Twelve

So I'm sitting here having a pity party for myself when I realize that there is actually something to be learned from this situation.
-
This week has been rough. 
Monday, I tripped over a sprinkler head and cut up my toes pretty badly and bruised them a little bit. All in a day of Brittani's life. No red flags yet.

Tuesday, I was running to train for a 5k because I'm trying to get all 'fit' or something and I hurt my ankle pretty badly somehow. It's definitely a recurring thing because I'm just such a klutz so this isn't to surprising either just a bit of a bummer.

Wednesday, I was cutting watermelon after going for a two mile walk (because I couldn't run today with my ankle especially after I woke up and could barley walk on it), just trying to eat healthy, and I cut my hand in that spot between your thumb and pointer finger and it just would not clot. This is the second cut this year.

OH, and that's not to mention the fact that my allergies are basically killing me right now.

All of these events separately are pretty predictable events in my life. But I was sitting here thinking about how sucky it is that they all happened it one week. And I started thinking "Oh woe is me" and started wishing I had some cheese to go with my whine.

But I thought about how ungrateful that made me.

I was still able to walk. And talk. And breathe. And live! (Yes, I know that escalated quickly.)

I have this wonderful body I've been blessed with that, sure, I sometimes wish would be a little more invincible - but I have one. And it sure has taken a few beatings in my day (see here) But still I can wake up everyday and do things that I love.

Just one little change in perspective made all the difference. And I'm grateful I took a break from my pity party to find a way to have a real celebration.

Eleven

It truly is a miracle - to me - that I've been able to survive here in Utah. I thought I might die from a million different things as silly as that seems in hindsight.

I believe the Lord blesses me with sunshine in the moments that I need it most. Last week, the weather was absolutely GORGEOUS. I love the sun and how happy it makes me and the people around me. It was so nice to not have to wear a jacket and be able to walk to class without getting pelted by rain or snow on the way there and know that the brightness lasts a little longer with each passing day as we get closer and closer to summer. Sitting on the grass and studying is amazing and seeing all the people as I walk to class makes me jealous and wish I could sit out there too for a little longer.

But of course it all comes to an end in the blink of an eye and Utah decides to revert back to it's winter tendencies and it decides to snow {I'm talking like a flash blizzard or some kind of ridiculous}. But much to my surprise, I've learned to embrace the winter weather like I do the sunshine. That's not to say I like it better, but I appreciate the beauty. I love the snow-covered mountains, hot chocolate, and bundling up with cute scarves, mittens, and headbands. I'm grateful for the time that I have with the snow. And then it needs to move on it's merry little way.

I feel like this translates to a lot in life. I've really tried to take time to enjoy the little moments, to take time to reflect. The sunshine, the snow, laughter, hugs, my car, music, friends, family, technology - just life.

In the end, life is bliss.

Ten

When I walked across the stage at graduation, there were a million and one emotions running through my head. But there was one thing that stuck out above everything else.
In the hands of Paul Larrea was a card. A card that, at the time, seemed to be on the epitome of the future. A few weeks back, we sat in Newnham's class and condensed the four years that we'd spent at CLHS onto a 3 x 5 card  and everything we wanted to accomplish in life.
After attending a few graduations before my own, there was always the joke that everyone got together to write down the same occupation that they wanted.
I felt, in that moment, that I would be the one to break the norm. That at our 10-year reunion, I would be the one that accomplished everything on my card. I'd dig through our time capsule and find my card and smile with pride that I did it and beat the odds. I really truly believed that.
It didn't take long for me to realize that these anticipations weren't always the ideal, but rather dreams from ignorantly blissful high school graduates. We had all these hopes that we would make the past and future generations proud with our success as doctors, lawyers, teachers, dentists, cosmetologists - and it's not to say that these professions aren't admirable or attainable. But we had set our sights so high we didn't take time to evaluate reality.
And reality, I've come to realize, is this. There are so many choices in this world. Choices, that coming from a small town in Northern California, had never before been discovered. I mean we had maybe 10 choices of places to eat for crying out loud. When they tell you that you can study whatever you want, they mean it. When you don't understand why people are shocked at how you did so much in high school, you get it when you find you can only devote yourself to one thing because there really aren't enough hours in the day. When they say there's something and someone out there for everyone and we just have to experience it, it's the truth.

