Ellis in more spaces

Great news! This summer I'll be writing for the BYU Women's Services blog as an internship. You can look forward to my posts every Tuesday—which is the best day of the week already practically. Who knew Tuesdays could get even better?

Here's the link to my first post!

http://byuwsr.blogspot.com/2012/05/hi-im-katie-and-im-pretty-sure-youre.html

What I will be

The little yellow kitchen in my little yellow house, 2010.

In a few weeks, I will walk; meaning, I will cross a stage and receive a fake diploma. I won't really graduate from Brigham Young University until August, and I'll finish my last class in June, but for all intensive purposes, I am finishing my last real semester of classes.

I haven't even begun to scratch the surface of the thoughts and feelings attached to that. Some of them, I've pushed down pretty far, which is alright for the time being, because I cannot handle them right now.

I say that because the past few months have been marked by the deepest depression I've yet endured. I will not say that my entire time at BYU has been rough, but I will confess that much of my time at college has been really hard. There are lots of reasons for this, but one of the biggest ones is that I often didn't know what exactly I wanted to become. Choosing a major and actually applying myself to learning often felt like a battle I could never win.

Finally, I found the editing minor, which combines many things I love. Even with that though, I still often find myself disliking the field. I do not succumb to these feelings though because I know God has given me gifts in this area and that I enjoy it most of the time. This is good enough for me, and I trust that He will open up opportunities to make good use of me as an editor and as a writer. A few weeks ago, someone challenged me, asking "Is editing really a good thing for you?" In essence, I replied firmly, "We are not opening up that can of doubt and fear again. I have made a choice, and I will make it good."

I often think of this talk from Elder Nelson about choosing an educational path and a career. He said:

A doctor’s ultimate destination is not in the hospital. For a lawyer, it is not in the courtroom. For a jet pilot, it is not in the cockpit of a Boeing 747. Each person’s chosen occupation is only a means to an end; it is not an end in itself. The end for which each of you should strive is to be the person that you can become—the person who God wants you to be. The day will come when your professional career will end. The career that you will have labored so hard to achieve—the work that will have supported you and your family—will one day be behind you. Then you will have learned this great lesson: much more important than what you do for a living is what kind of person you become. When you leave this frail existence, what you have become will matter most. Attributes such as “faith, virtue, knowledge, temperance, patience, brotherly kindness, godliness, charity, humility, [and] diligence” (D&C 4:6) will all be weighed in the Lord’s balance.

I wish I could say that during my time at BYU I have developed those attributes splendidly. I haven't, but I have made some good progress.

Even now, when faced with decisions about jobs and internships, I think I still don't know exactly what I want to be. The question I've been wrestling with all this time is still there, still bothering me.

But out of the depression I've been in lately, I've found a better question to ask: what kind of person do I want to be for my children? In many ways, I ask this in the same spirit that I ask God who He wants me to become. That's probably the more important question to ask, but I've found that phrasing it in terms of my children helps make it a bit more tangible.

My answer to this question is primarily that I want to be a woman of faith. I want to be a mother who knows. Those are my primary goals.

I also enjoy reflecting on the fun parts too. My mom likes to remind me that I will be a good mother someday because I am creative. I believe this is something I can use to make the world my children live in good and bright.

Dorothy Lee, a wonderful anthropologist who writes many good things about motherhood, says, "Motherhood is not a thing in itself, it is I who am a mother and I have to be myself first." She doesn't mean this comment in the sense that we have to go out and find ourselves in some grand external sphere to be mothers. Rather, her point is that what our children want is us. They want to know us as whole people with quirks and flaws and preferences.

I find that lovely. It also makes me want to be my best self—the one who writes good things, does not fear, and is fun. I can imagine that the day-to-day stresses of motherhood might threaten to dampen that spirit within us, but it certainly does not need to. In fact, those daily activities of eating, cleaning, sleeping, working, worshiping, and playing are exactly where our true selves lie. Knowing this makes me worry a lot less about what my degree says I am.

Skip it/See it/Savor it: Midnight in Paris

The story: Owen Wilson wanders Paris while his fiance engages in all kinds of nonsense. I'm on Owen's side, but then when am I not? I'm always impressed at his charm and acting abilities no matter who he plays. This Owen had me feeling sorry for the ridiculous selfishness of his fiance. May of you have probably never seen a Woody Allen film before. I never had, but I read part of the script for When Harry Met Sally once in a book of scenes for actors. After about seven years, it sticks with me still. This film didn't carry the wit and sharpness I expected, but the sincerity of it was nice, even if that was only something I extrapolated onto the film from the Allen name.   

What's it got to do with loving and being loved? At one point, Ernest Hemingway says, "Cowardice is not loving or not loving well, which is the same thing." I didn't see that moment coming at me, but it hit me like the sea. I can't say that the rest of the film really supports the sentiment in a way I subscribe to, but I'm going to take this phrase and use it for all it's worth to me.

The verdict: See it. It's worth some contemplation, if only to say you have seen a Woody Allen movie. 

Concerned about cleanliness? I'll direct you to Parent Previews here.

Remembering: Part two

Last night, Super brought me a piece of pumpkin pie that was thoroughly covered in whipping cream on ALL THREE SIDES! I love whipping cream, practically as much as I love him for bringing me pie. Sometimes, I forget how wonderful he is.

I tend to forget a lot of important things. Lately, I've been working on remembering what divine potential I have because I am a daughter of God. It's easy to forget that I can do hard things and I can do them well. It's easy to forget that I know what is right and I can do it. It's easy to forget that I am capable, lovely, and bright.

