If there is one really defining characteristic about my goals for life, it would be that I am possessed of what I term an insatiable wanderlust (I remember that when I first learned the word "wanderlust" in sophomore English, my initial thought was "That's totally me!"). For the longest time, all I remember ever wanting is to travel, to see everything, to skydive, hang-glide, to live life to the fullest. People ask me where I want to go most and I answer "Everywhere." This guy who biked around the world came into my sophomore photo class to talk about his experiences and, when he asked the class why anyone would bike around the whole world, I was the kid who answered "Why not?"
I don't really know how it started. When I was a really young child, my siblings and I had these huge DK books full of pictures and one of my favorites was the atlas. Also, I have always loved nature. I joined Scouts as a kid simply because camping was my favorite thing in the universe.
As I grew older, my family started taking trips together. My favorite place in the U.S. (Big Sur, CA) is just that because we camped there when I was ten and I loved it because it mixed my two favorite landscapes: forest and beach. (laugh) I like to think the movie The Best Two Years also contributed a little, because for the longest time I wanted to go to Amsterdam.
Because I was so shy, I read a lot and had a very active imagination, which had me thinking of new places in my head, new landscapes that I wanted to know if they existed.
As I have continued aging and now have begun the process of choosing a career path, I have kept these things in mind. I view life as one great adventure, an adventure that I've been preparing for these past 18 years and will only just begin soon. So, without further ado, I say let it begin!
Monday, April 9, 2012
Sunday, April 8, 2012
When an Old Dog Learn a New Trick, it shouldn't mean that He Forgets the Old Ones
In the past couple days I have rediscovered two things that I really love but just...hadn't given myself time to participate in while here at BYU.
I sang in Concert Choir for two years in high school. My dad and younger sisters are AMAZING singers and, though I've always loved singing, I never really got the chance to until sophomore year. The first year was probably the best. I learned a lot and made many friends, among them one of best friends, Jesse. The whole class went to Seattle together for a competition (Seattle is probably one of my favorite cities in the U.S.) and it was one of the most fun trips I've been on. We also sang many beautiful songs, such as "Season of Love" (Larsen), "This Marriage" (Whitacre), and "Autumn" (Shank), the first of which, in particular, is, in my opinion, one of the most beautiful songs ever written. But anyways, yes, the past couple days the two ward choirs I have been in have sung a few times and I was just suddenly really taken aback. Simply, I need to start singing again, like in a choir (or some more formal setting than the shower).
A few hours ago, some friends and I went on an Easter egg hunt at Kiwanis park. As I dove into the base of a spruce tree to search for eggs, I was remember of how similar this is to geocaching. I discovered geocaching in an ad in the newspaper for an activity up in Tahoe and have been more-or-less avid ever since. Yet, I haven't gone in nearly a year, certainly not while I've been at BYU. At home, I used to take to the streets by bike and, just to relax and take my mind off things, go look for a cache. I've very much missed it and hope I get the chance to soon, after finals maybe.
They say you can't go home again, yet maybe that's not true. And, even if it is, there are things, pieces of home, that we once knew that we can go back to.
I sang in Concert Choir for two years in high school. My dad and younger sisters are AMAZING singers and, though I've always loved singing, I never really got the chance to until sophomore year. The first year was probably the best. I learned a lot and made many friends, among them one of best friends, Jesse. The whole class went to Seattle together for a competition (Seattle is probably one of my favorite cities in the U.S.) and it was one of the most fun trips I've been on. We also sang many beautiful songs, such as "Season of Love" (Larsen), "This Marriage" (Whitacre), and "Autumn" (Shank), the first of which, in particular, is, in my opinion, one of the most beautiful songs ever written. But anyways, yes, the past couple days the two ward choirs I have been in have sung a few times and I was just suddenly really taken aback. Simply, I need to start singing again, like in a choir (or some more formal setting than the shower).
A few hours ago, some friends and I went on an Easter egg hunt at Kiwanis park. As I dove into the base of a spruce tree to search for eggs, I was remember of how similar this is to geocaching. I discovered geocaching in an ad in the newspaper for an activity up in Tahoe and have been more-or-less avid ever since. Yet, I haven't gone in nearly a year, certainly not while I've been at BYU. At home, I used to take to the streets by bike and, just to relax and take my mind off things, go look for a cache. I've very much missed it and hope I get the chance to soon, after finals maybe.
They say you can't go home again, yet maybe that's not true. And, even if it is, there are things, pieces of home, that we once knew that we can go back to.
A Considerably Shorter Blog Post
Yesterday, April 7th, I turned 18.