I got to BYU shocked by the options. The food thing was one of the most overwhelming to be honest. But the biggest surprise was asking people what they were studying and realizing the wide array of possibilities. Why did I think that, at 18 and completely inexperienced, I knew what I wanted out of life? I had this whole plan and yet it meant nothing 3 months down the road (forget 10 years). I wanted to study something that would help me incorporate my love for people and passion for biology and it seemed hard to find at first but I got it figured out.

And there's one thing they don't tell you before you walk across that stage
with the brink of the future laying out before you
while you're feeling on top of the world.

And that is that it's OKAY to fail. Failure leads to growth and change and learning. And that's what life's all about, isn't it?

Nine

Winter 2013 was a mess. I mean it was good, but it was a mess. One of my best friends was just accepted into the study abroad program in London and the other was contemplating a mission and my current roommate had decided to serve a mission. So seriously all the hours we had spent house hunting went out the window by the end of January. All I knew is that I really didn't want to be alone with a bunch of strangers in a new apartment and I didn't know where to go or what to do or anything. Then all of a sudden I thought maybe I should apply to be a Resident Assistant. It was something I honestly had mocked all the months leading up to it but after struggling with a ridiculous amount of loans for a ridiculously high rent in the Freshman Dorms, free housing was looking pretty promising. I knew I'd need a job so I thought why not apply and see where it goes.

I wasn't sure how my friends would take it and they thought I was joking when I told them. They even thought I was kidding when I said I was seriously contemplating it after being offered a position. I decided to go ahead and accept it.

So I did. And it has honestly changed my life.

I spent the summer praying that I would be the right fit for these girls and be able to connect with them and the people I worked with. I spent so much time coming up with a theme for the year and making cutesy decorations for the hall to make them feel welcome and seem more home-y. I showed up to RA training and started to get a little scared when we started talking about the aspects of the job we would be trained on. I swear I read the contract but maybe some lines were just filtered out as I read it and there was so much I didn't know that I would be doing or even if I could handle it.

I just felt thrown in. Like one of the situations where you learn to swim out of necessity rather than for leisure. {I mean, it worked, don't get me wrong}. I met all the girls and tried to remember their {60} names, where they were from, what they were studying, and keep tabs on our similarities so that would we would have something to talk about when I came to visit their apartments.

These girls are inspiring. They drive me nuts and wake me up early and lock themselves out more than I can count. But they teach me more than I feel I ever could them. I have been so blessed with the most self-sufficient girls and they actual listen to me {most of the time}. We've just spent the last year making memories and going through this experience. I'm honestly worried for the next year because I won't have my little nuggets within arms reach where I can cushion their blows and hold their hand and walk them through the chaos that is college. They bring me happiness when I see them get excited to see me and I LOVE gossiping with them and hearing about their lives. They drop by my place and I stop by theirs and we celebrate and cry together. I really, truly hope they will remember our friendships through the years because I know they have forever changed me. I've made some of the best friends this way and I'm grateful for the memories we have so far.

But we aren't done partying yet.

Eight

Lately, I've been thinking a lot about the love of my Heavenly Father. I've spent much of my life praying for guidance and direction and as I've been working on entries for this I've realized how literally everything goes back to him. More importantly, He blesses me with what he knows is best for me and it's nine times out of ten not on my time schedule. Sometimes, I receive answers when I'm not even expecting them or I don't recognize they're answers till I do something like this and look back on my life.

Recently, I've been thinking about my plans for the next year. There's a lot to be done and a lot to figure out and it's STRESSFUL - no way around that.

