From the Mixed-Up Files of...well...ME

When I was in fifth grade, Mr. Soderberg--the first and only teacher to ever give me a D in a subject--shared with us some of what would become the most influential books in my life. Such a book is, From the Mixed-up Files of Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiler. The book is about...well here, this summary is more eloquently stated:

When suburban Claudia Kincaid decides to run away, she knows she doesn't just want to run from somewhere she wants to run to somewhere--to a place that is comfortable, beautiful, and preferably elegant. She chooses the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York City. Knowing that her younger brother, Jamie, has money and thus can help her with the serious cash flow problem she invites him along. 

Of course, this post has nothing to do with museums or childhood dreams (I tend to ramble in the beginning of my posts) but rather this post is about a person who, perhaps unknowingly, became my confidant in so many ways with so many things in my life; however, due to some unforeseeable circumstances, well, life happened.

Now that I'm home, with enough time to think of "what-ifs" and "why-nots" and "seriously-why-am-I-still-thinking-about-this" moments, I've also had enough time to search through my archives (located in the garage-of-the-house-my-parents-moved-into-while-I-was-away-at-college-thus everything-I-own-is-packed-in-boxes-and-I-am-definitely-still-bitter-about-this) and I found some letters. Part of me wants to dispose of these letters and any hard drive they may be backed-up on, but the other part of me realizes that in life (because I've obviously lived so much of it) moments like these are never meant to be forgotten. Thus ends my epilogue to a series and collection of letters found in the Mixed-Up Files of Yours Truly.

December 10, 2010
"Love of the Game" 

So I had a research paper I was writing on the World Series and I interviewed Elder Vasquez about his experiences playing baseball, this is what he said: Cool so baseball... I guess I can start saying it has been my everything for the first 18 years of my life. When I think of baseball I think of team work, goals, and dedication to something you truly love. Even though we know everythibng in excess is not healthy, when I say it was my life I do not mean it was replaced by all other worldy things such as school, friends, etc. "Losing myself in the game" was something that I knew I was working on. Something I dedicated all my heart, might, mind, and stregnth to. When I would lose myself completely in the game I knew my purpose, I knew my goals, and I knew what was required of me mentally and physically before, during, and after the game in order for me to be triumphant in the end. 

During my high school years, baseball taught me many valuable principles in my life. It was a whole new level of game and required for me to dedicate a lot of my free time to it. But it was something that I loved, it was something I enjoyed doing, and I always looked forward to the 2:30 bell so that I could run out to the field and begin to work on my physical and mental weaknesses. Striving to fulfill my goals, brought excitment and happiness in my life. It gave me a reason to be better everyday; it gave me hope and taught me dilligence. Being lost in what you love the most has not only brought me blessings of joy in my life but taught me a few basic principles that is universal for all. Faith, hope, charity, obedience, dilligence, patience, and knowledge were all fruits that came from being lost in the game. Now as I have grown, there are other things that catch my attention and attracts my love but I will never forget the joy that came from being lost in the thing I loved the most. 

I know now that even though I didnt go to church on Sundays when I was young and missed out on many blessings throughout my life, baseball was supposed to be a part of my life and being lost in it has molded me into the type of person Heavenly Father wants me to be. 

Thanks =) 

Elder Vasquez

All Things Go

There are many things wrong with the notion of remaining a child forever; beginning with the fact that we associate this inability to come to terms with reality with none other than Peter Pan. HAVE YOU SEEN HIS EYEBROWS? My argument should really end there; but, as I have teetered on the edge of adulthood, I have come to realize that what makes "becoming an adult" difficult, is that we assume childhood is bliss. However, it isn't the innocence we seek after as we wish ourselves into regression, but rather, a decrease in responsibility.

I often sit in bed, thinking myself in circles, to the point of exhaustion, with only room for one thought, "if only I were a kid again."But, not once have I thought, "I wish I were stupid again," or in more accurate terms, "I wish I knew less, experienced less, seen less." It is a wonder then that as human beings we have constantly sought after knowledge only to realize, rather abruptly, that we were better off without it; and thus, begin to look for someone to blame, some corner to hide in, or some lie to tell ourselves. The intricacies of human behavior, however, are beyond me. The point to my rather inarticulate rant is this:

It's time to grow up.

And thus, begins the next phase in my life: grad school. Often nights I manage to freak myself out with the overwhelming reality of student loans, moving cross-country, and a bunch of other what-nots. After visiting my new home this past summer, however, I have come to grips with my fears of inadequacy and responsibility, and come to a simple conclusion: All Things Go. (I must admit, I stole that line from a song by Sufjan Stevens, Chicago. Seemed appropriate.) In 5 weeks I will be make the big move, hopefully I'll learn that growing up isn't all that bad.