2013

I suppose I should do a new years post. Like everyone else in the world. I guess. Whatever.

Actually.... I really like new years posts. Kind of a lot. And I'm sorry if they're over-done and stuff, but I don't really care. Get over yourself.

2013 was a huge year for me. In fact, it really doesn't seem like all that happened could fit into one year.
Because I like lists, I'll go ahead and make one about everything that happened. Woohoo!

1. I started this blog. I don't want to sound cliche and say that it's been life changing, so I'll just say it's been mind changing.
2. NEW YORK. Yeah. It happened. I went. The sub-categories in this would include: singing in Carnegie Hall, flying on a plane for the first time, kissing on the top of the Empire State building (eh, kinda regret, but hey, it's an experience), attending my first two Broadway productions, visiting ground zero of the World Trade Center and the memorial and museum set up there, riding a subway for the first time and not dying, getting hit on by several guys in the street, and many more adventures. :)
3. Practicing and slaving over a competition monologue for the Shakespeare festival. It was one of the most amazing pieces I've ever done, and I will never regret my interpretation of it, nor the way I performed down at the competition.
4. I was one of the senior members of the cast of Les Miserables at Lone Peak, and it was one of the most amazing experiences, and hardest, I've ever had.
5. I got to compete with a musical theater piece at the region and state drama competitions, and took 1st in every single round.
6. I became best friends with one of the most amazing guys I will ever know.
7. I watched someone get stitches. Seriously, super traumatic.
8. I graduated from High School. I didn't end on the note I once thought I would, but I will always hold my memories of Lone Peak and the experiences and accomplishments I had there as some of the most important in my whole life.
9. Thanks to the urging and pushing of my best friend and my Mom, I got accepted to BYU and began attending there in the Fall. I moved out on my own, got a job, and made it through my first semester without killing myself or anyone else. It was close a few times, but somehow I made it.
10. Swore off men time and time again, but alas, I fell prey to their devices more than I would have liked. However, I don't regret most of it. I learned a lot and feel like I'm more mature, and more able to handle things because of my positive and negative experiences.
11. Got the travel bug. AAAhhhhh. I need to get out. It's been bad. I've planned my getting-away so many times I've lost count. Hopefully I go somewhere this year, but you know, if I can just get at least as far as out of the state of Utah I might be satisfied.
12. I decided I can write well, and that someday, I might even be able to have a work of mine published. It's a work in progress, but I am determined that some day, it will happen.

There are many more things I could list, this year has seemed so eventful, but I'm going to stop because you're probably already skimming through.

My goals for this next year...haha. Well... I really am kind of unsure what goals to make. I do have a few I suppose.

1. Be more considerate of others feelings in the moment.
2. Travel (already a given. Number of trips to be concluded at a later date.)
3. Make sure my family and friends know how much they mean to me.
4. Read 4 completely new books by the end of the summer.
5. Get a camera and take more pictures.

Only 5, but whatever. I think I got discouraged in the middle of writing all of this, so I'm less motivated to finish it well. Maybe I will come back later and make this something worth reading. Probably not.
Here are some pictures to inspire you, since my words are probably not really doing so. :)

--P.A.

My Dorm Room

My shoes,

Tossed to the side, out of the way of the door,

are not new,

they are from the height of the 80’s.

Duck boots,

Essential shoes for the cool kids.

Now they’re the essential shoes for the

                     Hipsters.

There are piles of books on the desk,

on the floor.

Most of them have corners folded down,

Passages memorized, the words reminding me of those

from the stories my mom told me during that camping trip

when I was 10.

When I was 10 my room didn’t look like this.

It was a foot deep in clothes,

closet empty,

CD’s splayed on the table near my head.

Now its inches deep in clothes,

closet full,

CD’s tucked religiously on a separate shelf from my books.

I have paintings hung now.

I never would have hung paintings anywhere but the fridge in 3^rd grade.

Now my fridge has a shopping list:

Milk—check

Chicken Nuggets—Check

Plane tickets—pending.

My room is filled with

the smell of my blankets.

Not laundry detergent.

Not my perfume.

