Robin Williams, Golden Hearts, and God's Love

Just a quickie lil’ post here, to express what’s swirlin’ in my heart right now – a message that I want to deliver to the world.

I’m not going to delve into whatever opinion I have pertaining to the ethics surrounding suicide. I want to accentuate the goldennesses (not a word, but it is now) of people’s hearts. I’ll illustrate my thoughts with a certain recent event.

Shortly after coming home from work a couple of days ago, I read the news and found out that the brilliant artist Robin Williams died. “Apparent suicide” is how all the sources termed it. During the first few seconds of my news-swimming, my mind had a hard time ceasing to repeat This isn’t real… this isn’t real… When it finally sunk in that it was real, a humongous lump began forming in my throat. Tears formed in my eyes. I initially didn’t let those tears actually fall down my cheeks, though, because during these first few moments of emotion, I was telling myself that I was acting ridiculous by crying about this because it is a movie star, not a person I personally know; therefore, it was stupid for me to care so much.

But whatever, I said “to heck with it” and I permitted the waterfalls to commence their cascading. I requested validation from friends; I asked them to reassure me that my reaction to Mr. Williams’ death was acceptable. Quoting my friend Tracy: “Normally it would be silly, but this – this is an exception.” Not only Tracy, but all who responded to my inquiry agreed that to be deeply touched by this was rational, supportable, and relatable, in the sense that hundreds, if not thousands, if not millions feel the same way I do.

I think I’ve almost pinpointed why Mr. Williams’ passing is so meaningful to me. I, alongside much of the 20-to-35-ish-year-old demographic, grew up during some of the very best years of Mr. Williams’ career. This was a magnificent era. Within this era, my generation grasped the concept that this man – Robin Williams – was magic. When we saw him as Peter Pan and the great blue Genie, we were floored by how cool he was. From that time forth, we would never dismiss our admiration for him. He would forevermore remain a profound inspiration to us.

There are lots of actors out there whom we look at and go, “Oh…uh…yeah, I could take ‘em or leave ‘em.” These are they who could one day switch to some other career besides acting, and Hollywood and the rest of the universe would not be deprived in the slightest. But Mr. Williams? Nuh uh. He is someone who should not and could not ever be transplanted into that mediocre category. He had a knack and was born to act. He was born to lift people up the way he did. He was meant to be one of the great comedians to follow in the footsteps of folks like Bob Hope, and cheer up American soldiers across the oceans. He was meant to be a positive influence in my young life, from 6 years old onward.

I’ve read tributes from Mr. Williams’ loved ones, like fellow entertainer Steve Martin – tributes that repeatedly reported him to be an excellent friend. I think Steven Spielberg fondly referred to him as his “pal.” His family loves him and misses him to smithereens. His heart was described as “golden.”

Specific beliefs that I adhere to include these four:

1) I believe that God is real

2) I believe that God is literally our Father

3) I believe that God – our Heavenly Father – truly does love us in the best and most divine way possible, to infinity and beyond

4) I believe that when our mortal journey is through, we will meet Heavenly Father, face-to-face, pretty promptly (see Alma 40:11 in the Book of Mormon)

I picture in my head a meeting between Robin Williams and his Heavenly Father, who is God. I imagine that this meeting has happened by now. Back to the goldenness that a human heart can have, if what Mr. Williams’ loved ones said is true, concerning his benevolence… if it’s true that it was his nature to give love to others... then I do not doubt – not even for a nanosecond – that love could be felt profoundly in God’s and Robin’s meeting, even though Robin had his imperfections on earth, as we all presently do. In my mind I can see them embracing, as if to say, “I’ve missed you, and it’s wonderful to see you again.” It is my notion that Mr. Williams likely was able to sense that he means a lot to his Heavenly Father. Contemplating this helps me feel happier about the situation currently at hand. Contemplating the joyful reunion that any precious child has with their Heavenly Father upon proceeding from this life to the next helps me to find peace whenever it is my own loved one who is the graduate.

My trusty assistant in finding peace at any time in my own life is my remembrance that my Heavenly Father – who is Mr. Williams’ Heavenly Father and your Heavenly Father too – cares infinite boatloads about me and has a glorious plan for me. By “plan,” I guess you could say that I mean “destiny.” I am reminded of Heavenly Father’s guidance and love for me via the gentle power of the Holy Ghost.

