. But I am looking forward to riding the tube, buying baguettes and cheese at Tesco, walking along the Thames and admiring the way British men wear jeans that FIT them. No, I'm not kidding about that last one. Say what you want about the bad teeth-- those English blokes know how to work a pair of jeans better than any American guy I've seen.<br />
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Hmmm... I think it's time for that Fergie song. Cheers!Jamie Lynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14494016892841167585noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2250955477789604325.post-33739015495821824122014-04-30T22:32:00.002-06:002014-04-30T22:32:30.707-06:00To See and Be SeenLast week I had a strange dream. I won't go into details (since stock prices are more interesting to read than other people's dreams) but basically at one point in the dream, someone asked me what I want the most. After careful consideration, I replied that I want the ability to see others and to be seen.<br />
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This dream followed an experience I had with a good friend who I used to confide in on a fairly regular basis. Last week, I sat across from him at his desk and shared one of the major changes I have made over the past few months. I knew he would not agree with my decision but I wanted him to try and understand my experience and the WHY behind my decision.<br />
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Unfortunately, he dismissed me quickly with eye rolling and a tangent that reflected a lack of empathy for others with different experiences than his. As I sat across from him, I began to feel invisible. He was looking at me but he couldn't see me. I fought the urge to stand on his desk and shout "I'm right here! LOOK at me!"<br />
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This week, I had another experience of telling a different friend about the same decision. With sensitivity, she asked thoughtful questions. She LISTENED and tried to UNDERSTAND my perspective. And although she, too, may not ultimately agree with my decision, she assured me that it doesn't change her good opinion of me. After our conversation, she thanked me and told me that she had gained a much broader perspective from hearing my thoughts. She could see me.<br />
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I know that I, too, have dismissed others at times. I have chosen not to see them, either to spare myself pain and discomfort or simply because their experiences were vastly different than mine and I did not care to try and understand. I not only missed out the opportunity to connect with these people; I also prevented myself from gaining new insights and broadening my vision.<br />
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One of my favorite parts from Lucy Grealy's brilliant "Autobiography of a Face" discusses how people were drawn to Grealy because she loved them for who they were rather than who she wanted them to be. She could see them. Acknowledge them. Accept them. Love them.<br />
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Seeing is suspending judgment while we patiently listen to another's story. Seeing is asking questions, and showing interest, care and concern. Seeing is allowing the person to be vulnerable in front of us and inviting him or her to be authentic. Seeing is trying to understand where they are coming from -- what experiences have shaped them? Why do they make the decisions they do? What do they want and what are their struggles?<br />
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Even if we're frustrated, hurt or angry, can we acknowledge them? Can we see them?<br />
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And do we seek after relationships where we, too, are seen? What makes you feel seen or dismissed?<br />
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<br />Jamie Lynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14494016892841167585noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2250955477789604325.post-45193757024369467622014-04-23T20:47:00.001-06:002014-04-23T20:47:21.496-06:00Down with Positive Psychology?<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Yesterday while perusing the Psychology Today website (it's a daily habit, I confess), I came across an article that perfectly summed up something I have been feeling. The article is called "<a href="http://www.psychologytoday.com/blog/is-psychology-making-us-sick/201404/the-dark-psychology-soul-shadow-and-diversity" target="_blank">Into the Dark: A Psychology of Soul, Shadow and Diversity</a>" by David Bedrick. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Bedrick writes, "<span style="background-color: white; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;">I don’t know about you, but I can’t stand to see one more article or book saying there are '5 Keys to Success,' ' Elements for Being Happy,' or '6 Steps to Healing.' Not that these writings are without merit, but let’s face it, they often dumb us down. Of course it’s seductive to be given The Answer, especially when it’s the answer to everything we’ve ever wanted. But at what cost? What gets left behind?</span></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">To me, these teachings seem to leave out our depth and soul; they fail to account for most of the human beings on the planet who have few options, many of whom are women, children, and people of color; they also leave out our authentic lives and the crosses we must bear to follow our callings, our shadows, our death, our decay, and all that goes with it, and perhaps most urgently, our humanity—that which we share and which often brings us to the heart of the matter: the need for love."</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;">YES!! THIS!!!</span><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;"> Bedrick goes on to talk about how embracing the shadow side of life can teach us things. I'll try not to post the whole article here but I particularly loved this part:</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;">"</span><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;">If we promote a psychology that equates health with light, happiness, lack of physical symptoms, and relationships without conflict, we dismiss and deny the truths and the important growth that can be found in the blues, in sickness, in conflict, in the dark. For example, while </span><a class="pt-basics-link" href="http://www.psychologytoday.com/basics/anger" style="background-color: white; border-bottom-color: rgb(153, 153, 153); border-bottom-style: dashed; border-bottom-width: 1px; color: #333333; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px; text-decoration: none;" title="Psychology Today looks at Anger">anger</a><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;"> is often considered a symptom to be remedied, in anger is often a great source of power. Sometimes people need to stand up for themselves, resist inner-criticism, speak out against injustice, start a revolution, and make sustainable change by being able to use righteous anger to right wrongs. Or, while depression is often considered a symptom to be fixed through </span><a class="pt-basics-link" href="http://www.psychologytoday.com/basics/psychopharmacology" style="background-color: white; border-bottom-color: rgb(153, 153, 153); border-bottom-style: dashed; border-bottom-width: 1px; color: #333333; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px; text-decoration: none;" title="Psychology Today looks at Psychopharmacology">medication</a><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;">, deeper truths can often be unearthed in these low times. People often find values they have left behind or difficulties that have been heretofore unidentified. Depression can be a powerful invitation to look deeper into the self, a space free of the ambitions and activities of daily life to ask the underlying questions that have been ignored for so long."