My Writing Brain

I used to be a writer. It's gone away. Only elementary words come into my mind. Thoughts composed solely of facebook status updates that people push a little button to "like".

Here are the last ten thoughts I had that I posted to facebook:

1. The screen of my mac gets dirty so fast....#firstworldproblems
2. I kind of like ninjas now.
3. Walking into Hollister makes me feel like an old, pale giant.
4. Spending all day with a 4 year old is like a roller coaster ride for my ovaries.
5. I literally have an ache in my heart when I think about the fact that I cannot time travel...#nerdysadness
6. I'm in California and freezing. What's up with that! P.S. my cousin is with me.
7. Decide what to be and go be it.
8. Avett Brothers in a few short hours. Hello Sunday Evening.
9. Bad Teacher
10. If only my life were more like theater camp.

That's all I got. And some of these aren't even original thoughts. They are thoughts that others have thought that I thought after them.

I don't know what this means for my soul, but the outlook isn't good. My soul is screaming for a metaphor salad right about now.

Be Bold

Recently, a lovely friend of mine wrote a post that I applaud. It echoes a declaration that I made myself about four years ago. I forgot how harrowing it was for me to make this declaration in the forum that I did. I forgot how harsh the responses could be from fellow Christians. I simply forgot.

This post made me remember how real the battle for equality still is in many parts of this state of mine. If you want to chime in and offer your support (and read the comments out of wide-eyed curiosity's sake). then please do so.

Coming Out

Rewiring the Brain.

Sometimes I try to pretend that I was never religious. I'm tired of religion. I'm tired when I think of all the decisions that I made about my education and my life because I was worried they would take me away from my true calling as a wife and mother. I'm tired of trying to talk in circles about how to change said religions so they make more sense and are more egalitarian.

I just get tired. Or maybe, I'm just still so hurt. I think I avoid religion lately because it's still so emotionally taxing on me. Having made a break from the Mormon faith just over two years ago hasn't dissipated all the hard wiring my brain has had to try and undo after 30 years of thinking one way. And it's hard fighting with yourself all the time. It's hard second guessing your well thought out decisions. It's hard having friends and family look at you like you are a problem to be fixed. It gets hard. And tiring.

I recently read this article that really moved me. I understood her story. I lived her story. I think you could read it too and see what a lot of women in the LDS church deal with--though it may seem silly that it's engrained in us so fully, but it really is.

She tells her story, and then she optimistically paints a solution to how you can balance your faith, family, and career if certain changes were made. I like the story she paints. She paints it in shades of warm yellow and orange that make me start to feel something. But, my blueness regarding the situation comes back after only a few moments. Sometimes the problem seems so big. And, why should I even try and change what I perceive as a problem, when so many women are ok with it? That's the big question. Do I just get out and then leave the church and it's consenting women to their own demise? Many would say yes. Many would get upset with me even calling it a "demise". But all I know is that if I didn't have a friend who was brave enough to voice her concerns and leave the church and then tell me about it, knowing, or at least hoping, that I would love her anyway--if I didn't have her to see that it WAS possible to be actually happy and religion free--then I'd still be in that same church. I would be meeting my own demise. My soul and spirit and whatever you want to call it were dying in that church and I didn't even realize it.

You can read the full story about this woman here.

Also, you can read this little excerpt below.

Women’s invisibility is at the root of all their problems, and this invisibility comes from women’s profound lack of representation in the major decision making councils of the world and their lack of influence and power. To have their voices heard and better the lives of all women, men, and children, they must find their way into governments, academia, international affairs, and business administration. In that way, those making the decisions will have women’s needs and interests (and by extension, those of the family) in mind. However, this presents a major dilemma for those who are Latter-day Saints and who believe that motherhood and family cohesion are preeminent.

It is broadly accepted that Mormons traditionally believe in stay-at-home moms. For many years the counsel to the members of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints from the church leaders has been for mom to stay in the home while the children are still being raised. They were strongly counseled against taking any kind of career when it wasn’t necessary. Many Latter-day Saint boys are raised to look for a girl to marry who is committed to staying home with her kids, and girls are raised with marriage and homemaking as their ultimate ambition. How is a Latter-day Saint to reconcile the need for women to take positions of political influence, when those positions require work outside of the home and a lifelong investment in a career in order to reach any type of authoritative level of influence? Considering that a woman cannot be simultaneously in her home with her children and in the workplace making a change in the world, and boards of directors and politicians cannot and will not hire someone without experience, major societal changes are in order to reconcile this dilemma. These changes must take place in the workplace, in societal values, and in societal expectations, particularly for men.

