Drowning

I have never done creative writing. I am an all academic writing type girl. However, I wrote this last semester at a time when I was feeling particularly bogged down with life and expectations. Since this semester is progressively more stressful (I like to call it the perfect storm of a semester), I felt like reminding myself that I made it through last semester and can make it through this one too.

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I have never been in a situation of possibly drowning, unless you count the times I was held under water while horse playing in the pool with my brothers as a little girl. But, as a consumer of mass media, I can imagine what it would be like to drown.

I would be engulfed by a mass of liquid that is simultaneously strong and consuming while being fluid and illusory. My body would be extended making the length from my fingertips to my tiptoes feel lengths taller than they actually are. I imagine that while my legs and arms are flailing back and forth as fast and often as I physically can make them go, the time will actually be ticking by slower than the laws of physics say are possible. My lungs begin to burn with hatred for this element that has sustained my life for so long but is now betraying me by trying to infiltrate areas it doesn’t belong. Just as my lungs begin to give up on ever being filled with air again, the flailing of my arms and legs pays off and I gasp. I’ve been projected above the surface of the water and my lungs are gasping for as much air as possible. This brief moment of lifesaving air renews my body’s energy to take up the fight with the betraying substance once again. This renewal, however, is promptly followed by a repeat of the struggle with the meek hope of another replenishment of the ever-distant substance of oxygen.
    

This process of being pulled underwater and struggling to get above water to catch a gasp of air is the same process that I go through as a PhD student. Every day is filled with projects to do, papers to write, articles to read, classes to prepare, research ideas to flush out, and statistical designs to grasp. One on top of the other begins to feels as if each deadline and expectation weighs down, ultimately engulfing me making it impossible for me to reach the surface or even remember that there still is a surface. I don’t know why, possibly just out of wrote or subconscious movements, I keep pushing my way up. Thrashing through the sludge of internal and external expectations and then finally, gasp. With all the odds leading to more stress and less understanding, a moment comes when you’ve hit the surface for a moment and intake the briefest of wonderful breaths. That defying moment comes with a sudden understanding of a difficult concept or even just a positive comment at the bottom of a paper you spent countless hours on. These small gulps of affirmation act as a sense of renewal which encourage a plunge back into the water that is doctoral candidacy.  
  

I Text Dead People

A couple days ago, I picked up the phone to text my friend. But he's dead so I couldn't. Instead, a copious amount of tears ensued.

In grad school we wrote a paper together about the change in broadcast news in 1963 when the networks went from 15 to 30 minutes. We had late night pow wow sessions where we talked all about Cronkite, Huntley, and Brinkley. We read books, news paper articles, and watched clips about them. It was such an interesting story to try and insert ourselves into, even just as flies on the wall. We wanted to understand just a little bit of an era that encompassed so much passion.

I started watching the show News Room on Amazon Prime, kind of as my last hurrah of binge watching tv series before classes start on Monday. The opening segment of the first season consist of clips of those same famous, ground breaking news reporters: Cronkite, Huntley, and Brinkley. 

Naturally, I wanted to tell Dave about it. Dammit Dave, why do you have to be dead right now? I just wanted to talk to you. 

A few weeks ago, I went to Utah to visit some friends. Camille was in Utah for a book signing and meeting half way is way better than driving 24 hours to Alberta. It also gave me an excuse to stay with Giulia and geek out on Doctor Who. And, like always, when I'm in Utah I try and catch up with my cohort from my masters program so about half of us meet up for dinner in SLC. 

The main reason I went though, was to visit Dave's grave. I missed his funeral and graveside service because I was in Denmark. I knew though, that Dave's adventurous self would have killed me through whatever unconventional ghostly means necessary if I had come home early from my trip. So I continued globetrotting and made it as soon as I could to pay my respects. 

Part of me knows that he is in a better place, he's not in pain now, he wouldn't want me to be sad... all the cliché phrases you hear and say. But, I am sad. 

Driving around Utah and seeing all the places I'd been to with him made me sad. Seeing the grad lab at school made me sad. Remembering the time he saw me cry made me sad. Watching stupid TV shows and instinctively trying to text him makes me sad. Missing him makes me sad.  