</span></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Last week I attended a presentation on positive psychology. And while it was good and some of the information has merit, I felt something wanting. The reality is that yes, sometimes we have to act better than we feel and put on the happy face. <b>But emotions are not good or bad; they are information.</b> So when (not if) we find ourselves anxious, depressed, angry, hurt, etc., and we dismiss them or bury them because we find them unpleasant, we might be dismissing beautiful opportunities to connect with our deepest selves. The willingness to explore these emotions without judgment can lead to unimaginable growth as we come to know ourselves and value our individuality, our needs and our deepest desires and hopes. I also believe that this exploration can open the doors to true change - if we're willing to face the pain.</span></span>Jamie Lynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14494016892841167585noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2250955477789604325.post-53976890475413839142014-03-17T22:11:00.000-06:002014-03-17T22:11:58.331-06:00I Like ThisEach week I read the <i>New York Times</i> Modern Love column essays religiously. I love them. Like if I had to choose between beaches (and I LOVE beaches) and the Modern Love column, I would be seriously torn. (And seriously confused about a world where I had to choose between them...). <div>
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Anyway, I like this quote from Sunday's essay, <a href="http://www.nytimes.com/2014/03/16/fashion/modern-love-A-Second-Embrace-With-Hearts-and-Eyes-Open-.html?ref=modernlove" style="color: #666699; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; font-size: 15px; text-decoration: none;">A Second Embrace, With Hearts and Eyes Open</a>:</div>
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"Neither of us sees the world in guarantees anymore. We recognize them as the comforting fictions they are. We accept that you can't always keep the promises you made when you were barely above drinking age. You can't know how you will change, or what life will throw at you ... But he and I have learned, because we have had to, the difference between the illusion of security and the liberating joy of the present, between obligation and choice. And choice, terrifying as it can be, is so much better."</div>
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I'll raise my glass to that!</div>
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(Also, I think the Modern Love column wins. Sorry, beaches.)</div>
Jamie Lynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14494016892841167585noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2250955477789604325.post-30403959912855713232014-03-17T21:50:00.001-06:002014-03-17T21:50:28.779-06:00GlimpsesSeveral years ago, I read Elna Baker's <i>The New York Regional Mormon Singles Halloween Dance</i> (how's that for a long title?). I laughed. I cried. But that's not the point.<br />
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In the book, Elna (I feel like we're on first-name terms even though we've never met) talks about being quite overweight. Like many, she's tried dieting in the past but it's never stuck. So she's resigned herself to being overweight. Until one day.<br />
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While at a carnival, Elna enters a fun house with different types of mirrors that alter reality. Standing before one of those mirrors in particular takes her breath away. The reflection staring back at her is that of a thin girl who is ... beautiful. For the first time she catches a glimpse of her beauty. And she can't stop staring.<br />
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Soon after, she signs up for a weight loss program and, thanks to doctor-prescribed Phen-phen, crash dieting and extreme exercising, she drops 80 pounds in about four-and-a-half months. (And yes, she's kept it off.)<br />
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I'm not really interested in discussing the methods Elna used for her weight loss or even her weight loss at all. I'm interested in that moment when she catches a glimpse of an altered reality and s<i>ees who she</i> <i>could become</i> and it completely changes her perception of herself and empowers her to change. Yes, she still had to do the hard work. Yes, it didn't happen overnight. But what made the difference between all of the times she'd tried before and this time?<br />
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We hear it all the time: just believe in yourself. Simple. But rather trite, in my opinion. Because it's ignoring the fact that sometimes believing requires <i>first catching a glimpse of what can be</i> before we can really internalize it and allow it to alter our perceptions. It's often those small glimpses of what might be that motivate us, finally, to begin making changes and sticking through it when it gets hard.<br />
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And it's ironic that it's a distorted mirror that helps her realize who she is; an unreal reflection that somehow reflects a reality that speaks to her. How often are we unwilling to go after the things we want because we insist on seeing through ordinary mirrors? Sometimes catching those glimpses that help us cross that difficult realm from dreaming to reality requires us to get creative; we have to let our imaginations change the curve of the mirror or bend the light in a different way.<br />
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I am currently experiencing many changes. Although most are welcome, they are still intensely anxiety-provoking at times. But in the past few months, I've had many glimpses of who I am, who I can become and how my life can be -- it's still a distorted reality, a fantasy right now. But there is something real in the fantasy. And those glimpses are giving me the ability to push through the fear and self-doubt and see doors and windows where I could only see walls before.<br />
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It's beautiful.<br />
<br />Jamie Lynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14494016892841167585noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2250955477789604325.post-55310111717973068262014-01-25T17:47:00.001-07:002014-01-25T17:47:53.321-07:00Endings and BeginningsIt's been almost a year since I last posted. And you know what? I'm okay with that. I've never wanted my blog to feel like an obligation. Somehow that takes the fun out of it. And although I hope that the three of you who occasionally stop by enjoy the visit, really this blog is for me. So I write when I want to and I don't when I don't want to.<br />
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New topic: it's a new year. And, no, I don't go crazy and make 75 resolutions that would be impossible to keep (i.e., have defined abs in two months or make a documentary on African children with AIDS). But I have been thinking about endings and beginnings and what kind of life I want to create for myself.<br />