A few weeks ago I realized that after April 26, I'd be homeless, jobless, and more or less broke. Oh, and can't forget, I'm a college student on top of all that so naturally I have money owed there, too. Mind you, I'd been thinking about it for a while and knew that it'd come around eventually, but eventually was always later rather than sooner. I thought that since I got my academic plan figured out for the next two years, I'd just have everything else work out normally. Right? Ha. No. This is Real Life: Provo Edition.

So naturally I just put it off longer.

I prayed about it every night to hopefully get some guidance. In all honesty, the nightmare that is housing is what ultimately drove me to be an RA {more on that on a later date}. I knew that I had a few friends that might want to live with me but then you have to find all these contracts together that fit everyone's budgets and schedules and do you want to sign a year contract or month-to-month or maybe just the semester? What amenities do you want? How close do you want to be to campus? Like it really is the pits.

Growing up is rough. 

THEN, I needed to find a job. Like, I'd decided not to work anymore for reslife. So then I need to leave my apartment and find a new job all in one fell swoop. I'm a 19-year-old college student with barely enough credentials to get a job and now I'm going to be paying bills and rent and car insurance and working AND going to school. {Trust me, I know I'm not the only one. People do it all the time and I honestly would kiss the ground they walk on if I could point them out of a crowd. Shout to the parents for always covering that for me growing up.}

When Aj was here we tried to take the easy way out and just ask Mom if she'd buy us a condo we could rent from her. That definitely didn't fly. So then we started sending links to each other and figuring out what we needed and wanted and how much we wanted to pay and all that jazz. And even that is rough! There's no single website for BYU-contracted housing that I'm required to live in so you just have to search it out and knock doors and whatever else to make it happen.

-After some time, a lot of praying, and some talking to people-

It finally all came together! I have a place to live with someone near and dear to my heart. With literally everything that I wanted. And also openings for the people who had talked about living with me. What! It's amazing. And I didn't realize that this wasn't just some miracle or some happenstance that stumbled across my path. It was my answer. My miracle. And after talking to a few people and brainstorming I might even have a job that will work with the insanity that is my life with school and Camp Kesem and the minimal social life that I have.

The moment when the pieces actually come together remind me to thank those that have helped me but also the recognize the hand of the Lord in all things. I know that life is substantially harder without relying on Him for help. And I'm so grateful to know that I have such a wonderful support group behind me.

Seven

Sometimes I wonder how I'm not permanently broken. It's to the point that when I tell anyone I got hurt {again} they straight up just laugh at me because it's so expected.

It all started way, way back when I was a little girl. My dad lifted me up while the ceiling fan was on an it split my head open and I had to get stitches. Like 10 or something. I don't really remember it, I just know the story from it being passed down through the years. Also I have a scar on my forehead right next to my hairline.

Through elementary school - this part I do remember - I was always in the office getting fixed up because I had tripped outside during recess on the asphalt and now my knees or my hands were all bloody.

One of the first times we went up to Lakeport, my stepsiblings were like, "Hey, let's go ride the scooters down the hill by the police station where the speed thing is so we can see how fast we are going!" It all seemed like so much fun and I was never one to shy away from adventure {I've tried to wise up a little since then.} The twist to the story is that I was wearing my FIRST pair of flip flops. My mom never though it was a good idea to let me wear them before then because I'm so klutzy. She was right. As I was taking my turn going down the hill, I wiped out. Bad. I grabbed my shoes and ran out of the road because a car was coming and someone else had to run out into the road to grab the scooter I'd left there. That one took a while to clean up my foot I just sat there wondering why I ever thought flip flops were a good idea. I still have a scar on my foot from that one as well and I also wear flip flops all the time. Lesson learned?