I feel like it's Indecision 2011 for me. I'm almost 34. I feel like I need to decide if I want to go out and grab that husband and have that baby, or if I want to do what I feel so passionate about in my heart. Is there really a way to do both? I don't really believe that there is. I think having children changes the playing ground so completely that your life is never the same. That you focus so fully on them you let other things fall by the wayside. That's a good thing. I want mothers in this world that would be involved in mothering. And I know myself well enough to know that if I had a child, I would give so much of myself, my time, my talents (and that I would WANT to give those things to that little baby) that all of my other dreams would still sort of be realized, just not as fully. Or my dreams would change. Which isn't a bad thing at all. But it seems bad now. It seems lesser. It seems like I won't reach my full potential. It seems like I'm talking in circles, doesn't it? Meh. 

Struck

Here is the trailer. The full 7 minute video can be found here. You'll be glad you watched it.


Many of you may not have seen this. I think you should. It's a short film that says a lot about what I feel like lately. I've been pondering a lot about the healing process. It seems, in life, that I have old wounds and those I date have old wounds and that these wounds make it too difficult for either of us to get close. Like trying to hug with arrows poking through our hearts.


I've been wondering about my own healing process and it's something I've always thought I would have to do on my own, but what if I let people in to help? I've been wondering about other's healing processes. What if I help them heal and then they leave for someone that's not me? That's happened to me before. It's happened to you. We wanted to be the end goal and we ended up being a milestone of healing towards the end goal.


I've decided to stop thinking so much about that and to just focus on healing. On really healing. On healing myself and on doing whatever I can to heal those people I am lucky enough to call friends and family. Because, in the end, I guess it shouldn't be about what they can give me, but about what I can give them. So, I'm ready to give. I've always been ready to give. The thing I'm working on now is also being ready to receive.


I'm struck.

I Will

And I'll do it EVERY DAY.

Cancer.

I didn't take this photo. But I wish I had. 

Take the healthiest person you know. The one who goes running every day and lifts weights. The one who eats only fruits and veggies while you eat chocolate. The one who is vibrant and happy and full of life and energy and all good things. She's in her thirties. She's been religious all of her life. She's been faithful. She's never married, but always lives for the day when she will be. She is getting her PhD from a high, higher institution. You were roommates in NYC and you always admired her. You love her. She's like sunshine.

Imagine that you just found out she was diagnosed with leukemia.

What do you do with that?

Prison

Sometimes I look at my family and realize it's not a really rosy situation. At all. Sometimes, if I say all the things wrong in my immediate family at once, I realize it sounds pretty awful. Most times I don't say anything about it, except in blogger land.

The reasons are many. Firstly, I don't want anyone's pity. Also, it's hard to talk about it without getting emotional. Another reason is that I realize most people don't know what to say or how to react when I tell them what is going on. The almost last reason is that I pride myself on being strong, independent, happy no matter what and able to handle it alone. The final reason is that I'm a little embarrassed.

Once people know about the details of my family life--well, then, I feel like it's almost impossible for them not to make judgements, assessments, and opinions of the situation. It's also hard for them not to share opinions. These don't have to be bad things, but they usually aren't good things, either.

That disclaimer being disclaimed--I went to see my brother in prison for the first time last Saturday. It was hard. I've avoided it for a long time, mostly because I've been living in another country.

He's been in prison since April. He has the same name as my father, stole my father's identity, cleared my parents out of their meager savings account so he could buy drugs. He ended up high, hungry, alone, and I believe shoeless--arrested while living in a park just down the street from my older sister's million dollar home.

Sounds like a Lifetime made for TV movie. Which I hate.

In prison, rightly so, my brother is clean and sober. That means he is himself. That means he is quiet, scared, lonely, sweet natured, and full of remorse. When he is high--he is loud, fearless, ugly, scary, and hurts every one in his path.

The problem is that my brother shares the depression problem of my mother. It's severe. Instead of trying medication, he turned to drugs around the age of 16. He's never really stopped. He is now about to turn 28. It's been a long road for all involved. He has two illegitimate children. He has no career. He's unhappy. He doesn't have a lot of hope. He cries a lot now.