I love you and I miss you Dave

Yes, I'm still single

I watched Bridget Jones' Diary tonight. I saw many similarities and many differences in our lives. One of each stuck out to me. Her first entry to her last spanned across a years time. In that time, she was still struggling with her weight (similarity) and she had two men fall for her (difference).

After being humiliated for being single and shamelessly getting pushed on people by her mother, Bridget told herself (as she sang along to All by my self) that she was going to change things in her life and not be single the following year. And what would you know, she kept none of her goals and proceeded to have two separate relationships in that given time. I will have you know, that I may or may not have been singing Celine Dion's chorus of depression while making the same vows to myself on more than one occasion. And so far, my real life story has a number of failed attempts at relationships, awkward first kisses, and a more consistent on-again/off-again relationship with Tinder than any man.

So, as I lay in bed waiting for the melatonin to set in and kicking myself for not taking two, I decided to hit up pinterest. I typed "motivation for single women" in the search bar, hoping for... I don't know, motivation? Instead, 90% of the items that came up were things like "6 Exercises for a tighter, sexier butt." And ironically enough, the other 10% were quotes like the following:  

So, the motivation I get is to make myself look better for a man and be independent enough that you don't need a man. A bit of an oxymoron if you ask me. 

First of all, PINTEREST, I go to the gym and worry about my weight for me. So that I am happy with myself and to make myself healthier. Not because I am single and need to look better to attract someone. 

Second of all, I really don't understand the world we live in. It is motivational for a father to tell his young daughter that she doesn't need a man in her life. Which leads her to become capable, educated, and independent. But then society tells capable, educated, and independent women that they are too intimidating to men. And every movie out there with romance in the plot has the girl getting the guy because she needs the guy for something, guy helps, guy feels needed, guy and girl hook up. EVEN THE MOVIES ABOUT SMART GIRLS HAVE THE SAME THING! I mean even aside from movies, you all know (or maybe are the one) guys who end up with a girl not because they were MFEO but because she was needy enough to make him feel special and needed. Less often do you see guys fall for the girl who can change her own light bulbs, walk herself to her car in the dark, and carry her own heavy boxes (even if it requires sliding them across the floor). 

This is not meant to be a bitter diatribe of a single person. I actually find myself thinking I am lucky to be single because the effort of a relationship would be way too much to handle while in school. I guess I wanted Pinterest to lead me to someone's blog who is single and not depressed, but instead happy with life, not bitter toward men, and still looking for love while not being desperate about it. That way I could read their journey and be able to relate to a real life single person. And if there were days this fictional person would get down about her single status she'd share how she got out of it. Or, to share ideas about meeting people and leaving your comfort zone (i.e. your pajamas) every once and awhile. 

Since that is not what I found, I thought you know, why don't I just write something? 

They call me Master Chelsie

I am starting to stress out this semester and need an outlet. So, here is to hoping this is the start of a lot of posts on the life of a PhD student.

In the past six months, a lot has happened.

• Wrote a thesis
• Had a new niece (Ashley Marisol Akers)
• Defended a thesis 
• Graduated with a Masters Degree
• Became a brides made (congrats Giulia!)
• Moved to Tucson, AZ with BFF Alicia
• Had a new nephew (Hutchinson Fairbanks)- like it or not buddy!
•  Started first PhD courses
• Started TA job 
• Ditched house and moved again
• Accrued more student loans
• Consumed more DDP than humanly possible
• Got a personal trainer 

How is it being a PhD student you ask? Well, It takes me at least three hours to read and hopefully understand the readings from each of my two classes. Then, I have to write papers on those readings, and for each of those classes I have a 10-20 page research paper due in December so I have to start developing and writing them now. Don't forget I have 2 hours of office hours for an online class I am TA-ing (I have yet to have a student come...), then I have to read and respond to discussion board questions from that class for three hours a week (think about how much you disliked writing those posts), and now my research team is starting an experiment that I am interviewing people (with a word for word script I am trying to memorize) for 5 straight hours a week. 

On top of this required stuff, I have figured out that I am too poor to survive on anything but ramen noodles and what self respecting 27 year old should live off of ramen, so I am working on getting a second job. With a masters degree, I am qualified to teach at the community college level. However, Rio Salado requires you to take an online class on how to teach an online class before being able to get a job with them. So, thanks to my dad's credit card, I signed up for yet another class in hopes of getting a job teaching with Rio by the end of the year. 