Next, I decided to play hooky from school one day in the 5th grade. My stepsiblings were in a different district as me at the time so they had the day off and mom let me stay home. We were out all day doing kid stuff - riding bikes and the like. Our house is right by a golf course and it's located in between two hills with more hills all around it. So we're riding around and it's all fun and whatnot. Then we find this HUGE hill on the golf course that we took the effort to walk up so that we could go down. I'm sure I thought at some point it wouldn't turn out well but of course I went anyway. The first time I went down there were no problems and it was way fun. We went back later in the day and decided to go again. This time I was on a different bike. One that probably wasn't the best for this hill. But I go down with confidence because I did it earlier that day. I start going and lose control and flip over the handlebars {I think} and try to brace myself. Then I just screamed because it hurt so badly. A had known I was going down and started running right away. I sat there and all I could think was that my mom was gonna kill me and she was gonna be so mad. We walked back to the house and my wrist and my face kinda hurt. I get home and everyone's freaking out. Mom gives me some drugs and has me set down my hands on the table because I said my wrist hurt. The right was looked off so we went to the ER - yep, it was broken. Claaaaaaasic Brittani. I was miserable the next day. My wrist was broken, I had grass stains in my eyebrows and hair and road rash on my cheeks, I couldn't shower normally and to top it all off we went to the park and everyone got to go on the swings but I couldn't because I was broken. This injury paid off pretty nicely though - people got to take my tests for me because I couldn't write with either hand. Also, I was scared to ditch school for a LONG time after that.

I held up pretty well until my sophomore year. One morning I was walking out of the house to go to seminary and I missed a step on the porch. Rolled my ankle pretty badly but just got up because I couldn't be late and we were going to San Francisco that day to see Wicked. Apparently, my body went into shock on the way to town because I was shaky and stuff. This one I didn't feel as badly about because mom did it a few years later. There's now a sensor light installed outside.

Junior year I did it again. Somehow when I was walking out of the band room I tripped on the mound of backpacks against the back wall and my foot got stuck in a strap of one of the backpacks and down I went! My ankle popped and started swelling right away. I did the walk of shame to Milo's office for ice and to ask what he thought I should do. I kept my shoe on all day and iced probably too much. I was fine until I went to get ready for cheer practice that day. That's when I really started freaking out because it was the week of our first game (aka my first game back in 2 seasons) I took of my shoes to put on my school shoes and there was no way it was happening. Like, I couldn't fit my shoe on because my foot had gotten so fat. Much to my dismay, my coach made me sit out. When my mom finally got there she took me to the doctor and I went everyday leading up to the game. I was able to perform but I had some tape on my ankle and hobbled through a lot of it. It slowly got better until, of course, a few weeks later I came down wrong from a jump and there was no give in my ankle so the pain shot up to my knee. That one hurt. I held back the tears and finished the routine and lost it as soon as it was over. The combination of those two led to an interesting season following. Lots of braces, that's for sure.

One time I wore heels walking around Salt Lake City and that messed up my foot pretty badly. It was swollen for a couple weeks and I had to carefully plan outfits because I could only wear certain shoes.

This past December, I tried jumping over the couch and something {I really don't know what} happened and I sprained my ankle really badly. I couldn't make it to my bedroom to sleep that night and just stayed on the couch. Walking was a struggle. I ended up borrowing some crutches and pretended like I was okay but A made me go to the doctor. I was SO embarrassed as I told every staff member what happened - the lady at the front desk, the attractive male nurse to check me in, the x-ray tech, the doctor, and the nurse that gave me my brace. Oh yeah, I had x-rays because they thought I broke my ankle. From jumping over the couch. I had to wear a brace for a while and Disneyland wasn't too pleasant on my ankle either. I always get a little weary when it snows because I'm so afraid I'll hurt it again and then next one will break. {Every ankle injury was to the same foot.}

So the moral of this story is I'm a klutz, right? Partially, yes. But also, I've realized lately how wonderful our bodies are. Our Heavenly Father blessed us with these AMAZING things that let us make mistakes and learn from them and work toward eternal salvation. More importantly, each and every bruise we've ever had, every broken bone, every scratch HEALS. That's important. We are able to heal physically of course, but we are also able to heal spiritually. Our soul can heal. The bruises, breaks, and scratches go away. We will always remember the struggles but no one else can see them and that's why we need to take advantage of the Atonement and apply it in our lives so that we can forgive ourselves. No matter how much we mess up, we have the ability to make up for it.