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I'm a sucker for well-written personal essays so I was excited when I discovered a gem of a book called "Ask Me About My Divorce," a collection of essays compiled by Candace Walsh. I have not read all of the essays, but so far, they are poignant and I find that I can relate (even as a never-married 31-year-old). Several of the women discussed how their divorces, though painful and often unwanted, led them to a sort of rebirth and a newfound freedom, a discovery of themselves and a newfound commitment to really engage with life. Endings and beginnings.<br />
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Throughout the past couple of years, I have experienced my own endings and beginnings. They are internal rather than external but they are real all the same. Some have been quite painful. I've experienced the death of long-held beliefs, hopes and expectations and the grief that comes with such loss. But I've also experienced a rebirth. An awakening. New beliefs are replacing the old ones and I feel the joy of liberation, even as I experience fear and uncertainty.<br />
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"That moment when it feels like you've lost everything can be the moment you realize you can create anything." (Jon Hastings, original post <a href="http://www.feministmormonhousewives.org/2014/01/stepping-into-the-light/" target="_blank">here</a>).<br />
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Perhaps the most important thing I've learned (and <i>felt</i>) is that it is up to me to create the life I want. And what do I want? Pretty much the same things most of us want. Meaningful relationships with family and friends and meaningful work. New experiences. Love. A way to connect with myself and others. Possibilities. Choices. Authenticity. A life full of endings and beginnings and full engagement with them both.<br />
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No more locked doors. No more dead ends. No more suffering because "there is no other way" and "this is what's best for you." No more "wait and hope."<br />
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"Here was a path, an opening." (Nicole Hardy)<br />
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This year I look forward to a self-directed life. A year that I hope brings much-needed healing to wounds that have festered too long. A year full of possibilities and openings. A year of now.<br />
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Happy 2014.<br />
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<br />Jamie Lynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14494016892841167585noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2250955477789604325.post-10299295926539609282013-02-25T19:44:00.000-07:002013-02-25T19:44:21.291-07:002013 ThemeAbout a month ago ... er, or two months ago, I said I was going to write a post about my personal theme for 2013. Then <strike>a wave of apathy hit me</strike> I got busy and I "forgot" about it.<br />
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Until now. Fortunately, my personal theme has nothing to do with not procrastinating so here goes.<br />
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My theme has to do with metamorphoses, with possibilities and with change. Coincidentally, it's the Chinese year of the snake. While I like the idea of shedding old skin, I don't like snakes. Plus, a snake that sheds its skin is still a snake. Yuck.<br />
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So instead I've made my personal theme about butterflies. I know, it sounds a bit cliche and a little cheesy. But I learned something interesting about a caterpillar's transition into butterfly: when the process starts taking place these new cells pop up, called imaginal cells. The old cells don't like these new cells so they start attacking them. But more and more of the new cells are generated until the eventual transformation into the butterfly occurs.<br />
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I've been thinking a lot about change and about growth. Unlike the snake that sheds old skin but essentially remains the same, the caterpillar goes into the cocoon and emerges a butterfly -- but not without resistance. Change is difficult and it doesn't come without a fight. The resistance is often internal and external. But this quote from Anais Nin sums it up for me: "And the day came when the risk to remain tight in a bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom."<br />
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This year I am ready to change things up. Not just external things like my career and my geographical location. But also internal changes. I am ready to push through the resistance (in whatever form it comes) so I can emerge "a new creature." It's the possibility of change and the hope of becoming better that keeps me going.<br />
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Here's to 2013: a year of possibility.Jamie Lynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14494016892841167585noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2250955477789604325.post-32642532874026006782013-01-03T19:21:00.000-07:002013-01-03T19:21:59.830-07:00Back in the Blogosphere Again... For NowHello, blogger my old friend... <div>
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Yeah, so I took a year off to ... well, 2012 was not a year in which I accomplished much. So I guess I took a year off from blogging to <i>think</i> about doing other things, and then ended up doing meaningful things like watching TV and contemplating exercising.</div>
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The truth is, I was not sad to see 2012 go. Was it a terrible year? Did my house burn down or did a family member die? Did I run over someone's cat or eat too many vegetables? Thankfully, no. None of these tragedies occurred. </div>
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Still, 2012 was, ahem, not the year of good mental health practices. Which means that if I'd had kerosene and a match or saw someone's cat in the road... Just kidding, of course. I'm afraid of fire and I like cats so I found other ways to be crazy. (After a while, it becomes an art. They do say practice makes perfect. They just don't specify what you should practice. Although I'm thinking crazy probably isn't on the list.)</div>
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Well.</div>
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Anyway, I feel like I should give 2012 some sort of farewell just to prove I did live through it. So here goes:</div>
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<b>Best movies of 2012 (not in order)</b></div>
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Liberal Arts</div>
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Life of Pi</div>
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Lincoln</div>
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The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel</div>
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Hope Springs</div>
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The Amazing Spiderman</div>
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The Hunger Games</div>
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<b>Favorite books read in 2012</b></div>