I walked into the prison with my mom feeling pretty sorry for myself and my family. Why us? Why do you always have to deal with these things?

Inside I was able to talk to my brother for about 15 minutes via a computer monitor and a telephone receiver. The visits can only last 30 minutes. While my mom was talking to my brother for her 15 minutes, I looked more closely at this old man who had entered the same time we did. He was about 80, bent over, and had three small children with him. The children were 6, 3, and 2 months. The six year old was trying to calm the 2 month old. She was swinging him around and, in all honesty, not doing much to help the baby's discomfort. I went over and asked if I could hold him. The old man looked gratefully at me as I saw him talking to a young woman on the monitor. I held the little baby and noticed that his head was misshapen, his eyes at different levels on his face, and that he was most likely suffering from fetal alcohol syndrome. I made eye contact and smiled and cooed at him. He immediately perked up, smiled, grabbed at my hair, and was happy.

I looked around. There were people just like me in that prison visiting room. There were sweet parents talking to sons, there were mothers with babies talking to fathers. We could have been at church instead of prison by the looks at everyone.

I talked to the two little girls and found out that this man was their great grandpa. Their mom was in prison, and so was their aunt. The baby was their nephew. Their great grandpa took care of them all by himself and each week they came in to see their mothers.

That broke my heart.

I watched this great grandpa labor to stand up. He tried to take the baby so he could kneel down and put him in his carseat. I did it for him and then asked if I could carry the carseat to his car for him. He gladly accepted. He thanked me. He got in his car and drove away. I went to my car and just sat there for twenty minutes before I could drive away.

Something Like San Fran....

Last week I thought about moving to San Fran. I did this because one person in my life (an important person) made me feel that living in Utah was probably less than what my life should be.

And I realized, after three days of debating about San Fran...that there was a more important question I should be asking.

Why do I care so much about what he thinks of me?

There is a deep part of who I am that doesn't want to disappoint the idea that he has of me. AND THAT...above any other choice I'm making right now, has totally baffled me. Hurmph.

So, I decided to take things to the extreme and examine:

At the top of one extreme is Jesus, the Prophet, or just orthodox Mormonism in general. I worshipped this extreme to the extreme. Under this extreme I was supposed to get married. I was supposed to have babies. I was supposed to give my power to a man. I was supposed to succumb. I was supposed to do A LOT of crazy shit that I never did. I failed. I failed miserably at being a good mormon girl. And while I can now give a standing ovation to that failure, for many years under the LDS umbrella, I felt pretty shitty for being such a failure. It hurt to fail that hard.

The other extreme. The most opposite thing from Mormon world I can get is the world that he represents to me. He's like the hot, chocolate Jesus of this world. This is a world of possibility, of power, of living your dreams, of knowing your dreams, of being in complete bliss with each of your actions, of being at the highest self-actualized point in life. And, there it is. And I have had glimpses of trying to tackle this world. The latest one was with BossLady. And I failed. Miserably. Terribly. And it hurt.

Now, dusting myself off again. I am taking a look at both extremes and finding where I want to fit in on the spectrum. I have, sadly, somehow made his opinion of me too high up on my list--maybe because he is male? because he is powerful?

I've gone around this week wondering why I care so much of what he thinks of me, and I guess it is because he represents so much of what I want to become....

The truth is, I have a game plan for my life--and it absolutely involves Utah at this time--but I was afraid to admit it to him.

And the reality from that is that I need to stop giving others my power and I need to trust my gut, my intuition, and my plan without doubting it when one person raises an eyebrow at it. Because if one person raising an eyebrow gets me to doubt my plan, then I need a new plan or I need to get back my power

The beautiful thing about my life right now is that I am knowing myself to my core. What if the job I took turned out to be the most horrific thing ever--who am I still? What if BossLady hates me--who am I? What if people think I bad at my job--who am I? What if Jesus isn't real and I've devoted the last 30 years of my life to him--who am I? What if the Mormon church isn't true, and my lame ass ex-boyfriend wasn't attracted to me, and my parents were sort of shitty, and I was abused as a kid, and my best friend betrayed me, and my paycheck isn't very big...then who the fuck am I? And if I can have a solid answer and know myself fully after all of that...and leave room for growth and freedom and changing my plans as I grow and change, well, then, San Fran may come and it may not...but I'll still be me :)

Gaslighting....