And thus, his childhood ended.
I turned 18 in a very cool way: ice skating (pun intended; if being eighteen means anything, it will mean that I'll become more like my dad, and that is just the sort of silly thing he would think of.)
My roommates and I joked about the lack of significance of this age to the Mormon audience. The typical new eighteen-year-old capabilities (gambling, porn, and cigarettes) were obviously no-goes, though I am quite excited that I can now buy fireworks...which unfortunately are illegal in Carson City.
It was a great day: started it ice skating with friends, which turned into a walk to the Rape Hill Duck Pond, which fortunately led to all of us being very tired and going home to sleep at around two-ish. After seven hours of sleep (yes, I am fully aware that that little sleep on a Saturday is ridiculous), I started off the day right with four waffles drenched in deliciously succulent Strawberry syrup. I then played a rousingly rambunctious game of soccer for an hour before heading off to the BYU baseball game (an hour late, which is fine for me because I find baseball rather boring). Then our dearly beloved FHE sisters came over which was awesome because my (whisper) secretly favorite sister and best friend Casey had made cupcakes, which were gulped down with beautiful bottles of Henry Weinhard's Root Beer (pretty much the meal can be compared to ambrosia and nectar, the foods of the Greek gods). I then went to choir practice, which was great because I really miss singing in a choir. Then was the event all had been anxiously waiting for, the one, the only, Provo YSA 46th Ward Closing Social. I had a blast, with amazing friends, while we learned the haka, watched "home videos" submitted by the FHE groups, and had a performance by the Un-Sunday choir (which sings gospel music as a companion to the Ward Choir), in which I got to sing like a black person (always a fun experience). Me and two friends then took the remaining leis and ran throw a girls hall, knocking on random doors and giving leis to all in the apartment, essentially our little way of brining utter happiness and joy. I then practiced, as previously mentioned, for my solo in Church the next day before having a completely, undeniably cool Nerf war in another Heritage building.
To quote the great country music artist Darius Rucker, "As I lay down that night, I thanked the Lord above, for giving me everything I ever could dream of!"
My 18th birthday was amazing and 19 should be even better because you know what that means...MISSION!
And thus, his childhood ended.
I turned 18 in a very cool way: ice skating (pun intended; if being eighteen means anything, it will mean that I'll become more like my dad, and that is just the sort of silly thing he would think of.)
My roommates and I joked about the lack of significance of this age to the Mormon audience. The typical new eighteen-year-old capabilities (gambling, porn, and cigarettes) were obviously no-goes, though I am quite excited that I can now buy fireworks...which unfortunately are illegal in Carson City.
It was a great day: started it ice skating with friends, which turned into a walk to the Rape Hill Duck Pond, which fortunately led to all of us being very tired and going home to sleep at around two-ish. After seven hours of sleep (yes, I am fully aware that that little sleep on a Saturday is ridiculous), I started off the day right with four waffles drenched in deliciously succulent Strawberry syrup. I then played a rousingly rambunctious game of soccer for an hour before heading off to the BYU baseball game (an hour late, which is fine for me because I find baseball rather boring). Then our dearly beloved FHE sisters came over which was awesome because my (whisper) secretly favorite sister and best friend Casey had made cupcakes, which were gulped down with beautiful bottles of Henry Weinhard's Root Beer (pretty much the meal can be compared to ambrosia and nectar, the foods of the Greek gods). I then went to choir practice, which was great because I really miss singing in a choir. Then was the event all had been anxiously waiting for, the one, the only, Provo YSA 46th Ward Closing Social. I had a blast, with amazing friends, while we learned the haka, watched "home videos" submitted by the FHE groups, and had a performance by the Un-Sunday choir (which sings gospel music as a companion to the Ward Choir), in which I got to sing like a black person (always a fun experience). Me and two friends then took the remaining leis and ran throw a girls hall, knocking on random doors and giving leis to all in the apartment, essentially our little way of brining utter happiness and joy. I then practiced, as previously mentioned, for my solo in Church the next day before having a completely, undeniably cool Nerf war in another Heritage building.
To quote the great country music artist Darius Rucker, "As I lay down that night, I thanked the Lord above, for giving me everything I ever could dream of!"
My 18th birthday was amazing and 19 should be even better because you know what that means...MISSION!
Something a Wee Bit Crazy
I wrote my personal narrative about overcoming fears and now I suddenly have a more recent example to prove it by. I had been asked to sing for my singles ward Easter program a week ago, possibly a duet with my friend Jose. The conversation, simply, went like this.
"Hey Victor, would you be willing to sing something for our ward Easter program?" Inquired Chantelle, the ward music committee chair.