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My Name Is Asher Lev</div>
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The Fault in Our Stars</div>
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The Sky Is Everywhere </div>
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When Women Were Birds</div>
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The Bell Jar</div>
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Moon Over Manifest</div>
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Okay for Now</div>
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<b>Best bands discovered in 2012</b></div>
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Bon Iver</div>
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Blind Pilot</div>
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Florence + the Machine</div>
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Of Monsters and Men</div>
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<b>Random things I enjoyed in 2012</b></div>
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Vacation in San Diego with the fam</div>
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Downton Abby (I will marry Matthew if Mary won't)</div>
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The Shins concert at Red Butte (too cold but the opening bands were fantastic)</div>
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White chocolate peppermint M&Ms (dang, those are good)</div>
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Meeting a new cousin, Kaija </div>
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Seeing Hamlet at the Shakespeare Festival </div>
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I think there are more things I enjoyed but I can't remember any of them right now. I'm not really a big "New Year's resolutions" kind of person (mostly because I, like most people, rarely keep them) but I do have a personal "theme" for 2013. A post about that is too come. </div>
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In the meantime, hooray for a new beginning!</div>
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Jamie Lynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14494016892841167585noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2250955477789604325.post-72307162478965719092011-12-14T18:19:00.003-07:002011-12-14T18:26:38.393-07:00White Elephant<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj29tjB8XXVvnVKNIZR8i_vKaE_6NmrwPnVVvB_oFi80MQ4T6nCYHsDVpt2UlOYVDkJbaFCtpyMc9GeZRFbb8C3tNoNzMhvBPwGAVwXuH8qIbtwPVOk2chd11TyaNc2i6dSsydPlTlOSuk/s1600/SavinUp.png" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj29tjB8XXVvnVKNIZR8i_vKaE_6NmrwPnVVvB_oFi80MQ4T6nCYHsDVpt2UlOYVDkJbaFCtpyMc9GeZRFbb8C3tNoNzMhvBPwGAVwXuH8qIbtwPVOk2chd11TyaNc2i6dSsydPlTlOSuk/s320/SavinUp.png" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5686160030504530306" /></a><br />It's been a while since my last post. I'll have to play catch-up but not in this post. No, I have something special planned for this one. <div><br /></div><div>My work Christmas party is tomorrow and there will be a $10 gift exchange. Technically it's not a white elephant gift exchange but silly gifts are acceptable. And, let's face it-- they're way more fun than candles, lotion, chocolate, etc. that you just don't need or want. </div><div><br /></div><div>This year's find was truly great. The microscopic print next to the guy says "This jail hair has gotta go!"</div><div><br /></div><div>Yeah. Classic.</div><div><br /></div>Jamie Lynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14494016892841167585noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2250955477789604325.post-74756744964429178442011-11-07T19:42:00.002-07:002011-11-07T20:15:50.169-07:00Pride Goeth Before a Fall (Sometimes Literally)Yesterday was Fast and Testimony meeting. As is occasionally the case with "open mic Sunday," there seemed to be an unusually abundant amount of wackadoos sharing their thoughts at the pulpit. Since I try to be careful about what I post on the internet, I'll just say that many of those who got up quoted a string of strange scriptures (and then expounded them), discussed their bizarre Facebook posts and shared WAY too much about themselves (and took a really long time doing so). <div><br /></div><div>My roommate, who gets embarrassed for others easily, immediately pulled out her scriptures and started reading. I quietly wondered if singles wards are driving young single adults to new levels of madness because how could four out of every five "testimonies" borne be so weird? Then I worried that maybe the social awkwardness that seems to be seizing YSAs is contagious and I might catch it. <i>Or worse, since I've been in the system for so long, maybe I've already caught it and I'm not aware.</i> The horror, the horror.</div><div><br /></div><div>While I was feeling sorry for those poor souls who clearly lacked any sort of social tact or propriety, my roommate tapped my shoulder and pointed to the scripture she happened to come upon (3 Nephi 18:22-23):</div><div><br /></div><div>"And behold, ye shall meet together oft; and ye shall not forbid any man from coming unto you when ye shall meet together, but suffer them that they may come unto you and forbid them not; But ye shall pray for them, and shall not cast them out;"</div><div><br /></div><div>We both looked at each other. CRAP. It was a sign. A warning.</div><div><br /></div><div>And it got worse. Because when I was getting up to leave Relief Society, my foot couldn't support my weight (I think it had fallen asleep, like me, ha ha!) and I fell down. All the way down. On the ground. In a skirt. </div><div><br /></div><div>Yeah. Pride goeth before a fall.</div><div><br /></div><div>But still I wonder which is worse: Proving to the world that you're a klutz? Or committing social suicide at the pulpit?</div><div><br /></div><div>Either way, I got the point, Lord. I'll try praying for them next time.</div>Jamie Lynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14494016892841167585noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2250955477789604325.post-53947371022711666082011-10-31T20:04:00.003-06:002011-10-31T20:43:15.600-06:00Halloween Special<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCiCQozm8A1Ge3W37alzEqThFBqdHL_sLDhwwqx50qHCa9n-fBfsC4o3o87Qpt8Y_6yqAW5BDnAAgDrA6PSR0iWGV3QQEOGtzngizxfYdSPDCeUl-Mh94zNkdiCPL7yVMxRie12uwhXFQ/s1600/images-1.jpeg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 165px; height: 305px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCiCQozm8A1Ge3W37alzEqThFBqdHL_sLDhwwqx50qHCa9n-fBfsC4o3o87Qpt8Y_6yqAW5BDnAAgDrA6PSR0iWGV3QQEOGtzngizxfYdSPDCeUl-Mh94zNkdiCPL7yVMxRie12uwhXFQ/s320/images-1.jpeg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5669852341084552610" /></a><br /><div>The options for Halloween were 1) a tri-stake dance at the University of Utah (does it get any scarier than a bunch of 18-21 year-olds in bad costumes making sad attempts to flirt?) OR 2) PlanB with my roommates.</div><div><br /></div><div>Without hesitation, I opted for Plan B.</div><div><br /></div><div>We made brownies,playedwith glow sticks, and watched the 1967 classic, "Wait Until Dark." Starring the lovely Audrey Hepburn, I love this movie for many reasons. The over-the-top music. The thrilling suspense. The clothes (yes, Audrey could wear anything, couldn't she?).