In other words, I need to stop writing this post and go back to analyzing the 6 readings I need to read for my environmental communications class. 

Hope Came in the Shape of a Drop of Blood

Previously on the Mind of a Gus, I retold an epiphany I had this summer...

I came to the conclusion, on the steps of a monument, commemorating the life of a man with a 19 foot tall statue, that neither me or that girl will ever become someone people will make a 19 foot statue for. We will never be famous. We will never be unique. How can there be unique when there are almost 7 billion people on the earth right now? 

After my mom read this post (I'm not sure if she is a regular reader or not) her only comment was that I am a cynic when I write. That, I will own up to fully. It is possible that I am a cynic about a lot of things in life. However, hopefully this will make up for a bit of it.

And now, for the rest of the story:

Months after this so called epiphany, I was at a pretty low point in my life. Nothing the average Joe hasn't been through in their own lives, but to me it just seemed like God couldn't throw me a freaking bone.

I was at work, walking from house to house, knocking and ringing doorbells. I had gone through my usual list of affirmations to get myself pumped and positive: I LOVE MY JOB (repeated over and over), I am great at sales, I want a new pair of shoes....But, nobody was answering their doors and I could even hear them inside, "Mom, I think it's someone trying to sell something...shhhh, don't answer it." Erk, that bothered me.

Anyway, I got a call from my dear brother. It was almost one in the afternoon which means that it was before 10 in the morning for him. It kinda freaked me out because 1.) he never calls and 2.) he is never awake that early. Well, he was calling to check up on me. Oh, I love that kid.

I spent the next few minutes venting to him about how rough everything in life was going. I found myself saying feeling I must have been having for awhile and had just never said: "I am so frustrated with Heavenly Father. I did everything to make sure I was doing what he wanted me to do and then He put all these stumbling blocks in my way, so why should I go to Him for help."

Again, I have been stewing on the fact that no one in the world is unique and in that case, why should even God care.

Adam listened to me and then gently replied with a few comments that gave me some hope back. The first being: if you're gonna have a battle come up in your life, of any sort (in my case depression, anxiety, health problems...) you're gonna have to deal with it. If you deal with it alone or with the help of prescriptions then great. But, if you fight it doing everything you can AND have the Lord next to you helping you, you can only be better off.

After that, Adam reminded me of the Atonement of Christ. That He lived, bled, and died for each of us individually. I have had numerous accounts in my life where I knew this was true. That Christ knows me personally and that He knows what I'm going through. But I had forgotten.

Sure, me nor that girl in DC will ever have statues made of us. I will never be the president, or a rock star, or the winner of a nobel peach prize or the pulitzer. But to God and Jesus Christ, I am unique in thousands of ways from anyone else who has ever lived on this earth or who ever will. I believe that when Jesus Christ suffered for our pains, afflictions, and sins, he didn't suffer for them in bulk. He didn't suffer and shed one drop of blood for everyone who will ever experience depression. No, He bled a drop of blood for me, Chelsie Akers and my multiple struggles that were going on during the summer of 2013.

To some of you, this may seem far fetched or even crazy. But in Adams words "wouldn't it be sad" if it wasn't immensely personal.

One in Seven Billion

This summer, as I was out in DC, I had an epiphany. Bare with me on the retelling of my thoughts...

I was walking up the stairs to the Lincoln memorial and there was a class of some sort (I assume a "close up" type experience) coming up the stairs along side me. I slowed down to let them pass and to watch them. Sure, call me a creeper, I like to consider myself a people watcher.

As they pass, a girl with a camera and a notebook, lags behind a little. I watch as she pulls away from the group and slowly looks at the monument while taking a few photos and writing a thing or two. Then she just stops and "ponders" for a bit before she heads back to the group.

As I watched her, there were many things going through my head. First, this girl wants to be different. She is probably known by her peers as the nerd, or the artist, or the deep thinker. Her teacher probably assumes that she will go on to be something amazing. Second, she has probably had so much positive and negative attention from her being "different" that she personally believes that she will grow up to be something amazing as well. Third, all of it is in vain. Her trying to be different, the accolades from her teachers, peers, and even her own hopes and dreams, they are all in vain.