And that's pretty miraculous. 

Six

I met them in 2005, back in the sixth grade. It was rouuuuuuugh. Middle school was definitely the bane of my existence. Luckily, life has been uphill from that time but it was a struggle. Like I've mentioned before, that was my third school in three years. I was probably the most awkward twelve-year-old you'll ever meet. I was me and didn't care what other people said (at least in front of them) I jumped friend groups and tried to find who I was. I had to deal with these new hormones and the fact that boys were cute now and that people were 'dating' now and all that chaos. (Side note: people of opposite genders weren't allowed to hug on campus. I've always found that comical for whatever reason). I saw the world through new eyes and sometimes felt I was years above everyone else.

Add to that the fact that I was the "new girl" literally disrupting the natural flow of friends that had been in place since 1999. These kids had known each other since kindergarten, some even from birth. Like I'm not making this up. The people that were friends in kindergarten kept being friends through the time I showed up until graduation. No one wanted to make friends because they already had them. And I mean, I don't know that I would've been very welcoming to me either. I consider myself pretty outgoing and I forced my way in to be friends with these people. I mean, I couldn't be alone forever and I had at least 7 years left in this place.

That was when I met them. We had English/Language Arts together with Mr. A, who had become a teacher as a retirement job. Mr. A loved what he did and that made us love it too. It was the only class in the sixth grade that was divided up by testing - meaning we had to take a generalized test and the people who scored the highest were in Mr. A's class so that it could be more challenging and focused. I never thought of it that way though. I saw it as the time when I could see more than the thirty kids that I saw every other period of the day. And it was most definitely more fun.

There's things from that year I STILL remember learning. That "a lot" is two words. That you can misspell spider "sipider" and butterfly "butteryfly". That there is a time to talk and laugh and a time to take things seriously. And that even teachers hated the fact that they had so much paperwork to do so they found loopholes for everything.

Among the people in that class, I met some people that would change my life. There was a group of boys who everyone knew. I mean everyone. They were talked about and people always knew they'd be together. They didn't really talk to anyone else and to be honest they were a little nerdy. (They still are pretty nerdy but I've learned to love it).

Our relationship started out really weird. I really don't know how it happened - they definitely used to make fun of me and I'm pretty sure we were just weird to each other (I mean it was middle school) and since we were in that English/Language Arts class together, we continued to have classes together through middle school and high school. We all did band. A lot of them played football and I cheered. There definitely was a lot of exposure to each other.

I can remember the exact moment I got my name as "Momma Goose" though. We were getting ready to play at a concert in high school. I had to go around fixing everyone's collars because I'm ocd like that  and it had become kind of expected. And then K said. "Thanks Momma Goose. Always making sure we look nice."

Through the years, things changed and these boys became my family. I looked out for them and they were protective of me. I heard things I sometimes wish I hadn't but always felt special that they included me. It melted my heart when Mrs. I called them my boys - everyone understood the dynamic of our relationship and I loved that. They're the ones that I still talk to, the ones I want to share important things with, and the ones I want IN my wedding. It's weird but it works.

They taught me so much through the years that I will always appreciate and hold dear to my heart and there's not a day that goes by that I don't think of them and worry about them like I always have. They're my pride and joy and I brag about them and people probably get annoyed but I don't care because I know that my boys will take care of the haters.

And though we might not see each other everyday or even talk to each other everyday anymore, they will always be there in everything that I do because I don't want to have to hear the critiques if I mess up.