</div><div><br /></div><div>But my favorite thing about "Wait Until Dark" are the cherished memories I have of watching the film with my mom as a child and later as a teenager. We loved to rent old movies. I remember our Audrey Hepburn phase well (we loved "Charade") but we also enjoyed all of the Hitchcock classics and the charming romances like "How to Steal a Million." </div><div><br /></div><div>Those are some of my favorite memories and I'm glad tonight's Halloween festivities brought them back.</div><div><br /></div><div>Who knew I could be in such a cheesy mood on Halloween?</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>Jamie Lynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14494016892841167585noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2250955477789604325.post-35848976460618610452011-10-24T20:28:00.002-06:002011-10-24T20:42:21.220-06:00On PatienceLately I have been having the same conversation with the Lord. It goes something like this:<div><br /></div><div>"Heavenly Father, I'm tired of ... [insert trial, problem, annoyance, etc.]"</div><div><br /></div><div>The response? Nothing. Or, occasionally, "I know."</div><div><br /></div><div>But recently a comment in Relief Society caused me to stop and think. "Patience," a sister said, "is when you are tired of a particular trial or problem but you keep going anyway -- without complaining."</div><div><br /></div><div>I like this thought. I wish I could say that it's instantly changed my behavior to make my conversations with the Lord less whiny. This isn't necessarily the case. But it is helping me to stop and consider my blessings before I launch into the complaint section of my prayers.</div><div><br /></div><div>And I think it's been making a difference.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>Jamie Lynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14494016892841167585noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2250955477789604325.post-67075883047364690512011-10-12T19:55:00.003-06:002011-10-12T20:08:03.247-06:00Things that Make Me HappyI was thinking about things that made me happy today. The weather was beautiful, which I greatly appreciated. But what I enjoyed most about today was listening to Lenny Kravitz. What can I say? Lenny just made me want to dance. Don't worry-- I didn't. But I wanted to.<div><img class="rg_hi" id="rg_hi" alt="" width="225" height="224" style="width:225px;height:224px" src="http://t0.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcSNCCpX3NWKZfbWay-Tknh_aBEzsw_siIW6k5mQPOTQe6Nl3ohL" /></div>Jamie Lynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14494016892841167585noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2250955477789604325.post-65949119526572052452011-09-24T10:31:00.003-06:002011-09-24T11:05:06.120-06:00Review: Moneyball<div><br /></div><div><img src="http://www.wired.com/images_blogs/underwire/2011/09/Moneyball-660x430.jpg" id="il_fi" height="430" width="660" style="padding-right: 8px; padding-top: 8px; padding-bottom: 8px; " /></div><div><br /></div>I will admit that while I'm not the biggest team sports fan, I do often enjoy movies about sports. They make me feel like I am part of the American experience without me actually having to sit in a stadium and <i>be</i> part of the American experience.<div><br /></div><div><i>Moneyball</i> is no exception. The movie hits a home run. (And yes, I did need to say that. If it had been about football, I would have said touchdown. If it had been about basketball, I would have said slam dunk. If it had been about hockey or golf, I wouldn't have gone to see it because some sports can't be saved even by movies starring Brad Pitt).</div><div><br /></div><div>I was surprised at how engrossing Moneyball turned out to be. I was engaged the whole time (and no, it wasn't just because Brad Pitt was in it, although that certainly helped). It's a good story (and true, too) told in an interesting way and I left with a greater appreciation of how professional sports teams are assembled.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>Jamie Lynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14494016892841167585noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2250955477789604325.post-7519386988746134592011-08-27T20:26:00.003-06:002011-08-27T20:46:55.877-06:00A Little Taste of Heaven?<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihZWieB_KyAFc5RpJ5-E5PAzaOLaHAtYNNGXJnpgBEBD8I28n0v0oIXo-0prw2f2aVEr-LBfv-1a6MrOwbGf3W3QT35IYN7lLyMjfGxNkezLc0UnrNswgAiEPSfGIWJOChZKgHvVt8JhM/s1600/IMAG0144.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 191px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihZWieB_KyAFc5RpJ5-E5PAzaOLaHAtYNNGXJnpgBEBD8I28n0v0oIXo-0prw2f2aVEr-LBfv-1a6MrOwbGf3W3QT35IYN7lLyMjfGxNkezLc0UnrNswgAiEPSfGIWJOChZKgHvVt8JhM/s320/IMAG0144.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5645731810529998642" /></a>
<br />Whoever said "eat to live, don't live to eat" has obviously never been to Salt Lake City's <a href="http://brugeswaffles.com">Bruges Waffles and Frites</a>. Yes, they pretty much only sell waffles and french fries but they are THE BEST waffles known to man. OK, maybe not compared to the liege waffles in Belgium, but trust me these are good. <div>
<br /></div><div>The first time I went, I tried the vanilla liege waffle with belgian chocolate baked inside and topped with strawberries and creme fraiche. It was delicious but today I had the pleasure of enjoying my waffle with creme fraiche and peaches (no picture, I'm afraid) ... and I must say, it was perfection. </div><div>
<br /></div><div>A little taste of heaven? Next time you're in Salt Lake, stop by Bruges and decide for yourself. </div><div>
<br /></div><div>The fries are good too. You just can't go wrong.</div>Jamie Lynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14494016892841167585noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2250955477789604325.post-86308574013255209532011-08-17T21:36:00.004-06:002011-08-17T22:07:32.498-06:00Review: My Name Is Asher LevRecently I finished Chaim Potok's <i>My Name Is Asher Lev</i>. Although I have always loved to read, few books have moved me as much as this book did. In this rather straightforward tale of a Hasidic Jewish boy who chooses to be an artist against his father's wishes, I discovered a complex and thought-provoking analysis of the creation, purpose and value of art. <div>
<br /></div><div>Of course other themes are at play in the novel as well, but a particular passage about the purpose of art struck me. After an encounter with his unsupportive father, Asher Lev, the novel's protagonist wonders, "What did I have to justify? I did not want to paint in order to justify anything; I wanted to paint the same way my father wanted to travel and work for the Rebbe. My father worked for the Torah. I worked for -- what? How could I explain it? For beauty? No. Many of the pictures I painted were not beautiful. For what, then? For a truth I did not know how to put into words. For a truth I could only bring to life by means of color and line and texture and form." </div><div>
<br /></div><div>Although there is nothing wrong with painting, writing or singing (or expressing whatever artistic gift one may have) for beauty, I love Asher's moment of realization that he has to paint to express truth. Of course, this truth is subjective; our perceptions of truth differ from person to person. But I believe that it is when we tap into that truth as we see it when the art we create becomes authentic, valuable and meaningful. </div><div>
<br /></div><div>When I closed the book, I was inspired to ask myself if I am expressing the truth as I see it when I create my own art. </div><div>