If there’s anything that I’d wish for you to take away from reading this chunky hunk of essay chicken-scratch ;) it’s this:

- If you didn’t already know there’s such thing as God, let this be the day that you became aware

- If you did already know there’s such thing as God, but you didn’t know that He’s your Father, let this news be good tidings to you, because it is possibly the most beautiful learnable truth

- If you didn’t already know that God has a glorious plan for you, may that also be good tidings to you

- If you’ve never really known how to feel God’s sweet presence in your life, I want to let you know that prayer really works. It really does. Pinky promise. Prayer can be accomplished even by the tiniest of children. You can find a calm and quiet place, even if it’s just within the tranquility of your own soul. You can talk to God. He will always love to hear from you. Sincerely pray in the name of His Beloved Son, Jesus Christ, who also loves you very, very much. Throughout and following your conversation, listen with your heart (I know that sounds like a line from Disney’s Pocahontas, but trust me on this one.)

Afterword

I am a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. I grew up in this religion, and I’ve loved every day of my thousands and thousands of days of being associated with it. If you’d like to know more about it, feel free to visit the following sites:

www.mormon.org

http://www.mormon.org/me/2RHQ/Alison

Makeshift Music Video (First YouTube video I ever posted, first real musical composition I ever composed!)

Facing Your Fears At Disneyland

The other day, I and six of my dear friends returned home from a roadtrip (supposed to be two words – “road trip” – but I like it better as one) to the happiest place on earth. Yes, Disneyland. And not only Disneyland, but also the beach, where there’s surfing and boogie boarding galore. And also Mexican food galore. Oh yah, babay.

But for now I’m just gonna focus on the Disneyland part...

FACING YOUR OWN FEARS

There was a point at the California Adventure park where we seven friends were attending the It’s Tough to Be a Bug 3D show (Disney/Pixar’s “A Bug’s Life”). We were sitting towards the back of the theatre with our goofy glasses on, enjoyin’ the bejeebers outta the production. Indeed, I personally was delighting in the show; it was lighthearted, fun, and well-done. BUT… Halfway into the show, I started to freak out a bit. SPOILER ALERT: It’s Tough to Be a Bug is a multisensory experience for any human being who chooses to delve into it. I won’t go into details deeper than that, but I will just say that a couple of the sensings are ones that I wasn’t particularly looking forward to having again in my lifetime. I had had them before, on a previous Disney expedition, and they left scars on my soul – miniscule scars – but scars, just the same.

But oh well, there I was, at that show again. Please remember to not get me wrong: I really like It’s Tough to Be a Bug, but the last time I watched it, I was much younger, and got scared a lot more easily by petty little things. Last Friday, I was almost positive that the select special effects wouldn’t be frightening to me, as they were in my childhood, but I wasn’t 100% sure. Sitting there on that 2014 afternoon, awaiting the specific dreaded instances, I knew I could choose between two distinct choices: avoid or “take it like a (wo)man.”

I was perched at one end of the line of us seven, but on the left end. The right side of the room was the only side at which you were permitted to exit the theatre. The right side of the line of us seven was where I was not, and so extreme evasion of the potentially-still-freaky sensings was not an option. Sorry, Charlie. Different portions of my brain and intelligence were debating whether or not I would decide to reposition my body, when the times of the sensings would arrive, in fashions that would allow my nerves to forgo allowing the sensings to attack. It would be cinchy to do.

But then some candlelight abruptly flickered inside of me. I quickly glanced down the line of my six friends (they looked so charming in their glasses – baha), and swiftly thought to myself, They’re not going to reposition their bodies. They’re going to endure every last special effect. They’re not going to be wimps. Don’t be a wimp, gurl. And so right then, right there, prior to the first strike, I chose to not be a wimp for the remainder of the presentation. I endured, and I ultimately learned that all of it was not as unnerving as I thought it possibly could be, and that facing my fears felt really, really good.

*Ironically this is coming from a girl who, as of last Friday, was apparently less scared of skydiving than she was of It’s Tough to Be a Bug show in the kiddie zone at Disneyland. Go figure. You may not be able to figure all day long.