In addition to remembering these things, I love to remember that even when I forget these truths they are still true. My heart may freeze over and my potential may go dormant for a season, but the is still a seed of light in me. If I choose to stay like that for too long, I won't be the wonderful person I am, but if I do remember and start living these truths, God is more than willing to pick up where we left off and continue making me even more wonderful and divine. He never forgets what I can do.

He also sent me a man named Super who remembers that I am beautiful and wonderful and who helps me to remember that by treating me with respect and patience.

I still forget things sometimes. (I forgot how long my pigtails were and accidentally got part of that whipping cream in my hair. My friend Sarah tells me there's a place for me in the retirement home she works at.) But there are deep truths that will always be true. My potential is one of God's great truths. I am never forgotten.

Remembering: Part one

The other night, I was cold, so Super, my boyfriend, gave me his sweater to wear. It's big on him, so it was enormous on me. If I had had the right belt, I could have pulled it off and still looked trendy. Without a belt though, I just looked cozy in a wash of grey knit that hides every curve of my body.

I am not uneducated in the debates over gender that are raging throughout the world. I understand that there are a lot of questions and none of them quite have easy answers. Is there such a thing as gender? Are we simply socialized to behave in these ways?

When it comes to answering these questions in direct words, I believe that "gender is an essential characteristic of individual premortal, mortal, and eternal identity and purpose." I have always been female, and I will always be female. Here's the source for that quote, and let me say that I believe every word in this document on the family.

 When people want an answer about gender, I turn to that document and that quote. But today, I'd like to write about the part I don't usually bring up in debates.

I feel like a woman in this sublime way that I cannot describe. Standing in front of the mirror the other day, I knew that there is something deep within me—beyond physical attributes, beyond what toys I played with as a kid, beyond what colors I like to wear—that is truly feminine. It transcends the mortal explanations and categories that so many scholars and interest groups throw at it. I just am beautiful and divine. Nothing outside of me can diminish my worth or my purpose. I am made to do all things: work, raise children, get an education, serve others. And I do all of these in a way no one but me can do, a way that is rooted in my identify as a woman.

It frustrates me that this isn't a valid argument in the voting polls or the scholarly discourse. It frustrates me even more that I cannot put it into words even for myself sometimes.

My hope is that other women will be more in tune to those moments where something in their spirit communicates that they are women. Often times there are a lot of things in the way, like our own ideas of beauty. I think that is in itself a sign that we are missing part of the picture.

I don't think it's just standing in front of a mirror. It's a moment that happens when we're least expecting it. This kind of knowledge happens though when you start thinking beyond what you see to what you feel. Keep thinking until nothing you come up with has anything to do with the world's view of these things. Think until it's only something you understand. I think then you'll understand what I mean.

Arrival

Picture this for a moment: You’re walking down a city sidewalk in October. Traffic is busy, but at the crosswalk approaches a girl. She gets there, and the approaching cars suddenly all come to a stand still to let her pass. Now tell me: what did she look like? Short black skirt, tightly fitted. Ruffled silk blouse, cream-colored, low-cut. Tan-leather purse. Red high heels. Long blond hair in large curls that blow back slightly as she walks. Nice high cheek bones. Just enough make-up. Tall and skinny, but not too skinny. In short—traffic-stopping looks.

This is not what I look like, but this is what happened a few weeks ago: I only got four hours of sleep. I didn’t have enough time to wash my hair that morning, so I put it in a bun, which then fell out in stages, none of which could be considered to be a “messy bun.” I last plucked my eyebrows a week before, but I figured it was okay since I was going to wear my glasses anyways. No make-up either, and there are still red spots under my nose from my month-long spree of nose blowing. My jeans were one size too large. My sweater fit like it was made for a man, and I paid four dollars for it at the thrift store. No "shabby chic" here. Just shabby.

But traffic stopped when I stepped out. Two men waited at either ends of the crosswalk, hanging back by the sidewalk, hoping for a break in the cars. I knew I needed to get home and take a nap, so I stepped out to the edge of the bicycle lane and looked at the driver coming towards me, who stopped.

This seems to be one of those moments girls dream about, but we tend to dream about it in weird terms: terms of sexuality, material wealth, and unattainable dress sizes. I had none of those things going for me. Simply stepping to the threshold and asserting my presence worked. The two men who had gingerly waited for the cars to pass hurried past me, seemingly grateful for my having stopped the cars, but I really didn’t do anything. I only put my foot down and moved confidently.

I have never felt quite as inferior as I did while trying to cross a street in Oxford once. I was a twenty-year old traveler trying not to be a tourist. Normally, I did a very good job of that until I got trapped in a crowd of real-life tourists—guidebooks, cameras, and all. The walking signal turned green, but the stagnant crowd around continued conversing loudly.

Behind me, a woman began to yell. Her thin arms brought her hands around her mouth as she leaned back and called out mockingly, “The Green Man says go!” Annoyed and self-assured, she returned back to her table outside of the café there, laughing with her friends about the herd of cattle polluting their college town.

That moment still bothers me, mostly because I hate how I let it bother me then.

I once had the privilege of observing the local university theatre ballet during their class.

The instructor of the course was graceful and aged, a woman who obviously loves dance deeply even when it has passed beyond the abilities of her body.

“Arrive in your space,” she said with each exercise.

The company was about to put on Cinderella a few weeks later. Even though I have only a small amount of experience with ballet, it was clear to me—and the others observing with me—which ballerina was Cinderella. It was clear when this dancer arrived in her space.

God puts us in beautiful places: a busy classroom of attentive children, our own messy kitchen table, the worn-out and torn-up couch of a beloved friend. These are spaces in which to arrive. We can follow our feet faithfully, dig in with our toes, land squarely, and be who we are: graceful, strong, beautiful, and capable.

The inferiority we might feel in spaces can come from many things, but these are all conquerable things. We are more than we think we are. We are closer to heaven than we think we are.