<br /></div><div>The English major nerdy side of me also manifested itself as I read the novel. The irony wasn't lost on me that the truth that Asher can't express in his words is so eloquently expressed in Potok's words. </div><div>
<br /></div><div>If you haven't ever read it, I highly recommend this masterpiece.</div>Jamie Lynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14494016892841167585noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2250955477789604325.post-51842914594815882552011-08-11T21:08:00.000-06:002011-08-11T21:11:27.529-06:00Review: The Tree of Life<!--StartFragment--> <!--StartFragment--> <p class="MsoNoSpacing"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal"><span style="font-size:9.0pt">Warning: This is a long post. Read at your own risk.<o:p></o:p></span></i></p> <!--EndFragment--> <p class="MsoNoSpacing">To be fair, I can’t actually give a very informed critique of the new Brad Pitt film, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal">The Tree of Life</i> because I only made it through 42 minutes of the movie. And that, in my opinion, was being generous.</p> <p class="MsoNoSpacing">But I can tell you this: I hated each of those 42 minutes. Ok, that may be a bit of an exaggeration. After all, when you go to a movie you usually give it a few minutes to see where it’s heading before you start making judgments. Especially if it’s not your typical movie that introduces a character or two and presents a situation right from the get-go (Tree of Life doesn’t really do either of these things).</p> <p class="MsoNoSpacing">So I think I probably gave it 5-10 minutes before I decided it was going to be a really looooong two hours and 18 minutes. Really, I should’ve known from the descriptions of the film I’d read, referring to it as an “impressionistic,” “difficult,” “poetic,” “hypnotic,” and “artistically ambitious.” None of those terms imply entertaining, which is often what I want when I go to a movie. Even thought-provoking, artistic films can be entertaining on some level. So in a way, I should’ve known better. Here’s how it went down:</p> <p class="MsoNoSpacing">The film opens with a scripture from Job flashing on the screen. I settle in my seat. Immediately I know this was going to be a “serious” film. I briefly wish we had the second season of <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal">How I Met Your Mother</i> at home instead.</p> <p class="MsoNoSpacing">But then it just gets better. And by better, I mean worse. After the scripture, there are various images. I would tell you what these images were if I knew. But I can’t help you. Some are recognizable—like trees, especially one in particular (I assume it is the Tree of Life from the title—go me!) but the other images are … weird, formless entities. There’s just no other description. These images are accompanied by a whispery-voice narrator asking profound questions about man’s existence. Yawn.</p> <p class="MsoNoSpacing">At some point we see Jessica Chastain’s character answer the door of her home and receive a letter, where we learn from her collapse and scream that it is bad news. We don’t find out what that bad news is until after several more images and weird whispery narrations. And by then we’re not sure we care. We want to know where in the he** Brad Pitt is because he’s 97% of why we wanted to see the movie in the first place.</p> <p class="MsoNoSpacing">And then we do get to see him! But he doesn’t say anything, just like no one else in the movie says anything and then there are more bizarre images. But we manage to figure out that Brad and Jessica’s (I didn’t stick around long enough to find out if what their characters’ names were) oldest son was killed. That was the bad news in the letter. And Jessica’s not handling it so well. And we see Brad a lot now but he doesn’t say much. So maybe he’s not handling it so well either but we’ll never know because suddenly there are tall buildings with glass windows and Sean Penn is there and now we’re following HIM around. Again, there’s no dialogue and we go back and forth between Sean Penn doing weird things (like wading in the ocean and then suddenly climbing rocks in desert).</p> <p class="MsoNoSpacing">At this point, I realize something important: I have given up on this movie. I wonder how long it’s been. I consider checking my phone but since I have a pretty good sense of time, I fear that it’s only been 30 minutes. And I didn’t come by myself so I don’t feel like I can just get up and leave. So I don’t think I want to know what time it is.</p> <p class="MsoNoSpacing">I consider other things I might be able to do in a dark movie theater when actually watching the movie on the screen is out of the question. Sleeping seems like a good idea but now there is this really loud opera song playing and I think it might be distracting. Hmmm. (For the record, there is absolutely nothing else to do in a movie theater).</p> <p class="MsoNoSpacing">Fortunately, while there were more images being shown on the screen (and they just got stranger and stranger), I looked over at my friend who looked at me at the same time. And we both started laughing (quietly of course). I knew it was over. She asked if I wanted to stick it out and I told her I didn’t mind losing the $8.75 I’d spent. We got out of there faster than you can say “Brad Pitt.”</p> <p class="MsoNoSpacing">Moral of the story? Go see Crazy, Stupid, Love. instead. Go see Planet of the Apes instead. File your nails. Read a book. Go to the dentist. Clean the bathroom. Weed your garden. Do ANYTHING besides see this movie.</p> <p class="MsoNoSpacing">Just sayin’.</p> <!--EndFragment--> Jamie Lynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14494016892841167585noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2250955477789604325.post-39143387540149302342011-08-03T20:12:00.003-06:002011-08-03T20:42:20.467-06:00HuhOccasionally someone tells you something that makes you say, "Huh" because you have no other response.<div><br /></div><div>This happened to me the other day at a work birthday celebration when a co-worker randomly mentioned that if I were to kill someone, it would be a crime of passion rather than a premeditated act. He went on to explain that I can talk myself out of of anything so if I murdered someone, it would be in an instant when I just snapped.</div><div><br /></div><div>Huh.</div><div><br /></div><div>The thing is, he's probably right. It's true that I can talk myself out of just about anything. When I am at the store and I see something that I want to buy but don't really need, I will often pick it up and carry it around with me while I talk myself out of buying it. And it usually works.</div><div>(That method would be rather tricky if I was in the act of a planned murder and I suddenly changed my mind.) </div><div><br /></div><div>So I probably would just go postal one day. Watch out, everyone! I am a ticking bomb. Ha ha.</div><div><br /></div><div>What was most odd about the conversation was that I didn't find it very odd at all. The truth is, I have been watching unhealthy amounts of Castle lately as a way to procrastinate working on my book, finding a hobby, learning a new language, getting a social life or some other proactive step to keep things "fresh" and "interesting" like the psychology articles recommend.