DISCOVERING THAT OTHERS ACTUALLY HAD THE SAME FEARS AS YOU

After It’s Tough to Be a Bug, we seven bought churros and/or ice cream to joyously devour. We found a quaint short stone wall to rest upon. Our discussion zoomed in on what It’s Tough to Be a Bug was like. One of us (not me, but someone besides me) said that they were nervous about the _exact_same_special_effects_ that I was nervous about, but they ended up deciding to just deal with it. Just like me! If I’m reminiscing correctly, I think I extended my curled-up fist out towards that friend who had just spoken, and with exuberant jollity asked them to “pound it!” That was a golden moment for me.

HELPING OTHERS FACE THEIR FEARS

Another one of my six friends, Emily, asked me later that day if I would sit next to her on Space Mountain, so that she could hang on to my arm if she needed to. I happily obliged.

Upon the ride’s conclusion, Emily told me that finishing Space Mountain was a golden moment for her. I don’t know all that her heart was feeling as soon as she realized that she had conquered the daunting rollercoaster, but I have a pretty solid idea. She thanked me for being by her side as she faced her fear. It was an honor to be the one whose arm she requested to hang on to!

OH, HOW WE NEED EACH OTHER

Anytime that I really stop to ponder the importance of friendship… the importance of having kindly circles of friends with whom you can grow and learn… circles in which you find safe havens of healing… circles in which you feel camaraderie and encouragement… circles in which you find joy in encouraging each other… all of that… Anytime that I ponder that, I thank God for my own friends (and amazing family!), and oftentimes I immediately remember a quote that originated from a wonderful lady named Marjorie Pay Hinckley—a quote that goes a little bit like this: “Oh, how we need each other… It is a sociological fact that […] we need deep and satisfying and loyal friendships with each other.”

I believe that to be true. Everyone needs good friends—friends who are brightly positive and uplifting. I can’t get over how blessed I feel by having that brand of friendship so prevalent in my life.

American Alison

Greetings to you, from me and my betta fish Euphrates, who presently sits next to me, and lives in a pineapple under the sea...

Just shy of 100 hours ago, I found myself standing up, singing aloud the United States of America’s national anthem. I wasn’t bursting out the tune in a big-time sports arena or stadium, surrounded by thousands of spectators. I was in a calm and quaint chapel. And I wasn’t singing solo. I was reverently harmonizing with dozens of friends from my church’s congregation.

I had sung this song, in this fashion, with my congregation, many times before. Usually around Independence Day. That’s one thing I really like about my religion: it emphasizes the importance of cherishing your country, honoring and sustaining its laws, and understanding that it is a beautiful earthly home that has been provided to you by a loving God.

Anyway, about that moment in the chapel, and about that song… Like I said, I had sung it a whole bunch of times, out loud alongside a crowd for multitudinous years. Let’s isolate a chunk of the past…say…five years of my life. When singing it in that first year of five, I had to do a quick double-take of myself upon the conclusion of the anthem’s final note: Alison, pardon me, but did you just get emotional? How come you almost cried just now?

And then each year after that just got more and more emotional. Annum by annum, Fourth of July by Fourth of July, the song increased exponentially in its specialness in my eyes (ears, whatever). A hundred hours ago, I noticed that it is quite possibly the most sacred hymn to me, of all the 341 hymns in my religion’s current hymnal (“The Star-Spangled Banner” is hymn #340). To me, its meaningfulness is amplified to its peak when all its verses are expressed by a peaceable union of souls – as is demonstrated by attenders of Sunday services in a holy and humble meetinghouse.

So why, for the love of Pete, is my nation’s anthem so doggone precious to me? Can I pinpoint what it is that I’m feeling when I’m singing it with my peeps? Possibly. Perhapsibly. Well...nah. I doubt my capability in this context. But I’ll try my hand at explaining, and maybe I’ll be able to adequately describe a fraction of the enormity of what was blissfully boiling in my heart 100 hours ago.

By the time we got to the last couple of lyrical lines, I started to choke on my own Eve’s apple and I couldn’t utter the words even though all the galaxies’ populations probably did depend on it. I muddled my way through the remainder of the song, which was the closing hymn, and as soon as I sat back down with everybody, following the final “home of the brave,” it was time for the benediction. We closed our eyes, bowed our heads, and clasped our hands or folded our arms, and gargantuan tears automatically began building up behind my eyelids. When the solemn “amen” gently resounded, all eyes flicked back open, and my watery monstrosities were like Iguazu Falls on the Argentine/Brazilian border.