"Uh, sure." I responded.
Over the next few days, I regret to say that I kinda ignored her calls due to my embarrassment for not having given a single thought as to what song I might sing. About late Tuesday, I finally answered and she told me that she was going to email me a song and I should check to see if I liked it. It was good yet it was a children's choir piece, which I could have sung maybe five years ago but now I definitely couldn't and was unsure how good the piece would be in a significantly lower octave. (Background: I sung choir for two years in high school and, for the most part, know how to read music). A couple days later I took real responsibility (being but days from year 18) and found a song which was actually rather good, as well as appropriate for the Church setting.
Saturday came and I still hadn't practiced the song once, until 10:30 that night (that day was my birthday and I was rather busy throughout the day - more on that later, perhaps). Chantelle was very gracious and helped me get a hang on it (luckily it wasn't too difficult a song) for the next half hour.
But, here is what happened today. I got to Church around 8:20, thirty minutes late for choir, which would also be singing in the program. Fortunately, I am one of the better singers there, and one of the only basses, so that wasn't too difficult. It wasn't until around 8:45, fifteen minutes before Church would begin that I realized "Holy crap, I am singing in Church soon. I am singing a complete solo for the first time in my life in front of over a hundred people." I was nervous for a couple distinct reasons: 1) I tend to be very self-conscious and worried about how good the song would sound after so little practice and 2) I wanted to sound good for Him. People were here to feel His spirit, especially today; this wasn't like a high school choir concert where one could get away with singing poorly. I felt that I had to do my very best because to do any less would, well, not bode well, to say it simply.
As any reader is now aware, I was once dreadfully afraid of roller coasters. Yet that fear, the one I experienced in the minutes leading up to my first ride back in 2010, was nothing compared to the anxiety I felt around 9:20. What is worse is that I sing best when I am perfectly calm and at ease which I definitely wasn't at this moment. So, here goes nothing, I rise up to the podium, and I swear I am shaking like a house in the middle of an earthquake, then I start singing. First verse is alright, particularly after stepping away from the podium, though still gripping it tightly with one hand for support.
The room is dead quiet when I finish and walk back to my seat. The next thirty minutes are agonizing simply because I don't know how I did. I think He liked it, I hope He did, but I still can't tell if that warm feeling is the Spirit or the fear (looking back on it, it was probably a bit of both). No one looks at me for the rest of the meeting and I'm freaking out. Yet then the meeting ends and I find my roommates before quickly getting embraced by a number of ward members, complimenting me on how well I did. I am overwhelmed that they liked it and simultaneously extremely happy. The wife of our ward clerk comes up to me and tells me that she loved it and bawled through the whole thing. To put it simply, my ward is the best!
One of my mottos, accumulated through a few years experience, is that the breaking out of one's shell can be difficult yet once one is out, some of the truly great things in life manifest themselves. Such is what happened today, on an Easter that I will never forget.
"Hey Victor, would you be willing to sing something for our ward Easter program?" Inquired Chantelle, the ward music committee chair.
"Uh, sure." I responded.
Over the next few days, I regret to say that I kinda ignored her calls due to my embarrassment for not having given a single thought as to what song I might sing. About late Tuesday, I finally answered and she told me that she was going to email me a song and I should check to see if I liked it. It was good yet it was a children's choir piece, which I could have sung maybe five years ago but now I definitely couldn't and was unsure how good the piece would be in a significantly lower octave. (Background: I sung choir for two years in high school and, for the most part, know how to read music). A couple days later I took real responsibility (being but days from year 18) and found a song which was actually rather good, as well as appropriate for the Church setting.
Saturday came and I still hadn't practiced the song once, until 10:30 that night (that day was my birthday and I was rather busy throughout the day - more on that later, perhaps). Chantelle was very gracious and helped me get a hang on it (luckily it wasn't too difficult a song) for the next half hour.
But, here is what happened today. I got to Church around 8:20, thirty minutes late for choir, which would also be singing in the program. Fortunately, I am one of the better singers there, and one of the only basses, so that wasn't too difficult. It wasn't until around 8:45, fifteen minutes before Church would begin that I realized "Holy crap, I am singing in Church soon. I am singing a complete solo for the first time in my life in front of over a hundred people." I was nervous for a couple distinct reasons: 1) I tend to be very self-conscious and worried about how good the song would sound after so little practice and 2) I wanted to sound good for Him. People were here to feel His spirit, especially today; this wasn't like a high school choir concert where one could get away with singing poorly. I felt that I had to do my very best because to do any less would, well, not bode well, to say it simply.