</div><div><br /></div><div>TV is less hassle than those other things and I do enjoy a good crime-solving show (even though they drive me nuts at the same time because of all the plot holes) so Castle has kept me entertained. </div><div><br /></div><div>But I'm thinking that maybe too much of anything really is too much. Because when someone accurately assesses what type of murderer you'd be and you don't find it a little strange, not to mention disturbing . . . you need a new hobby. </div><div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div></div>Jamie Lynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14494016892841167585noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2250955477789604325.post-75778521735907185612011-07-21T20:59:00.002-06:002011-07-21T21:36:24.206-06:00Sad Songs Say So MuchRecently, I listened to a rather insightful This American Life podcast about break ups. "After a break up, you just stare at what happened," the show's host, Ira Glass, astutely observes in the introduction. <div><br /></div><div>I think this could be said for any unwelcome event in life that comes out of nowhere and knocks you flat on the ground, leaving you shaking and desperate to figure out what exactly did-- or did not-- happen that so drastically changed things.</div><div><br /></div><div>The show continues with an amusing and honest analysis of how break up songs simultaneously help the healing and perpetuate the hurting after you've been through a break up.</div><div><br /></div><div>"Rather than listening to songs for pleasure, I began listening to songs for pain. I listened to break up songs to feel better, and by better, I mean worse, " explains writer Starlee Kline as she describes her post-breakup trauma, which led to an unhealthy obsession with Phil Collins and an attempt to write her own break up song. </div><div><br /></div><div>She continues, "There is something satisfying in listening to sad songs. . . they make you feel less alone with your crazy thoughts. . .they don't judge you, they understand you. They don't tell you to try online dating or that you're better off without him. They tell you what you do want to hear, that you're worse of without him because that's how you feel."</div><div><br /></div><div>But what nailed it for me was when she said, "I wanted to wallow-- big time, deeply and with the least amount of perspective as possible."</div><div><br /></div><div>I have not experienced a break up recently (you actually have to date for that, which requires a whole different set of sad of songs-- found on the unrequited love playlist) but this week has been a Thelma and Louise kind of week-- the kind that could end with me in the car, driving off a cliff. Ok, so I wouldn't do that. </div><div><br /></div><div>But something that wasn't broken last week crumbled this week and even though I should have seen it coming (and possibly did see it coming), I didn't prevent it and now I don't know how to fix it.</div><div><br /></div><div>And the only thing that has been making me feel better (and by better, I mean worse), has been sad music. I've been listening to Kelly Clarkson's "Sober" and Linkin Park's "Waiting for the End" almost nonstop, mixed in with DCFC's "Tiny Vessels" and Broken Bells' "Sailing to Nowhere." The music understands me, I tell myself. I can't drink. Sex is out of the question (again, hard when there's no dating), and I don't want to go to the store and buy ice cream.</div><div><br /></div><div>So music it is.</div><div><br /></div><div>And maybe going for a run, reading my scriptures or talking with a good friend would be better choices-- but I still prefer the catharsis pathetically sad songs offer me. Because sometimes I don't want to be told to try something else or that I'm better off. Sometimes I really do need to wallow with the least amount of perspective as possible.</div><div><br /></div><div>What sad songs do you like to listen to when you're "staring at what happened" after something unexpected and painful happens?</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>Jamie Lynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14494016892841167585noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2250955477789604325.post-24122290756674642922011-06-21T21:37:00.003-06:002011-06-21T22:15:43.767-06:00Encounters With the Soccer Lovin' KindOn Saturday, I attended my first Real Salt Lake game. This is because I'm trying to branch out and discover new interests which will then make me a well-balanced person. According to all of the Zen articles I regularly read, this is what we should all be striving for. <div><br /></div><div>So my friend T and I bought tickets and headed to the game to discover that we were only about three rows up from the field. What does this mean? That's right! We were smack in the middle of the Soccer Lovin' Crowd. Everyone around us was wearing Real Salt Lake jerseys and scarves-- the scarves confused me at first because they made me feel like I had stepped into a Harry Potter movie-- but then I remembered that I was actually at a sporting event (silly me, how could I forget?) and I snapped out of the magic moment.</div><div><br /></div><div>It was an exciting game. For everyone else because they were actually watching the game. For me because the Soccer Lovin' Crowd enthralled me. These people were passionate about their soccer-- not only did they have the scarves to prove it but they knew the players' names: "That was dull footwork, Tony!" </div><div><br /></div><div>But the thing about soccer is this: the most exciting parts are when one of the teams actually comes sort of close to scoring a goal. Which means they run up and down the field and pass the ball to each other and then maybe, just MAYBE, one player takes the risk and manages to kick the ball toward the goal. Then the crowd goes wild and everyone stands up and starts cheering on Tony or whoever and THEN, just when you think somebody might actually score a point during the 90-minute game, a player with great calves from the opposing team who has been standing there the whole time suddenly decides to block the ball and kick it down the field. And everyone sits down and yells at Tony for his dull footwork.</div><div><br /></div><div>As I witnessed this, I couldn't help but wonder how 16,000 fans (that's how many attended on Saturday night) aren't completely bummed out by so many letdowns. I mean, at least in basketball or football points are scored fairly regularly. But in soccer, the crowd gets a rush from the HOPE of a point being scored. As I observed this phenomenon, I wondered if I would be more content with my life if I applied the soccer principle-- if merely the HOPE of a date or a dream job or a hot fudge sundae or a European vacation would be as satisfying as if it actually happened.</div><div><br /></div><div>I don't know. Maybe I will have to consult more Zen articles.</div>Jamie Lynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14494016892841167585noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2250955477789604325.post-61716032464663008582011-02-27T21:00:00.002-07:002011-02-27T21:55:13.327-07:00A Weekend of WallowingSometimes I just need to wallow in what my mission president referred to as the hot tub of self-pity. This past weekend was definitely one of those times. But Jamie, you say-- why on earth would YOU need to wallow? You're so blessed! You don't have a controlling mother, no one you know is dying of cancer, you have a car and a place to live and a job that only makes you want to slit your wrists sometimes. Plus, you get to live in America and you get to be a Mormon. With all that and more, why would you possibly need to wallow?