A Kentucky Derby of thoroughbred thoughts was racing through my mind, thoughts of what being an American really means to me. First of all, it means a lot to me that I live in a land that is overflowing with people, in every nook n’ cranny, who all honor their country – even if it’s just silently within their own selves. They know and love that the United States are chock full of heaps of pure beauty, and they share a deep respect for all that USA’s society has gone through to become the stellar conglomeration that it is today. We really have gone through a lot during the past several centuries. Through thick and thin—through scary, hairy, peaceful, and triumphant situations—we, the American people of then and now, have been edified together by way of experience.

Together we pledged to be brave as we initially declared our independence, which wasn’t without its repercussions; we needed to continue in our valor. The need to mindfully, skillfully, and courageously continue in our defense of freedom has not been extinguished. It likely never will.

Together we have trudged through economic swamps. Many of us have had our dog days of discouragement, during which we’ve wondered when we’ll step out on top again. The beautiful thing about that is that, while amid those times, many of us have also been encircled by genuinely good friends and family who continually encouraged us to keep our chins up. I’ve had that in my own life. I see it in others’ lives. It’s everywhere. Wonderful people who stick together are everywhere.

We’ve stuck together in instances when humanity was in danger. In those moments we’ve duly noted the urgency, and stepped up to fearlessly and faithfully help each other out, whether face-to-face or through prayer from afar. Often these are the moments during which we feel the greatest love for each other as fellow citizens and fellowman, and these are the moments to be remembered, in order to remember that love for one another is constantly important, twenty-four/seven.

Together we walk around smiling at each other, in lots of places at least. As simple of a characteristic that may seem on the surface, it’s one of my favorite traits among those who live here. Most every time you turn a corner of an American intersection (on the streets, in the mall, in the grocery store, wherever), the next person you see is likely someone who would be glad to have a brief smiling fest with you. I don’t think smiling is as huge a custom in other countries as it is in this one, and so it’s something that I consciously embrace.

Together we explore our own National Parks – for our own amusement, of course, but also for the thrill we get whenever we seize the chance to personally welcome foreign visitors to our stomping grounds, like when you find yourself sitting next to a married Dutch couple on a bus in Bryce Canyon, and you gleefully enter a conversation with them, A) because you get a kick out of listening to their accents, and B) because you’re excited to hear about what fun stuff they’ve done so far in America, and what things they’ve enjoyed the best.

It’s just a neat, neat place we’ve got here, folks. People from across the globe flock here, because they think it’s a superb destination. Loads of them even dream of living here, and loads of those loads load up their every droplet of courage into their buckets, travel here on their own, and strive to reach their chosen goals. That’s another one of my favorite things about this nation. Many of my favorite friends are those who have journeyed here from all quarters of the earth. These dear people are a big beauty factor that beautifies this land. We dwell in a melting pot indeed, and it is a very lovely melting pot. (By the way, this reminds me that I’d like to introduce you to Humans of New York, in case you’ve never heard of it before. Very cool.)

On a more personal note, I’m gonna start wrapping things up by declaring my gratitude to those who first got the ball rolling with our great country, the United States of America. Golly, those founding fathers were sure swell. I thank them for tirelessly constructing our fabulous Constitution, which has stood the test of time for hundreds of years, and has been the foundation for the life I’m living. No, like really, the Constitution seriously has so much to do with everything I’m filling up my days with. If there were no such thing as our Constitution, I’d question whether or not I’d be free to actively practice my religion, of which I am quite fond. I wonder if I would have been able to get my quality education and quality job. I’m not so sure I’d be permitted to embark on an entrepreneurial road, if that were my desired trail for travel. My favorite recreational activities: would even those be options on the table, had our country never housed the skeleton that it houses?