It is in every psychological thriller. Take someone sane. And then. Through a series of related and unrelated events. Make them believe that they are crazy. Make them believe that they are so crazy that the only person who can help shed any light on what is happening is the one person that made them "crazy" in the first place.

This, in fact, has a term. It is called gaslighting. I'd never heard of it before now. I never needed to know it's definition. But as I sift through what I saw my former boss (who we will just call BossLady) do to all of the women who came to her for help, I am now aware that this is what was happening.

The official definition:

Gaslighting is an extreme form of emotional, psychological, abuse, and as such, gradually erodes the victim’s sense of self-worth and self-esteem (or, in the case of BossLady--prays upon those with already destroyed self-esteems), with the outcome being; self-confidence destroyed. Alas, the victim adopts a confused, disorientated stance and thus renders herself exposed, moreso, to criticism and judgment. Henceforth, the roles are quite clear: the victim is considered “crazy” (mentally deranged) whilst the abuser is the “suffering soul.”

Then, if you're BossLady. Make claims that you are the only one who can heal them. And take their money. And then send them home unhealed and worse than before.

The NUMBER 1 tool of an emotional manipulator is to get others to trust YOU and not their "gut" (or intuition, or feelings, or reactions).

You have instincts. They are real. If your gut tells you that there is something off with one person in your life, but they allow you to feel normal and safe with the rest of your world. Think about it. Victims shouldn't exist. And they won't if we don't allow it.

Something to Talk About...

I have the smallest handful of people who take the time to read my blog. To me, that is priceless. I love it. I love that you share in my life. I love that you go through some part of my journey with me. I love going through yours with you. So, here it goes, I'm finally ready to talk about this year. And I hope, honestly, that you can learn something from the hard lessons I have learned....without EVER having to go through them yourself.

I've had a year that basically started with everyone saying that I had the dream job. I was living and working in Switzerland and gallivanting off to Portugal, Norway, Italy, and France. It certainly contains echoes of perfection.

What I have never talked about was the nature of the work I did, the types of people I became exposed to, and the reason why I eventually had to quit and leave everything to come back home to America with a very large NOTHING staring me in the face.

Yesterday, two very interesting things happened. Well, actually, two very ordinary and uninteresting things happened.

1) I got a pedicure.

2) I saw Eat, Pray, Love with my girlfriends.

Not earth shattering by any means.

Here is how they processed out in my brain.

When you see the beginning of Eat, Pray, Love (and I'm not giving anything away here). Liz Gilbert gets told by a medicine man in Bali that she will have two marriages, that she will lose all of her money, and that she will return to Bali one day as a different person.

And she did.

And it turned out to be the most amazing experience of her life--bringing happiness, love, joy, and wealth.

I was standing in a random train line in Rome last June and I met a lady. A magical lady. A lady who was gracious, charming, loving, sweet, and made you feel the best possible way you can feel about yourself in her presence. She was famous. She was well-known. And, this lady, after spending one hour in line with me in Rome, offered me a job for the rest of the summer. I was thinking about it. I wasn't sure. I agreed to one month.

And once I agreed to the one month, she looked at me and said, "I know that you will come and work for me forever. You will come to my clinic in Switzerland and Portugal. You will."

And she said it with so much love and kindness, that I sort of felt my gut reacting to her, and I believed it was true. And I made the decision to go, because that is how you live life in large ways (like I like to do). And yet, before I took the job, I had very real, nagging moments that this was not going to end well. But, I pushed that aside, dubbed it by the name of "fear", and went on my way.

And so, I did it.

And it turned out to be the most heartbreaking, psychotic, emotionally manipulative time in my entire life.

And because I made the decision to go there. And it turned out so horrifically...I am finding it hard for me to make any decisions at all. At all. None. I'm a bit at a paralyzed standstill.

Thus, the pedicure. They gave me 50 colors of nail polish to choose from. I couldn't, for the life of me, make a decision. I finally choose one that was something completely different I have ever tried before.

The lady said, "May I be honest with you, I don't think this is a good color for your skin tone. Perhaps you can choose another one?" I got a little frustrated and stubborn and told her it was the exact one that I wanted...even though part of me knew that she was right.

And now, looking down at my toes. She was right. And while the nail polish is only a metaphor for my thoughts, it's just this small nagging reminder that I didn't follow my gut.