<div><br /></div><div>Why, indeed.</div><div><br /></div><div>All I can say is sometimes the hot tub of self-pity looks warm and alluring and once you dip your toe it isn't too long before you are fully submerged and comfortable so you might as well stay a while. And ask someone to bring you chocolate. Unless you've temporarily lost your mind and agreed to go off sugar. Then you will just stay in even longer. </div><div><br /></div><div>It all started on Friday. I can't really explain why, but it seems I unintentionally opened a metaphorical closet where all of my unfulfilled hopes and dreams and expectations and other cliched phrases came crashing down on me, leaving me lying on the floor trapped underneath. </div><div><br /></div><div>On Saturday I was still buried by the aforementioned unfulfilled desires so I did what any experienced wallower would do-- I stayed in bed until 4 in the afternoon, lazily reading sad essays on the Web from other people who had also opened the same metaphorical closet. I wasn't much more productive after 4, although I did get up and wash my hair, which was greasy at that point and distracting me from having a proper wallowing. But, tired of reading about people who were also crushed under the weight of disappointment and regret, I turned to the next best thing: movies depicting characters who had also been gypped by life through no fault of their own.</div><div><br /></div><div>Today, I unwallowed a little by sitting through three hours of church; although this didn't help me completely dewallow because I made the mistake of noticing the 500 eager, glowing girls and 27 carefree, lazy guys, which proved once again that singles wards are the equivalent of eternal damnation. Like every Sunday, I vowed never to go back (although I'm sure I'll be back again next week) and wallowed some more.</div><div><br /></div><div>And so, you wonder, in the end what lesson was learned in all of this? What great epiphany did I have? Did I realize that it's important to rise above wallowing? To get out of that hot tub and dry off and go on with life? Perhaps I realized life is a marathon and it's important to keep running so you don't fall down and get trampled by long-legged Kenyans-- and, if you make it to the finish line, you might get a t-shirt and free food.</div><div><br /></div><div>No, what I took from this weekend was this: wallowing is way better with chocolate.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /><div><br /></div><div><br /></div></div>Jamie Lynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14494016892841167585noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2250955477789604325.post-61506120884424814192010-11-21T19:35:00.002-07:002010-11-21T20:44:10.928-07:00Things that Must GoI know it's almost Thanksgiving but rather than write a post where I list my many blessings, I'm taking a different approach this year. Instead, I'm going to share my list of things that must go. Sometimes we just need to rant. And, let's face it: this list is going to be much more fun to read than a saccharine gratitude list would be anyway.<div><br /></div><div>1. I-15 construction. Really. It never goes away. The orange barrels are multiplying and replenishing the freeway as I type this.</div><div>2. The excessive use of the word "like." I find it, like, so hard, like, to follow, like what people are, like, saying when they, like, use the word "like" 65 times while, like, making their point.</div><div>3. Fannypacks (and the people who wear them). Need I say more?</div><div>4. Multi-level marketing schemes. Particularly ones that involve magic juice. If it sounds too good to be true, it is. If it says it can cure anything because of special berries from some obscure rain forest in South America, RUN.</div><div>5. Movie remakes and sequels. I'm so over it. Surely, SOMEONE in Hollywood has an original idea. And, just a thought-- how did Alvin and the Chipmunks merit a "squeakuel"? What does that say about society? </div><div>6. U2. As one of my co-workers told me the other day (and I readily agreed), it is the worst multi-platinum band in the history of ever. </div><div>7. Bad reality TV. And, what's "real" about reality TV anyway? </div><div>8. Mullets (and the people who have them). Again, need I say more?</div><div>9. Spiders. Ew. </div><div>10. Infomercials. Why?</div><div>11. People who drive UNDER the speed limit. Speed up, grandma. Trust me, you're more of a traffic hazard in that blue Buick when you're going 50 on the freeway than if you would just risk it and go 65.</div><div>12. Nevada. It's a form of exile. </div><div>13. Airplane food. Not that you really get any because now you have to pay for it. But when you're starving on a 7-hour flight, sometimes you forget and shell out $10 for a tiny meal that barely resembles food. Then you wish you hadn't.</div><div>14. Thomas Kincaide paintings. Trite. </div><div>15. Cat calendars. Or dog calendars for that matter. Let's just say pet calendars in general. </div><div>16. Poorly-written love stories involving teenage vampires, werewolves and other dark creatures. It's okay to like these stories when you are 12. But once you move past 12, give something substantial a try. I know that sounds harsh but really, try it. You might like it.</div><div>17. The Footprints in the Sand poem. If you love this, I don't know what to say. There just aren't words.</div><div>18. Celery. 'Tis a pointless vegetable.</div><div>19. Winter. It's depressing. Just typing the word made me sad inside.</div><div>20. The Tea Party movement. </div><div><br /></div><div>These are just a few of my least favorite things. Hope you found it enjoyable.</div><div><br /></div><div>What's on your list of things that must go?</div>Jamie Lynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14494016892841167585noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2250955477789604325.post-34939407692752409682010-09-02T19:08:00.002-06:002010-09-02T19:37:32.558-06:00Dad: 10 Things I Love About YouYesterday my dad celebrated his birthday. I was thinking about how much I appreciate him and it occurred to me that I ought to let him know. After, all he isn't getting any younger! (Ha ha)<div><br /></div><div>The post is late because we didn't have internet until now. Sorry about that. But here are 10 things I love about you, Dad:</div><div><br /></div><div>1. I'm glad you are a democrat. You risk your life every day in Utah County.</div><div>2. You love to read. What more can I say?</div><div>3. Your appreciation of music. I'm glad you are playing the guitar again.</div><div>4. You are a great teacher. Thanks for the "teaching moments."</div><div>5. Who doesn't love an animal-lover? </div><div>6. Your seminary humor. Ok, so most of the time it makes me groan. But I appreciate that you can laugh at life.</div><div>7. Thanks for being an example of faith and steadiness. I admire your ability to rise above challenges and disappointments with dignity and grace.</div><div>8. You see the best in others even when they don't deserve it. Sometimes that includes me. Thanks for that.</div><div>9. You ran a 10k. That shows guts. Way to go.</div><div>10. Along with being a great dad, you're a great friend. I'm grateful for that. </div><div><br /></div><div>There are many more things that I love about you. These are just a few. Thanks for always being there. Happy birthday!</div><div><br /></div><div>Love,</div><div><br /></div><div>JL</div>Jamie Lynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14494016892841167585noreply@blogger.com0