I’m even inclined to think that America’s heritage somehow correlates with the connection I feel with my ancestors, as well as family members who walk the planet with me now. My personal heritage is filled with terrific people who outwardly treasured this country. That attitude has trickled down to the generation just prior to mine, and that generation has transferred it to me and my generation. I plan to maintain that same attitude, and pass it forward to my posterity and my posterity’s peers. I plan to do it by keeping up with the following:

- My smiling

- My positivity

- My productivity

- My dedication to being a law-abiding citizen

- My respect for what America has endured

- My honor for what America stands for

- My remembrance of the divinity behind America’s origin

- My devotion to upholding the significance and sanctity of the family

- My sincere service to mankind and to God

I think it’s possibly the fattest-ever impossibility to uncover all of the ways that my close association with the United States of America has blessed my life. To those who mistakenly say that nothing good comes of the US of A, I plead with you to reevaluate. Hop in a time machine and study America’s history a little bit, or put your eye up to a microscope and look closely at all the tinier things that are awesomely indigenous to America. ‘Bet yer bottom dollar that you’ll swiftly discover just how wondrous your home really is.

Remembering the "Boss"

We all call her “Boss,” for that is her name. No, like literally, Sister Bossard is her name. But the meaning behind the endearing moniker is far deeper than just her legal surname; she seriously is just soooo boss. She’s so cool. So hip. Absolutely everyone who knew her here on earth loved the bejeebers outta her, and I am honored to say that I am one of those bejeeber lovers. She was my college professor — a vocal coach of mine. And indeed I do declare that she was my most favorite vocal coach that I ever had up there in the Gem State, as a music minor.

College was kind of a long time ago; it’s kind of a blur now. As I’m sitting here, I’m trying to piece together the timeline of my musical journey as far as my four-year university experience is concerned. Besides the vital academic requirements I had to accomplish in order to obtain my Bachelor’s degree, and besides my library job, my church callings, my social life, my sports-official duties, and my extracurricular leadership responsibilities, I filled much of my time with on-campus musical performance.

Before I go back to the beautiful topic of Boss, allow me to describe a portion of my aforementioned timeline that features highlight after highlight of what, to me, were outstanding and incredibly fun musical opportunities. I don’t know how I got to be one of the lucky students who snatched all these ops, but I’m not displeased about it at all. First thing first, I auditioned for a show called Grand Pianos Live and made it onto the program. I played and sang a song from Toy Story 2 called “When Somebody Loved Me.” For the performance I was dressed up like the cowgirl Jessie, with braided hair, plaid shirt, cowgirl hat and everything. It was all so much fun.

Not too long after that, I somehow ended up being in the Broadway Revue. (Contrary to what was popular belief, it wasn’t supposed to be spelled “Broadway Review,” and I was the one who put my foot down and told the advertisers to start spelling it correctly on the posters…or else, hahaha.) I was Christine Daae from Phantom of the Opera, my friend Bubba was the Phantom, and he in his white mask and I in my great dress sang a spectacular duet together. I hit the flippin’ high note at the end of the song (I still can’t believe it) and the crowd roared in delight.

And then I auditioned for Guitars Unplugged with my two gal friends, and we made it into the preliminary show, got a swarm of affirmative votes, and we moved on to the “Best Of” show. I didn’t know how to play guitar, so I played the “drums” on a huge plastic trash can, while I left the guitar work to my friends. We graced the student body with some smooth Collective Soul. The ginormous crowd roared again.

The same two friends and I tried out for Guitars Unplugged again the next semester. Made it into the preliminary show. We were on a high. I was on a high. We were prepped to make it into Best Of again. Didn’t happen, though. Wah.

Then I tried out for Grand Pianos Live again. Didn’t make it in.

Then I tried out for a community fireside choir. Didn’t make it in.

Then I tried out for a top-notch collegiate choir. Didn’t make it in. Now that one broke my heart.

And then I met Boss.

Upon my meeting her for the first time, I felt like I was in a phunky phase where I was fallen from off a horse. I felt like I had been rejected so many times from things that I thought I really wanted to do. I felt like I was continually being denied chances to chase dreams. But soon I realized that those were flimsily frivolous dreams that would hardly affect my destiny.

The longer I ponder my knowing Boss, the more I get to thinkin’ that Boss did affect my destiny. I honestly think she did — very subtly, but I’m pretty sure that’s the case.

What she did was help me hop back onto my horse. She helped me gain a solid understanding that singing is for fun. It’s not solely a talent to be possessed that can land you glamorous minutes in the limelight. Infinitely more importantly, singing is for the soul. That’s what Boss explained to me through her kind n’ krazy words and example.

