The truth is...

Just because I post on Facebook frequently does not mean you *speaking in general terms* know me.

Just because I post pictures of New York does not mean my life is amazingly exciting.

Just because I'm always positive on Facebook does not mean I'm never negative.

Just because I talk about Paleo on Facebook does not mean I don't eat treats on a regular occurrence.

Just because my life doesn't have your problems does not mean it does not have problems.


Let me tell you who does know me.

The people who choose to talk to me outside of Facebook land. I have one friend here in Seattle, who completely left Facebook for several months. She came back for a week and then just realized it wasn't for her and left again. Do you know who I turned to yesterday when I basically had a panic attack about my life...its lack of direction and (what I was feeling at the time) lack of meaningful relationships? S, my non-Facebook friend.

S immediately befriended me when I moved to Seattle. Immediately. She was not in the Relief Society presidency. She was not in any sort of leadership calling. She was not my visiting teacher. And she was not a non-popular girl (yes, I'm speaking in high school terms, because...let's be honest, remaining single in the LDS scene reverts you back to high school.) S is known by all. She's funny, liked, knows everybody and everybody knows her. So, I wasn't her desperate attempt at making an only friend. She already had friends. She didn't need me.

I had a wall up when I moved to Seattle. I'd go to church with a bit of a chip on my shoulder. "I'm tired of having to make friends. It's exhausting, you have to make small-talk, you have to beat around the bush several times before you can start talking about real stuff...then you do talk about real stuff and they get married and you have to start all over again." That's what I told myself. And because of that, I had a bit of a "I DON'T CARE" sign on my forehead. Actually, not a bit of one...a big one. For that reason AND because I had heard about something called "The Seattle Freeze," where it's known that the long-time Seattle people freeze out the new-timers...never inviting them to anything and making them feel left out and loser-ish...I put the "I DON'T CARE" sign up frequently...to protect myself, of course. *Don't you wish you were single again? I'm sure you're just thinking "MAN that sounds so fun and mature!" This type of thing occurs everywhere. Utah. Idaho. Washington D.C. Seattle.*

Over the past year, S somehow managed to remove that sign from my forehead. She'd randomly drop by the house where I lived, chatting with me and my roommates. Asking us to accompany her to get some hot chocolate or go camping or whatever. She'd throw little parties and always include me....WHEN SHE DIDN'T EVEN KNOW ME. Seriously, the first month I was in Seattle, she threw a little get-together and invited me to it...sending me a private message (back when she was on Facebook) telling me how much she'd love for me to come. I didn't go, because I still had the sign up. But that didn't stop her from trying.

Then one day we figured out we rode the same bus into downtown in the mornings. I would always listen to my music on the bus...and never wanted her to think I actually cared if she sat by me, so the first few weeks, I'd always let her come to me...just to make sure she actually did want to talk in the mornings. (I have insecurities that I usually don't make apparent.) And, she always did. She'd see me, move toward the back of the bus where I was, sit down and start talking. And it was then...those mornings on the bus, that I finally...FINALLY removed the "I DON'T CARE" sign from my forehead.

We no longer ride the same bus, because I moved...but we've kept our friendship strong.

S saved me from myself...from my insecurities, my frustrations, my pessimism...that were all keeping me from making friends.

So, yesterday, when I had a melt down...who did I turn to? Roommates were gone, I was bawling. I texted S and headed to her house. She had no idea it would be a melt-down session, so when I asked if I could come over she was like, "Absolutely!" I go inside her house and immediately start to cry and she says something like, "Oh...okay. It's one of those days. Have a seat. Put up your feet. I'll go get my really soft tissues." And for the next hour and a half, we cried together.

I love S. She's an angel. She's had bad days too, of course. It's not all one-sided. I've listened to her in times of distress. But the point is, she and I would not be friends if it had been left up to me. I'm ashamed to say it, but seriously...we would not have been friends. She magically broke down my wall, and I took down the sign.

I am so thankful for people who listen to the promptings of the Spirit. I'm thankful for small miracles. For unseen angels. For the team that surrounds us, even when we don't know they're there. They are there. God knows us. He doesn't just see what we put on Facebook for people to see...He sees everything. And I'm thankful for that.

Dear Dad... A letter of reflection

Dear Dad,

It’s been a long time. Twenty years is a really long time. When someone turns 20 years old, people tell them that they’re still young. That they’ve got plenty of living to do. But when a person you love has been missing from your life’s story for 20 years…that’s a LONG time. Years of change, growth, mistakes, pain, triumphs, joys, laughter, tears, knowledge gained and so much more…all passed without you here. Twenty. You've been gone twenty years.