So, what happens when you keep making decisions that turn out badly? Because, for me, this has never happened before.

The Wedding Invitation

Sometimes I wish this blog weren't so dedicated to keeping identities private and I could put all the pretty pictures up that I take. This one is sans faces, so I think it is safe.

As my sweet sister, her fiance, and I drove down to Utah county to take engagement photos on my uncle's farm (because, where else would one go?)...the wording of her wedding invitations was the hot topic of deep conversation.

I suggested:

"What is a friend but one soul in two bodies."

She suggested:

"Cute spinster finally gets married to hot bachelor and gives everyone my age some semblance of hope."

Then I suggested:

"He's finally going to make an honest woman out of me."

(they've been co-habitating for awhile now)

And she put in that it might be good to add:

"We are pleased to announce that we will not be living in sin anymore."

And then she remembered this wedding invitation she got once that said,

"You are invited to be a part of our fairytale."

I thought the expectations of that reception might be a little high.

So I suggested something I remember getting on a wedding invitation

(with precious moments on the cover)

"We invite you to be a witness to one of life's loveliest surprises as we are joined together in matrimony..."

And then we realized the demographic of Utah and the typical wedding reception that takes place in a church, with sheet cakes, hundreds of congregation members who give you salad spinners from Wal-Mart and wear overalls to the reception (or thereabouts).

So Her Fiance suggested:

"We request the pleasure of your company as long as you don't bring your children, give us money in lieu of gifts, and don't wear stretchy pants."

This is harder than I thought. What would Martha suggest for a black tie cocktail party/reception at a beautifully lighted venue?

ReBrith

Yesterday someone told me that I was going through life with new eyes since everything sort of fell apart two months ago. Because I couldn't work for dishonest people, in the end, I left it all behind. I left the country, the villa, the paycheck, the perks, the glamour, and finally am starting to feel like myself again.

I have a LOT to process from the last six weeks. And yet, I feel strangely silent and distant from the me that was once the writer of this blog.

I'm trying to reintroduce my last self to this new self. And once we've met, then I'll be back online.

It is, however, completely refreshing for me to spend a few hours reading about YOURselves.

Time to Amaze...

Wake up! Remember what excites you. Think of these things, those friends, and the adventures that can be yours. Focus. Care. Fantasize. Imagine. It's all so near. Speak as if you're ready. Physically prepare for the changes that you wish to experience in your life. You've done this before. You know it works. You're due for an encore. It's time to amaze. That's why you're here.

I'm one of those people that believes life is good. REALLY good! I believe that life gives you lemonade. I believe that every good thing that came into my life--from moving to Paris just before my twentieth birthday, to spending summer nights in Harlem listening to my downstairs neighbor blow tunes on his sad sax, to having that first French kiss, to seeing my newest little niece via skype yesterday for the first time--and knowing she had my heart right then and there--because I believe that life is meant to be wonderful.

I've said this to a many people before, and a few of them, the hardened ones, have called me naive. They usually wear tweed jackets, work in academia, and were my boyfriends at one point. They think these twinkling blue eyes and long blond hair and white, white skin might just be the three ingredients that keep a person soft and naive.

That's not the case for me. I've had things in my life that could have and have tried to--make me hard. I've had a brother who has been addicted to drugs since he was 16. He is now 27. He is homeless and living in a park somewhere. I've had a sister who's husband shot her in their driveway--and nearly killed her--in fact, I do think he killed most of her spirit, and I am at a loss at how to help her rebuild any of her former self...let alone the lower half of her face that he shot away. I've had a cousin who was left to babysit me when I was young and he sexually abused me. I've struggled with an eating disorder for most of my life. I found true love at 16 years old--and he was killed in a car accident just a few short months later, and I don't know if I've ever really gotten over it. I have a mom who, when I would ask for money as a teenager, threatened to kill herself for the insurance money and give it to us, and she was pretty serious. I have an older sister who doesn't want to have me in her life because we don't agree on religion. I have had. You have had. We have all had our lives.

But that is just it--life. We live it. It is messy. It is not supposed to be pristine and clean and have everyone perfectly in their place and sort everyone by a label. Most people like you to live by labels--Gay, Straight, Christian, Muslim, Tall, Short, Fat, Skinny, Smart, Dumb, Republican, Democrat, Caucasian, Asian, Jock, Prep, Cheerleader, Goth, Emo, Nerd, Youngest, Oldest, Ugly, Pretty. Once you label something--you define it--you confine it. You try and take away its wings.