Of course, I knew that I loved to sing because I loved to sing. I mean, I knew that I loved to sing because it made me feel good inside. But I think, during that most recent chapter in my life — the chapter that was chock full of seeming “rejection” and “dejection” — I was failing to remember the true reason why I loved to cultivate my instrument. Boss was placed on my life’s pathway to remind me of my reason. Every meeting with her was full of fun. It was full of her raving about the gloriousness of Linda Eder. It was full of her benevolently and enthusiastically encouraging me to just simply be my best and do my best as I aimed high to constantly achieve my best.

She didn’t emphasize on having me stress over mastering meticulous vocal techniques. (In fact, lots of times that method of teaching is counterproductive with me. Back in the day, after I had already been practicing piano for 11 years, I quit lessons because the meticulous “mastering” was really starting to hinder my progress. While at the last piano lesson I ever was a pupil in, the piece-in-study was a challenging Chopin valse. I kept on not being able to get the hang of the song, because I was so stressed about impressing my teacher. A couple of weeks after I quit, however, I sat back down at the piano, pulled out the same song, and played it stupendously. Anywaysss…)

Anyway, so yeah, the laid-back and gentle (yet ultra-riotously hilarious) way that Boss taught her students was just what the doctor ordered for me. It helped me to earnestly admire my instrument for what it was and to take good care of it. Boss’s coaching methods aided all her students in gaining (or, in my case, regaining) confidence. I know I said earlier that she indirectly helped me, in the personal secret corners of my heart and mind, to not sweat over not snagging all the spotlight slots I desired. But she did seem to see something special in me that was apparently worthy of a shot of singing in a fancy NATS Recital (National Association of Teachers of Singing). After a somewhat long while, Boss helped me hop back onto the horse of standing up and singing in front of an audience again. For the Recital, she had wanted to know if I’d like to perchance take one of her favorite Linda Eder songs and perform that? In my mind, I was like No, because I still have no clue who Linda Eder even is, hehehe… I’m sure she’s great, but… “I think I’d like to do my favorite Josh Groban song.” She smiled and liked the idea, and I ended up singing “Remember When It Rained.” Best solo I had ever given in my lifetime. As what happened back in my “glory days” on campus, the crowd tastefully roared (tastefully, due to the environment). And I smiled. And felt great. And silently thanked Boss for helping me feel happy in my element again.

I once said in this post that Boss affected my “destiny.” I feel like my destiny, as far as music goes, is more visible now than it ever used to be. I’m not 100% positive that what I’m doing right now musically is what my full-blown destiny is, but it sure is a dreamy dream come true. It’s a dream in which I get to sing because I love to sing, and I love to sing with the people I sing with, and I get to help bless people all over the globe with the work we do. I couldn’t ask for a neater nor sweeter opportunity than this one that I’ve got.

I have a boatload of amazing people in my circles of friends who specifically have helped me recognize my talents and dedicate myself to developing them. I am forever thankful for these terrific men and women, and Boss is definitely numbered among them. As of yesterday, she's gone on to heaven to be with her God and her dear husband again, and to reclaim her star-performer place in the angelic choir. She will be deeply missed, but she also will be fondly remembered as one of the best friends that any of us Boss-fans have ever had.

25 Ways You Can Know for Sure that You're Tall and/or Gangly

How can you know for sure that you’re tall and gangly? Well, since I'm an expert, I can teach you. Here are 25 signs that all point in that direction:

1. You’ve stood in the back row of every elementary school class photo since you were old enough to internalize the fact that the comma comes after every third digit in a written-out number (100,000,000,000,000,000 = aka “one hundred quadrillion”).

2. You somehow always seem to be the person geographically on the far-left or far-right of a group photo with your friends, and all the rest of your friends are shorter than you, and your natural tendency is to pose in a leaning-inward stance, and then you look at the photo after it is developed or “posted,” and you’re like, It is definitely possible that I could’ve looked slightly less awkward in this picture. Next time, remind me to insist on standing in the center, and all the shorties can just gather around me.

3. You can mount a horse just as masterfully as Legolas does in the Lord of the Rings movies – every time.

4. You cannot find pants long enough for your incredible inseam in any physical store anywhere; online is your only hope.