As any reader is now aware, I was once dreadfully afraid of roller coasters. Yet that fear, the one I experienced in the minutes leading up to my first ride back in 2010, was nothing compared to the anxiety I felt around 9:20. What is worse is that I sing best when I am perfectly calm and at ease which I definitely wasn't at this moment. So, here goes nothing, I rise up to the podium, and I swear I am shaking like a house in the middle of an earthquake, then I start singing. First verse is alright, particularly after stepping away from the podium, though still gripping it tightly with one hand for support.
The room is dead quiet when I finish and walk back to my seat. The next thirty minutes are agonizing simply because I don't know how I did. I think He liked it, I hope He did, but I still can't tell if that warm feeling is the Spirit or the fear (looking back on it, it was probably a bit of both). No one looks at me for the rest of the meeting and I'm freaking out. Yet then the meeting ends and I find my roommates before quickly getting embraced by a number of ward members, complimenting me on how well I did. I am overwhelmed that they liked it and simultaneously extremely happy. The wife of our ward clerk comes up to me and tells me that she loved it and bawled through the whole thing. To put it simply, my ward is the best!
One of my mottos, accumulated through a few years experience, is that the breaking out of one's shell can be difficult yet once one is out, some of the truly great things in life manifest themselves. Such is what happened today, on an Easter that I will never forget.
Friday, April 6, 2012
The Young(er) and the Restless
One experience which I am pretty sure no one in the class has gone through is graduating a year early and coming to BYU. Today is in fact my last day as a 17-year-old BYU student. Needless to say, it has been very interesting.
Most of my friends in high school were a year younger and I didn't know too many people in the class of 2011 outside those in my classes, Cross Country, Drama, or Choir. I was worried that it would be totally obvious right away and that it would be very weird hanging with a bunch of older people. Also, it was not necessarily easy leaving high school early. I had just found my niche (the drama program), I was poised to finally make Varsity for Cross Country, and there was a lot of opportunities ripe for the taking. However, I knew that going to BYU was the right thing so, rather nervous, I went.
And it has been great, quirky at times, but great. No one really notices that I am younger (I blame my height advantage) and those whom I've told seem shocked. My friends don't really care; the only difference is that they are getting their mission calls and I'm not (which just makes me wish even more that I was). Three of my roommates are a year and a half older than I am and one is four years older (an RM), but we are all best friends, who go to Pizza Hut together on Friday nights. My 21-year-old roommate serves as my unofficial "legal guardian" because I'm still not old enough to sign off for safety waivers and stuff like that (otherwise I would just lie because, again, no one notices.)
I am pretty positive that next semester will be strange: all my male friends will be gone, the freshmen who are actually my age will be living on-campus while I live off, I'll have to speak Spanish whenever I'm at home (I'll be living in the Foreign Language housing), and some of my female friends might get engaged. Yet, at the same time, I've learned this semester that I don't have to worry. Things will work out because...well, I don't really know how to say it. Because BYU is just awesome? Because the Lord is looking out for me? Yeah, I think both those responses work well. So....goodbye year 17 and hello adulthood!
Most of my friends in high school were a year younger and I didn't know too many people in the class of 2011 outside those in my classes, Cross Country, Drama, or Choir. I was worried that it would be totally obvious right away and that it would be very weird hanging with a bunch of older people. Also, it was not necessarily easy leaving high school early. I had just found my niche (the drama program), I was poised to finally make Varsity for Cross Country, and there was a lot of opportunities ripe for the taking. However, I knew that going to BYU was the right thing so, rather nervous, I went.
And it has been great, quirky at times, but great. No one really notices that I am younger (I blame my height advantage) and those whom I've told seem shocked. My friends don't really care; the only difference is that they are getting their mission calls and I'm not (which just makes me wish even more that I was). Three of my roommates are a year and a half older than I am and one is four years older (an RM), but we are all best friends, who go to Pizza Hut together on Friday nights. My 21-year-old roommate serves as my unofficial "legal guardian" because I'm still not old enough to sign off for safety waivers and stuff like that (otherwise I would just lie because, again, no one notices.)
I am pretty positive that next semester will be strange: all my male friends will be gone, the freshmen who are actually my age will be living on-campus while I live off, I'll have to speak Spanish whenever I'm at home (I'll be living in the Foreign Language housing), and some of my female friends might get engaged. Yet, at the same time, I've learned this semester that I don't have to worry. Things will work out because...well, I don't really know how to say it. Because BYU is just awesome? Because the Lord is looking out for me? Yeah, I think both those responses work well. So....goodbye year 17 and hello adulthood!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)