How many famous photographers are out there right now? Well, I googled it. One page lists 50, another 99, and another only 12. Out of the almost 7 billion people on earth right now, there are TWELVE famous photographers. What are her chances of growing up and being one of those twelve. Yup, I did the math these are her chances: 1.7142857e-09. I don't even know what that means besides, that her chances SUCK!

Well, lets cross photographer of her life goal list and go to writer. She doodled a little, maybe she could write something amazing about the Lincoln Memorial that will change peoples lives, move people to recycle more, stop wars, and even convince addicts to stop using. Or, she could stop kidding herself because in all of time, there have only been 14,510 books written by popular female authors. ALL OF TIME. And does she really think she can compete with Anne Frank, Jane Austene, Margaret Mitchell, Stephanie Meyer, Harriet Beecher Stowe, Anne Bronte, Ayn Rand, or Harper Lee? No, I think she better throw in the towel.

For that matter, how many people in the world have said "when I'm rich and famous"? Let's think about it, how many famous people are there really? In comparison to the population of the future, current, and past earth, there weren't that many famous people.

I came to the conclusion, on the steps of a monument, commemorating the life of a man with a 19 foot tall statue, that neither me or that girl will ever become someone people will make a 19 foot statue for. We will never be famous. We will never be unique. How can there be unique when there are almost 7 billion people on the earth right now?

As this thought permeated my mind for months, I think it depressed me. What is this all for? Why am I selling pest control? Well to pay for school, but why am I going to school? Well to get a good job, but why do I care if I have a good job? Well, to have money, but why do I need money? To do amazing things. Why do I need to do amazing things? Won't it all be the same if I try really hard to become someone important and fail (because I only have a 1.7142857e-09 chance of being important) or if I just sit in a movie theater for the rest of my life watching movies and eating popcorn (it would have to be at a harkins theater because they have DDP).

(This is an amazing post on depression) 

With this depressing thought bouncing around in my head for months, I had another experience that paralleled this one, which is a lot less depressing. Actually, it brought hope back to me. That however, will have to be told in the next post.

To be continued...

A Year to Live Life

What would you do if you had a year to do whatever you wanted? By this I mean no school, no work and all your bills had been pre-paid for the year, even leaving you the same average amount of spending money that you have when you work.

First, I would take an entire month to not leave the house. I would sleep 10+ hours a day, literally during the day. I'd then wake up some time in the evening and watch countless movies, tv shows, and even throw in some books to read when I got tired of watching tv. The goal for that month would be to 1) interact with no human being (unless they were taking my order for food delivery) and 2) to make up all the hours of sleep I've missed in my life.

Second, to stay on my goal of solitude and rejuvenation, I would drive my little red Prius to California and I would spend my days on the beach and my nights I'd sleep in my car.  There'd be no need for a suitcase of clothes because I'd live in my swim suit, so there'd be plenty of room to make a bed in the back of my Prius (yet to be named). I could do that for at least another month of my free life.

With both longing and dread I would leave California and head back to Arizona. I would spend the next ten months living on a very loose and flexible schedule:

AM

Pick up Rachel and Nathanael and go to the park or movies or go swimming

 

Go outside and garden

 

Go to the gym or on a bike ride

PM

Go to Lindsay's and Jared's to play with Ainsley

 

Cook something

Sip DDP as I read a book on the porch

Do an activity - paint/decorate a room, sew a quilt, take a photography class...

Go to the movies/ dinner with the family - Mattas with whole family, gay bar tacos with Adam, Claim Jumpers with Hannah, Oggies with Corey, or Logan's Steak House with Mom and Dad

After a few months of this regimen, I would take another road trip and head up to Calgary to impose on Camille and Kyle. They'd probably get sick of me after the first week, I know how hard it can be to have house guests... But while I'm taking up residency in their basement (one of my favourite places in the world), I'd cook them meals (since they'd unfortunately still be working), clean, shovel snow (they'd have to teach me how), run their errands, get the mail, pack lunches... I'd practically be a house elf and I'd love every minute of it. In fact, if they'd have me, I might even spend two months of my year there. One when it's beautiful outside to experience Alberta in it's prime and one in the winter when it's miserable, just to say I've experienced a Canadian winter.

Then, in the middle of this euphoric year a fairy would come and grant me one lifetime dream. She would pay for me to get helicopter lessons. I would then add this into my daily schedule and live as happy as could be!

This, my friends, is what I would do if I had a year to just live my life.