5. All pants in the stores are capris on your body.

6. You are frequently asked if you can please reach something from a high shelf or cupboard, OR you are asked if you perchance have the ability to reach waaaaaay far down behind the couch or waaaaaay far back underneath the couch to retrieve a stray-yet-not-unimportant small object, and you’re like, Have you seen these arms of mine? With these arms, I am the superhero you seek. Hashtag: Ganglyness FTW.

7. Virtually every long-sleeve shirt within any given 15-mile radius of you would be three-quarter-length shirts if you were to try them on.

8. You sometimes can sport a killer block when you play front row during volleyball games, if you aren’t a killer vball player already, which you can be – follow your dreams (if vball is your dream)!

9. Your wingspan is longer than you are tall. You are a wide rectangle in this way.

10. Speaking of your wingspan, it legitimately is practically as long as Team USA swimmer Michael Phelps’s wingspan is, and his wingspan is crazay babay.

11. You can’t touch your toes. Hashtag: Fail.

12. You can’t successfully sit down on the ground in the form of the letter “L,” where your core, shoulders, neck, and head are the Y axis, and your legs are the X axis. You can’t keep your legs straight, close together, and flat upon the floor whilst simultaneously keeping your upper body perfectly vertical. Maintaining—let alone acquiring—a perfect geometric right angle at the point where your Y and X axes meet is utterly impossible. This is the problem of people who are all leg and no torso.

13. Your younger, less-mature self has been irked multiple times when you saw your super tall crushes pursue and date girls who were vertically challenged in major ways. You felt gypped, and you felt the pain of all your fellow tall gal friends who also had crushes on tall guys who chased the short chicks. You’re grown up and past that angst now. Hopefully. Maybe.

14. Every now and then you feel self-conscious about your height, but then your friends who are not as tall as you rave about how much they wish they could be as beautifully tall as you. Your height is stunningly radiant! Fact!

15. You tend to duck a little bit when you find yourself in restroom stalls or wardrobe-changing stalls whose walls appear to be – um – insufficient.

16. You hit your head on the car ceiling when you get in and out. Hashtag: Owiiiiieeeee!!! Mommyyy!!!

17. A plethora of pointless human tricks are cinchily accomplishable by you, due to those squid tentacles that you endearingly call “limbs.”

18. When you do a handstand, you are 10 feet tall.

19. When you try to dance hip hop, you actually just look like a … well … a squid.

20. You have something in your hand that a kid – or even a grown adult – wants to swipe from your hand, and all you have to do is raise your arm straight up, and immediately the struggle is over. Unless they begin to wrestle you. Then you’d better pray you have buff muscles.

21. Two words: slam dunks. Unless u ain’t skilld like dat.

22. Remember in junior high and high school when the dress code was such that if you wanted to wear shorts, they had to be “fingertip length”? Yeah, well, then my shorts always went to my knees.

23. Your nicknames, when you were a kid, included “Jolly Green Giant” and “Big Bird.” In my life, my favorite was “The Alisaurus Rex.”

24. Your legs dangle off the edges of motel beds.

25. If you are a gal, you are intensely careful when it comes to deciding when to wear platforms or heels. Especially if you are on a date with a guy who is precisely your height or ever-so-slightly shorter. What if you are in heels and you want to kiss him or he wants to kiss you? Suggestion: smooch while sitting down.

When You Feel Like You Want *Their* Great Skills, While Forgetting Your Own Great Skills (nunchuck skillz...computer hacking skillz...)

It’s easy for us to compare ourselves with other people, isn’t it? Yeah, I think it is. And I wonder if what I’m going to say here will be edifying to anyone who reads this. I’m going to say it anyway, in case it does come across as helpful.

I’ve been a “yuppy” for a long time (I think “yuppie” is how you’re supposed to spell it, but “yuppy” looks better to me because “puppy” is a word and “puppie” isn’t). For those of you who don’t already know, the word “yup” is an acronym for “young urban professional(s).” Well, it means “yes” too, but in this case, please think of it as the acronym. And also please think of it as somewhat a term of endearment, or at least as something with a positive connotation, because even if it may sound like I’m calling my friends mean names, I’m really not. To be a yup is a good thing.

All my yuppy friends range from being anything from pilots to party planners to professors. They each have their own distinct occupation. I have mine. I love mine. I love the things I know and know how to do in order to succeed at my job. But sometimes I catch myself looking at all my yuppy friends and wishing I knew what they know, and longing to know how to do the things they know how to do.