Wings are what makes life worth living. Wings give you authenticity. Wings represent that indelible, consistent, unfailing river of hope that flows through the veins of each person--some more quickly than others. And this day, this exact day, my wings are taking me to Portugal. And it didn't come to me easily, and it isn't happening by chance. I created every route and venue for living my perfect, undefinable life. And there, with the ocean breezes, white beaches, shooting stars, and endless possibilities--that's the place I'll fly a bit higher than I have before.

And if that is naivete, I'll take it--every time.

A Room of One's Own

"Women have served all these centuries as looking-glasses possessing the magic and delicious power of reflecting the figure of a man at twice its natural size."
- Virginia Woolf, A Room of One's Own
"Without those forerunners, Jane Austen and the Brontes and George Eliot could no more have written than Shakespeare could have written without Marlowe, or Marlowe without Chaucer, or Chaucer without those forgotten poets who paved the ways and tamed the natural savagery of the tongue. For masterpieces are not single and solitary births; they are the outcome of many years of thinking in common, of thinking by the body of the people, so that the experience of the mass is behind the single voice."
- Virginia Woolf, A Room of One's Own
"I told you in the course of this paper that Shakespeare had a sister; but do not look for her in Sir Sidney Lee's life of the poet. She died young--alas, she never wrote a word. She lies buried where the omnibuses now stop, opposite the Elephant and Castle. Now my belief is that this poet who never wrote a word and was buried at the crossroads still lives. She lives in you and in me, and in many other women who are not here tonight, for they are washing up the dishes and putting the children to bed. But she lives; for great poets do not die; they are continuing presences; they need only the opportunity to walk among us in the flesh."
- Virginia Woolf, A Room of One's Own
When I was young and Mormon--all my girlfriends would giggle and plan their weddings and the number of babies they would have. I would smile and nod and join in, trying to believe it was what I wanted too.

Then, at night, I'd crawl into my bed and read Virginia Woolf under the covers..and promise that I'd never get married for getting married's sake, that I would never give my entire life to the raising of babies and losing myself (though the two do not have to go hand in hand), and that somehow, somehow, I would find a man who would let my dreams be just as important as his....

And that always, always--I'd have a room of my own.

Worlds Unknown

Last night, for the first time that I can ever remember, I had a dream about dolphins. There were hundreds of them, their shiny, slippery, satin skin touching mine as I dove and jumped with them. They accepted me, played with me, spoke to me without words, and protected me. It is evening now, and I am still smiling about that dream.

Once, I did swim with dolphins. I lived in Florida and went out swimming in the Gulf of Mexico by myself. I swam out far, too far. I was worried, but at the same time I wasn't, I wanted to push myself out farther than I had ever been before. I am like that. I push myself a lot. I saw a black fin come towards me. I was sure it was a shark and that I was going to die. I simply accepted it and went still. In my experience, dolphins were NEVER black. This one was. And soon, there were followers, and soon, they were swimming with me and I kept pace for a minute...and then they sailed onward. It was a moment that no one else witnessed, a moment I don't share very often. A moment that was pure and radiant for me.

To see a dolphin in your dream symbolizes spiritual guidance, your intellect, mental attributes and emotional trust. It has also been said that a dream about a dolphin suggests that a line of communication has been established between the conscious and unconscious aspects of yourself. Dolphins represent your willingness and ability to explore and navigate through your emotions. As I close this time in Switzerland, I can say that this has absolutely been the case for me.

Dolphins are also representative of the Gods and it is said that to dream of dolphins--is to dream where they can lead you to worlds unknown. I move, in two weeks, to a country that I have never before set a foot. It is an unknown world and I am ready to take it. I am ready to push myself farther than I have before.

(Book suggestion: Ring of Endless Light by Madeline L'Engle--one of those books that changes your life as a young kid.)

Life Changing

Last weekend my life was changed. For good. In one thirty second moment. It had been building up all weekend over a number of amazing moments. I posted on facebook. I was going to share. And yet, as I told the story a few times, it started to lose some of it's magic...and, well, I don't really want it to.

So, I'm a gonna keep it just for me. But know that this Super Nova is changed!