Momma knows best.

Parents always say they're right. That they know best. Of course, when they tell us this, we as teenagers don't believe them.

"Please, there is no way that they can be right...they're not in my situation at all."

But I'm here to say that they are.
Not always.
But sometimes...When you least expect it.

I had a long conversation with my mom on Saturday. Lately, we've been having a lot more of these heart-to-hearts. Something about growing up and going to college, probably. Anyway. I was just going on a rant about something or another and she just looked at me and said, "I knew it."

And she was right. She did know it. For months she warned me about something I was too naive to see. She hinted towards something I was entirely oblivious to. She could see what I couldn't possibly see.

"You had to realize it. I'm glad you finally see it."

That's what's crazy about caring for someone. You can see when they're making a wrong choice, or when they're involved with someone that isn't right for them, or they're being taken advantage of...whatever. You can warn them all you want, but they aren't going to believe it until they realize it for themselves. And in the end, you have to hope they make the right decision and don't get hurt too badly. Sometimes you have to learn things by trying. And sometimes you have to kick back, be patient, and watch it all unfold.

I like the way my mom has raised me. I know I get her uncanny sense for reading people/analyzing situations...I just have to refine mine a little more. It takes me longer to realize my mistakes. But I'm glad she's let me learn these things on my own. Life experiences are what shape your character, what molds your personality. And I think I like where I'm going right now!

So yeah, I guess my mom does know best.
...except for when it comes to being anti-texting.

Brilliance.

"I believe that everything happens for a reason. People change so that you can learn to let go, things go wrong so that you appreciate them when they're right, you believe lies so you eventually learn to trust no one but yourself, and sometimes good things fall apart so better things can fall together."

-Marilyn Monroe

Don't make someone a priority, if they only make you an option.

...Time to get my priorities straight.

Tickling the Ivories

I started taking piano lessons when I was 8 years old. At first I was so excited, so determined, so driven. That lasted a year or two. Then...I hated it. Practicing was a chore. Going to lessons was a fight. My mom's goal for me was to have me play hymns at church. My goal for me was to convince my mom to let me quit.

Fast forward to EFY (a church camp) that I went to when I was 14 years old. I saw kids my age, or a bit older, playing the piano with ease. They played hymns like whatever. I thought to myself, "I have 6 years of lessons under my belt, what makes them any different from me?"

Love. That's what they had...and I didn't. They had a genuine love for the piano.

So I came home from that camp inspired. I picked up a hymn book and ran through it, cover to cover, every day. It turns out, accompanying a group of people wasn't as easy as it seemed. I started small, playing right hand only, and upgraded to the organ. I got to a point where I could definitely play along, but I still had to practice a ton before the songs reached perfection, or somewhere close to it. I was also at the point that any solo, accompaniment, or performance in general made me extremely nervous. Sweaty palms, shaky hands...I had all the symptoms.

I thought about this today as I practiced the piano...About how much I used to hate it. But now, it's turned into something that's almost theraputic. Stressful day? Take it out on the piano. Frustration? Take it out on the piano. Anger, pressure, annoyance, happiness? Take it all out on the piano. I can't tell you how good it feels to go all out on a song. To exagerate every passage. To hit the sixteenth-note runs. To pound some chords. The trick is to get into every song. To lose yourself in the music, moving your body along with the rhythm. That's when you feel it. The pain in your fingers, forearms, and upper back. Worth it.

The piano is so useful as well. I can accompany people, I can entertain people. There's all types of genres--it's so awesome.I've gotten to the point that I can pick up nearly any song and play it. I no longer need a teacher, I teach myself...and other people for that matter. I don't get nervous before nearly anything...and it feels so good. The best is when I sit down for two hours and just practice. I don't get tired, I don't get sick of it.

So today I realized it. I have fallen in love with the piano.

The Old Folks Home

For mutual today we went to an old folks home. Service hours, do a little good, whatever. But it turned out to be more for me.

We went in to sing songs and what not, keep the old people company. We were specifically assigned to the special needs ward--which houses the alzheimers patients. Now, I'd never really had any pleasant experiences in old folks homes...especially with alzheimer patients. The last one I went to, old men were trying to grab me and it was a bit scary to say the least. But this time was different. The lady that was in charge had to be the most genuine, caring person I'd ever met. She treated each old person as if they were her best friend, and you could see the love she had for each one of them. She knew each of them by name, knew each of their stories, and could get each of them to talk. So tender.

Of course, in our little talent show, I was the pianist. Lisa (the lady in charge) told us the story of how they got the piano in that ward. Apparentally there was a patient there who was an accomplished pianist. Her husband brought her a piano so she could play. She played every day, by memory, all of these fantastic songs. About four months ago, she passed away. Her husband donated the piano, but since then, no one has played it. I felt so privileged to play that little upright piano.

Then after, I got to talking with some of the old folks. One lady in particular, Betsy, was fascinating. She was an english professor at the University of Illinois. We got to talking about Illinois, and Chicago, and how she didn't really go to clubs because she dated older guys who weren't into that kind of stuff but never got married because she liked the single life...but maybe in the future she'd like to get married. She was just so fun to talk to, even if she wasn't completely coherent. There was something so intreguing about her, that I just wanted to talk more. I felt like I could learn so much from her, even if her mind wasn't completely there.