For example, I have boatloads of lawyer friends and schoolteacher friends. Sometimes when we’re socializing together, and I hear them introduce themselves to people who don’t know them and don’t yet know what they do for a living, I’ll hear them explain their livelihoods, and for some funny reason it almost makes me want to say “I’d give my arm and leg to be a lawyer or schoolteacher!” because their jobs sound so rewarding, and those are the types of jobs that, to me, seem so elite in their own elements. Personally, I feel like it takes really special types of people to be downright decent lawyers and teachers of integrity, like my friends are, and whenever I gander at people like that, I’m kind of in awe, and I think, Wouldn’t it be nice if I could be just like them?

I also think it would be awesome to know how to be a great graphic designer, museum curator, whale trainer (yes, that was my dream as a child), actor, or astronaut. I don’t know how to be excellent at any of these careers that I’ve mentioned. But even though I think it would be “nice” if I did know how to be any or all of those things… If I did know how to be all that, honest-to-goodness that would mean I would have to actually practice and keep practicing all those things so that I could stay sharp-as-a-tack in all those professional fields.

Ain’t nobody got time for dat. Not in this mortal life, anyway. Maybe in the eternities.

Why, if we knew how to be all those things (all the things that we daydream about someday becoming amazing at), and if we somehow had the time to practice all those things, we wouldn’t have time during our days to sleep, drink, shower, eat food, or have hobbies. The only phrase we would ever want to utter is “please lead me to the nearest guillotine.”

My current opinion is that it’s important to remember that we each have something that we’re quite good at. More like somethings. Chances are that every one of us has probably more than one valuable skill that somebody else we know wishes they had, every time they look at us. The valuable skills I’m talking about can be both vocational and interpersonal.

The reason why I think this is because I’ve told people before that I’ve noticed fabulously kind and exceptional traits about them, and then I’ve turned around and attempted to develop those traits, because I think they’re all-round stupendous traits for any human being to have. This is largely why I try to be better today than I was yesterday: because there’s some role model whom I look up to, whose footsteps in which I’d like to follow. After all, that’s the reason why we have each other as loved ones: so that we can help each other to positively grow and become better.

So those were the interpersonal skills that I wrote about in that paragraph you just read. Now, back to the vocational ones for a moment.

Whenever I start down that road again, about how I wish I could know and do what a lawyer or schoolteacher knows and does…and thus mentally walking towards a place where I don’t think I have all too many skills and services to offer, simply because I’m not a lawyer or teacher like them…I snap out of it!! And I begin remembering all the times when someone asked me to help them learn something particular, because they knew I was the best person they could think of who could help them.

I’ll never forget the day when I heard musical notes floating out of an open door, and I casually walked into that room because I was curious, and lo and behold I found a friend of mine perched on a piano bench, plunking out a hymn from the hymnal. I had just come in to say hi, but he humbly asked me if I would be so kind as to help him learn to not only play the song, but to read music in general. To paraphrase, he said it was serendipitous that it was I who walked in, because he knew that I was someone who could assist him. I sat down next to him, and it turned out to be a terrific music lesson.

I remember that that is not the only experience I’ve had in my life where someone sought my expertise. And I bet that all of us have had experiences like that. It’s those moments that tickle me pink in a humble sort of way, because I’m like, Really? You’re asking me to mentor you? I dunno, it’s just kinda touching when you are the person that someone else is looking up to, and turning to for guidance.

Anyway, so all I’m really trying to say here is that every one of you—every one of us—has commendable skills and gifts that are positively helpful to other people. Everyone has a magnificent intelligence and spirit that is capable of learning, growing, and developing traits that can benefit the world. The key is keep on keepin’ on, to remember that we all are full of infinite worth, to be patient in learning, to be excited about learning, to be cheerfully productive, to be continually striving to nurture the brightly wonderful human characteristics that we find in others, and if we do all of this, I’m pretty sure we’ll be able to recognize the goodness and greatness that we contribute to the earth and to mankind.

Kind of reminds me of that Andy Grammer song… “you gotta keep your head up, oooohhhh, and you can let your hair down, eeeehhhh.” That’s a good one.