These past couple of days, as we’ve been approaching the 20-year mark of you being gone, I've had memories wash over me…coming and going in waves. Feelings. My heart keeps going back in time, to the end of your life. That time was a bit rough. My brain and heart were going through a lot of turmoil, because I was ready for you to die. I was only 8, you know. I’ve had to remind myself of that multiple times these past 20 years. Only 8…close to 9. I look at 8-year-olds now and think, “Wow. Really? That’s how old I was when Dad died? Really? They’re just babies.” But I felt so old. Those last two years of your life, and especially the last few weeks of your life, you weren’t the dad I knew. You were really the only dad Kayleen knew, but I remembered a lot better from before. And you had changed…and you were rapidly changing toward the end. I don’t clearly remember saying goodbye to you. I remember being a little nervous…the last time I saw you. You couldn’t speak. And Grandma kept coaxing me to say things. It’s vague. Fuzzy. What I really remember is the feeling. The feeling of knowing you were going to die. That soon, the hype would end, that people would be sad, and we’d be left to face the future without you.

Feelings. So many emotions for such a young kid. I don’t really know when or how it happened, but I became Mom’s help-mate. She treated me like her equal. She’d talk to me about her worries and ask my advice on things. Sure, I was still a kid, but it was Mom and the kids. We were a team. She did a really great job as a single parent. Better than could be expected. We were all tired…and emotional. Lots of fast-food eating. Lots of daycare time. But Mom always knew what was important. We’d all crawl in your big water bed at night and she’d read to us. She’d wake us up in the morning with a kiss on the cheek. And before school, we’d learn the Articles of Faith by standing around the piano and singing them while we waited for the bus.

There was a time after you died that I was angry. I was a pretty angry kid for a while. They say, statistically speaking, that kids who lose a parent have a hard time adjusting in the world. Many kids have long-lasting effects and challenges from losing a parent. Apparently, the younger your age when losing a loved one, the more impact that loss causes you in certain pivotal moments of your life. There are life-altering moments along the way to adult-hood, and even when adult-hood hits. And every time one of those moments occurs and you’re not there, the wave and emotion of loss hits 10-fold all over again. Like, for instance, your first church or school dance. Your first day of high school. Learning to drive a car. Going on your first date. Making a touch-down or a home-run hit in a big game. Winning a State competition. Graduating from high school. Baring your testimony in church for the first time. Passing the sacrament in church for the first time. Winning first prize for baked cookies at the County Fair. Getting your Eagle Scout. Starting your first day of college. Coming home for the first holiday after starting college. Leaving to serve a mission. Bringing home the person you want to marry. Announcing your engagement. Having your first child. And so on and so forth. The pain isn’t any less the older you are when losing a parent. And you have more time to gain a relationship with that parent when they pass at an older age. But the freshness of the loss reoccurs over and over and over….more times the younger you are when you lose that parent. And for me, Dad…I’ve had 20 years of pivotal moments without you. Moments where the loss has washed over me, drowning me in longing and desire.

But, let’s not get dramatic. By the way Dad, in case you didn’t know…I am a dramatic person. I used to hate that about myself. I’ve come to embrace it. Dramatic people don’t necessarily like, attract or want to attract drama. They just feel and express things very intensely. That’s a common misconception (in my opinion) about dramatic people. And that’s me. I don’t express or feel things half way. It’s pretty much all or nothing for me. And I’ve figured out…or, I’m still figuring out how to handle it. I think I kind of became this way when you left. I mean, I’m sure I had bits of my personality prior to you leaving. But I think the fact that you were taken from me without my choice…no control…made me need all or nothing commitments. No half-hearted attempts. No wishy-washy friendships. No maybes. I need commitment.  

Losing you has made me want to give a lot in my life. There are a lot of people aching…so many people with breaking hearts. I think I’ve figured out how to use my heart-break to fuel my love for and desire to give to the people around me. I’m still selfish at times. Pride creeps in a lot. I get angry and lash out on occasion. But I try…try so hard to give people the benefit of the doubt. I don’t know what they experienced as a kid. I don’t know who left them along the way. I don’t know what they’re experiencing right now. So, I try… I try to see the commonalities between me and them. And I try to give. And I feel like I wouldn’t be this way if you hadn’t left. Your death has brought out some of the worst, but some of the best qualities in me. I have a particular soft spot for homeless people. I seriously cry whenever I see homeless people. I try to talk to them and find out a little bit about them.  And…kids. For a while I was volunteering at a place called The Healing Center. It was a center for grieving families, children, teens and young adults who had lost loved ones. When you died, I went to a place called The Dougy Center, which helps grieving children. If it hadn’t been for The Dougy Center, and church…I don’t think I would have dealt with your death in a healthy manner. So, I tried to give back in a similar environment…The Healing Center. I worked with them for a little while, helping at events and such, but it was honestly hard for me. Being surrounded by so many people with such raw heart-ache, but not being able to interact with them on a personal level…it kind of got to me. So, lately, I’ve been putting energy into applying to the Big Brother Big Sister nonprofit program. It’s a long application process, and I really hope I get accepted. I want to be a consistent “somebody” in a kid’s life.

When you left, Heavenly Father blessed me with consistent “somebodies.”  And He’s blessed me with them year after year. Many of my consistent “somebodies”…in fact, the majority of them in my childhood, came in the church environment. Teachers and leaders who saw me, saw that I needed a consistent somebody, and chose to make me a priority in their life. 