All of the old people had their quirks. There was the one lady who gave everyone hugs and kisses because she just loved everyone. There was the old man visiting his wife like he does every day twice a day...because they had been married for 60 years. There was the lady who wanted to make it known that we were all beautiful, and repeated her self nearly every minute.

And I got to thinking...these people...these frail, shrivelled, old people, were just like me. Just like everyone I know. Young, vivacious, full of life. They had character. They had relationships. They had lives. Now they sit in a home, unable to put together coherent thoughts, some of them, and many of them don't even have a family that comes to visit them. How sad? I want to know more. What is going on inside of their heads? Are they reliving their glory days? Are they totally happy with themselves but can't express it? It's something I can't quite comprehend, but I feel like I can learn so much from them. And so I decided, that I want to be around them more. I want to help them, help bring them some life. I want to come by for an hour or two a week and just play the piano. Sit, and let them enjoy themselves, because music has a powerful effect on people. Then I can get to know some of them better. I feel that I'm in a place in my life right now that I need to stop focusing so much on me, and maybe focus on something else. Help other people. Use my talents to make other people happy.

Anyway...I guess old people really aren't that bad!

F is for Friends

It's amazing to me how a friendship can withstand time. And not only time, but distance.

Over the years, people have come in and out of my life. People change and people grow apart. "BFF'S" in elementary school, usually don't last through middle school. "BFF's" in middle school, usually don't last through high school. "BFF's" in Florida usually don't make their way to Arizona.

But I have 3 exceptions.

There's Mary Fulton.
Mary and I go back to the diaper days. We grew up in the same church--we saw each others families grow. We had always been friends, but grew closer as the years went on. We had our awkward phases, we had our getting-on-each-others-nerves phase. And we got past it all. Now we have countless inside jokes, and are able to talk on the phone for hours. We never went to the same school, but we always made it work.

There's Jen Wilson.
It started at Azalea Middle, where I was the new kid, and I thought she was a total prep. We started off not caring for each other, but after one project in english, we became friends. Throughout middle school we sort of hung out with different groups of people, but we were all considered the "cool kids". Then we isolated ourselves in the IB program, where we suffered together though old Biology teachers, annoying girls, and just a lame school in general. There we got even closer than before, and stuck together like glue.

There's Taylor Baxter.
We knew each other as babies, but never really got close till we were older...when we found out we were long distant cousins...by marriage. We had all of these memories together as children we never realized, and instantly became close. We lived 45 minutes away from each other, but were in the same stake, so we occasionally had times to hang out. The distance never stopped us then from being crazy and loud, and still doesn't stop us now.

As I talked to Jen on the phone today, I realized how special these three friends are to me. I've met some great people here in Arizona, but there's something about these three girls that astounds me. There's something about being able to talk to them for hours on the phone. There's something about being able to tell them all of my stories, and have them genuinely care. There's something about being able to call them on a whim to tell them something dramatic, and have them there for me, as if they lived next door. Today, Jen told me about a situation she was in that starkly resembled a situation I'm in. That just proves that even though we're thousands of miles away, we can still relate to each other, and we can still be there for each other.

The last time I physically saw Jen and Mary was last year when I went to Florida for band. They spent money and time to drive up to Disney so we could spend a day together. And the day I spent with each of them, was just like I had never left. They both plan on coming out to visit sometime this year/summer, and I'm so ridiculously excited.

None of these girls are really friends with each other. I met them all under different circumstances, but I love them all the same. I am amazed at how awesome they are, and how each one of them has grown up, and how they have turned out. I appreciate them, now more than ever, and I'm proud to say that I have three best friends that have withstood time, trials, and distance.

Legal.

18th birthdays never turn out how you expect them to.
...They turn out better.
For me, this weekend, it was the little things that made this monumental birthday one I'll never forget.

-It was late night phone calls and texts wishing me a happy birthday. It was people falling asleep on the phone, but insisting they were fine just to keep talking. It was a phone call from my aunt early in the morning singing to me in spanish. It was countless birthday wishes on facebook from people I thought forgot my existence.

-It was a birthday dinner with unexpected rendevouzs and stark realizations. It was my mom genuinely caring about me, and genuinely understanding the way I felt. It was a super nice waitress who announced to the resteraunt that I was 18.

-It was my mom. It was what she wrote in her card. It was how much she wanted to make this a special day for me. It was my brother, trying just as hard, saving me a cinnamon roll, buying me roses, knowing I love smoothies and burgers. It was my dad and his excitement with sending me funny cards, and wanting to hear my reaction. It was my grandpa, who despite his hard shell, sent me a beautiful heartfelt card, with a nice check inside.

-It was the people who I least expected to care. It was one of my church leaders coming over to drop off a big bouquet of balloons and a present. It was a friend making cookies and dropping them off, as well. It was the guy at the ice cream place who gave me free ice cream. It was someone I only occasionally talked and joked with who came and gave me a Jamba Juice gift card, simply because she could. It was these things that stood out most.

-It was a friend who genuinely cared about my feelings, and cared that I needed to have a special birthday. It was a friend who picked up the pieces. It was a friend who knew exactly how to make me happy and made sure I had a night to remember. It was a friend who listened. It was this friend who made my birthday the most special.

-It was the realization of growing up, of moving on, of knowing the reality. It was knowing who genuinely cares about you, and who puts other feelings in front. It was the confirmation I needed to know that I was making the right decision, even though the decision is a hard one.

All in all, I had a birthday to remember. A great way to kick of my first year off being legal. Now, on to making it a good one.