Moments That Matter Most

Moments are the molecules that make up eternity

Why can’t life have a repeat button?

You know when you find a song you like? The one you just can’t get out of your head? And you play it over and over. You begin to sing it in the shower. You find yourself dancing to the beat…. Even when you find yourself in total silence. You jam out in your car when you think no one is looking. (awkward) And eventually, the lyrics begin to penetrate your thoughts and fill your soul. In my mind, that is the definition of a well-written song. 

One of the bummer things about life is that any given moment, no matter how awesome it is, cannot be replayed.  Even those picture perfect moments that seem to leap right off the pages of a fairy dusted storybook cannot be relived. They just can’t.

Well, Last night was one of those nights that I want to replay a thousand times. And since I have accepted the fact that life is dynamic, that the only thing we can expect to be 100% constant is change, I decided to jot down my thoughts so that they last longer

Nothing extraordinary happened last night. Just a good night with some of my favorite people doing some of my favorite things.

First, I took a trip to the hospital to see my cute sister Rachel who recently had jaw surgery. Now if you don’t know Rach, and if you don’t, you really should. Everyone needs a little Rachel Rose in their lives, let me just tell you… this girl is a warrior. 

As a side story that I think exhibits my love for this sweet girl perfectly, a few years ago a fun family hike turned into a disaster. We were on top of this mountain, alone and lost. We had resorted to the stream for our drinking water and our food supply was about out. It was getting dark and we were getting scared. Real scared. I have never seen my strong, capable, football player dad so distraught.

Why am I telling you this story? Because Rach surprised us all with her courage, strength, and selflessness as she has many times before and after this beloved moment in the mountains. She massaged my back and assured me that it would all be okay. (by this point I was one step short of a basket case) She then scaled the mountain looking for the trail. Nothing fazed her. Not the rattlesnakes. Not the fact that her legs were all cut up and bloody. Nothing. She simply did what needed to be done in the most courageous, graceful way possible.

Despite our seven year age difference, I have long since said I want to be like Rachel when I grow up.

Yesterday I got to see my Rach in a slightly different light. This time on a hospital bed with some ridiculous looking head wrap. Swollen and bloody. In her words she said she looked like a “bear.” But just as brave. Just as beautiful. Just as strong.

I love that girl.

Then, I met my other, soon to be missionary, sister Katie and my grandparents for dinner at our favorite Thai place in Salt Lake. I truly believe that pad thai and curry is comfort food at its finest. Katie has a talent for cultivating deep dinner talks and she did just that. We talked to our fossils about their lives. They told stories of falling in love and raising children. For a moment, we got to relive some of their precious memories, triumphs and failures, along side them. As most elderly do, they have a pure perspective on the purpose of life. They are able to boil seemingly complex scenarios down to simple truths. Above all, their love for each other and their zeal and appreciation for life never ceases to shine through their interlocked hands and their sparkling eyes.

At that moment, they provided me a blueprint for how I want my life to go. They gave me a fresh perspective.

Katie and I made our way to the Jazz game talking about everything and nothing all at the same time. Just as sisters do, we discussed boys and fashion. We attempted to make somewhat of a bucket list for her last few weeks at home as she is about to leave me for 18 whole months. I am only kind of bitter as I am so so excited for her to have her own adventures. we simply tried to make the most of our precious time together.

I know that a few months from now I am really going to miss these moments. So I just am trying to take them in, one at a time.

“Moments are the molecules that make up eternity.” –  Neil A. Maxwell

face marred by dust, head filled with equations

So there is a week in every collegiate semester that makes all of the blood, sweat and tears shed over the previous four months worthwhile. Because during this last week our professors share precious gems of knowledge that they have acquired over their lives. Now, in contrast to the last two years of weed-out classes of about 800 students, my current courses are oh so personal. With about 15 students per classroom our professors know us well. very well. They've been willing to explain and reexplain as we tried our best to grasp these complicated financial concepts. They were patient with us even when we snuck a peak at our cell phones, and maybe even dozed off a few times during those morning hours. They sought to teach in a way that we could understand relating things like moral hazard and the barter economy to core principles of dating. They even may have let us take an midterm after the exam had closed... just because you got the dates mixed up. yeahhh I'm still in shock about that. 

Needless to say, over the semester we have become tight. 

This week has been especially meaningful for me as I'd venture to say that this semester was the most difficult, yet the most influential of my entire academic career. 

I struggled basically every day just to stay afloat. I battled with constant feelings of inadequacy with only occasional glimpses of sunlight. (I've come to the conclusion that anyone taking four finance classes after a 2-year sabbatical would probably have a somewhat similar experience.) 

But this week I have been able to ponder the semester holistically and now, even with finals looming in the near future, I feel an immense sense of gratitude for the things I was able to accomplish over the last four months. While I will openly admit that there is still a lot about this great big world that I do not understand. Not even a little bit. But I think there is something to be said about the fact that I was able to have a captivating conversation with my dad last week on the ski slopes based on... drum roll pleaseeee...  interest rates. Yeah shocking, I know. That would have been unimaginable back in September. 

So here's to us doing things that are really, really challenging. Here's to us making mistakes but finding the strength to get up just one more time. 

Specific "last lecture" notes to follow but for now, enjoy some good Roosevelt wisdom:

"It is not the critic who counts; not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles, or where the doer of deeds could have done them better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood; who strives valiantly; who errs, who comes short again and again, because there is no effort without error and shortcoming; but who does actually strive to do the deeds; who knows great enthusiasms, the great devotions; who spends himself in a worthy cause; who at the best knows in the end the triumph of high achievement, and who at the worst, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly, so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who neither know victory nor defeat."

                                                                             -Theodore Roosevelt