It’s the smell of the first blanket I remember:

white with large rabbits on one side, grey dots on the other.

In one corner of my bed I can find peace in the crinkled sheets and fluffy blankets,

in the few patches of bare wall.

I think of summer in my house, my home.

Air conditioner running, the buzzing expected as you walk in the door.

Little siblings run through the family room as I lay looking at the ceiling,

calls for Mom ringing in distressed tones.

The sun beckons through the large front window,

and I know that I’m in a permanent home.

No matter how many times I move,

that will always be my home.

My room is home.

Sometimes.

Mostly it is just a room.

Cardboard boxes waiting in the corner,

waiting to be filled again.

My laundry basket is by the door,

waiting to be emptied by my Mom.

The room has pictures and a mirror hung up.

The pictures are hung by sticky tack,

and the mirror will be gone in four months.

It’s just a hotel room.

They give you a key when you check in,

take it back when you check out.

They give you the essentials for a part-time stay:

One window.

One closet.

One bed.

One door, partially closed.

--P.A.

Creative Philosophy

I am creative. I have always thought so. I’m not creative in an “artsy” way: I’m not very good at drawing, or painting, or sculpting. But I am good at thinking. And thinking is creative. Creative in the sense that I’m having original thought, or even stealing others’ original thoughts and twisting them, turning them, until I’ve come up with something that makes you feel. Funny, how stealing can be creative.

            Funny things make you feel. Creative things make you feel. Everyone feels. I don’t care who you are, you feel. And feeling is a product of creation—whether your own or someone else’s, and all creations are made because someone sat down and used a bit of creativity to make something. Simple as that—and yet, not so simple. Creativity means a different thing to every denomination, every person. A complexifying detail when it comes to defining creativity. Some don’t feel it’s worth paying attention to, but what those people don’t realize is that everything comes from some form of creativity. Everyone handles creativity in one form or another every day.

            Are people born with creativity? Are they born with a certain form of creativity? People are born with the capability to develop thinking patterns, and thinking leads to creating, and creating happens when someone utilizes their creativity. So, sure, people are born with creativity. However, depending on how they’re raised, the choices they make, the things they love, their creativity is different. A Pianists creativity is different from that of an Electrical Engineer, but nonetheless they both use creativity in their fields. They have different creative practices—they like to create different things. But they still use that part of their brain that stimulates creativity.

            You can develop different kinds of creativity. The Industrial Design program teaches their students to think creatively in a certain way. They show them how to be “constructively creative” in product design, by thinking in lines and circles and functionality. The Vocal Performance program teaches their students to think creatively about vocal techniques, arrangements, performance methods. All students, all people, are taught—or learn on their own—to be creative in certain ways. People argue that one way is better than another, but who are they to judge how someone is creative? So what if they don’t make a chair that hundreds of people will sit on and love, or develop a style of performance that is unique? Maybe they are happy creating a happy home, or satisfied being able to write down a few stanzas of poetry about something they hate. Is that wrong? Is it wrong to be creative differently? Is it wrong to be creative in the same way?

            No. It’s not. Creativity is precious in all forms. People are born with the capability to be creative, and develop their creativity in a way that suits them. All the sections of creativity join together to make buildings, cars, shops, books, everything. And it’s beautiful. Creativity is beautiful, and it is all around us. It is in all of us.  

 

--P.A.

good things

Today I wore a soft sweater. Sweaters are my favorite, and when they're soft it's even better.

The sound of my fingers on the keyboard is one of my favorites too. The click, click, click, tapity tap. Each hit sends energy through the air, nudging my ear drums, stimulating thoughts and quick breathing.

Old music makes me happy: The recollection of memories ignited in the brassy tones and crooner voices, each one colored differently than the last.

Hipster pictures inspire me. They make me feel curious and wild, free and loving. If I was a hipster picture I'd be about love and adventure.

I love Christmas. Christmas is the best. The smells, the laughter and food and songs, the family. It's absolutely beautiful.

Good things are easy to come by. All you have to do is open your eyes and smile, and suddenly, everything is good.

--P.A.