I thank God all the time that you and mom met, and raised us in the Gospel of Jesus Christ, as members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. I’m so thankful you found your way back to the Gospel after a time of darkness, and that you decided to change your life’s direction and accept the Lord’s help and Atonement. I’m so so proud of you for working hard to be worthy to serve a mission. I LOVE that you chose to marry Mom. I LOVE that you two chose to love each other…put imperfections aside, and chose to love each other. I LOVE that you chose to love God.

Dad, I’m not perfect. I used to care a lot about perfection. So much so, that I drove myself into a deep depression over it. As a kid, I was terrified my imperfections would keep me from seeing you again. It kind of caused an obsessive compulsive behavior of consistently agonizing over my weaknesses and imperfections, and needing to confess all my faults to the world. At age NINE. And TEN. And ELEVEN. I would agonize…torture myself of misdeeds I had done, things that might keep me out of Heaven with you. One time, at age 9, I had convinced myself that I could have murdered someone in my sleep and suppressed the memory…put it deep in my subconscious. And I would never see you again because I had done something so unforgiveable, and would never be able to make up for it. I would spend my nights panicking and crying and confessing every possible sin I could have ever committed and would ever commit in the future to Mom. Poor woman. She had a lunatic child. BUT, the point is…this obsessive compulsiveness progressed throughout my life, manifested itself in depression sometimes…and all came to a really ugly head a couple years ago, when I was able to finally…FINALLY let go of the idea of perfection. That statement confuses some people. And I’m still exploring what that means for me. It doesn’t mean that I’m not trying to better myself. I’m always trying to better myself. It doesn’t mean that I’m not trying to be like the Savior. I am trying to be like the Savior. But what it does mean is I’ve finally realized that I cannot control my imperfections. Not alone. And if I ignore them…try to pretend they’re not there…or hate myself for having them and waste my time wishing them away…that does me NO good. It makes it so that I rely on myself too much. It makes it so I hate myself if any imperfection creeps out of the box under my bed in which I’ve tried to stuff it. If I embrace my imperfections…recognize I have them, maybe even announce some of them, I’m then able to acknowledge I have them with the Savior, and work with Him to overcome them. So, I’m not perfect. And sometimes, throughout my life, I’ve worried that if you were here, and knew of some of the things I’ve felt, thought or done in my life, that you would be disappointed in me…maybe wouldn’t like me. But I’m letting go of those feelings. And it feels SO. GOOD. With the Savior’s help, it’s okay. It’s all going to be okay.

Dad, the reality is, I miss you. I do. I long for you at times. There’s a spot in my heart that is empty…and is only temporarily tied over with the knowledge that I’ll one day see you again. I KNOW…I KNOW I will see you again. I will. You’re not gone. You’re still here. This isn’t just a coping mechanism. This isn’t just something I believe because it’s the only way I’ll survive. It’s something I know in my bones, in my flesh, in my spirit, in my mind, in my heart. Every single inch of me knows I will see you again. You are not gone. You are always here. And while I’ve had to live without your laugh, your smile, your touch, your voice…I haven’t had to live without you, because you…the real YOU is still alive. I don’t care what anybody tells me. YOU are still living. And I WILL see you again. I know it. I absolutely know it. I know I’ll be able to rekindle and build the relationship I started with you in the first nearly-nine years of my life. We will get this time back. We will have our chance to get to know each other. To make memories. To love each other. To bond. I know it.

Thank you for being the dad you were. Thank you for loving us. For spending so much quality time with us that we remember details about you that most kids wouldn’t remember from such a young age. Thank you for taking time to be with us. Thank you for taking me to work with you. Thank you for not coming home from work and watching T.V., but instead…chasing us around the house as the Tickle Monster, telling us stories in a dark room with a flashlight, for reading to us, for lifting us up on your feet to make us fly, and talking and listening to us like our thoughts were pieces of gold you treasured and couldn’t let go unheard. Thank you, Dad. Thank you for loving me…and leaving me with the best memories, the best faith, the best Mom and the best brother and sister I could ever ask for. Thank you for your life. I will see you again.

Love,

Crys

P.S. In the letter you wrote to me before you died, you said, “Dear Crys, (I hope you don’t mind me calling you Crys).”  No Dad, I still don’t mind you calling me Crys. I LOVE it. It's endearing, and as I always say...tender. And thanks for that letter, by the way. It’s gotten me through some dang rough patches. LOVE you!

A title is too much pressure

I'm feeling the need to make a difference. Do something big. Make the world a better place.

I want to better my community. Or help a homeless young adult. Or be a support to someone who's fighting the battle of obesity.

I have a good job. I'm living the life of a single woman in a big city. I have friends, I have roommates, I have coworkers, I have insurance. I have a decent beginner's salary. But, right now, I feel like I don't have a lot of purpose.

I've made peace with the idea of being single for the remainder of this life. I know it's still very early to know for sure. But I think it's healthy to make peace with all possible situations. To be honest, if the possibility of marriage were to come along, I think I'd be very nervous...very apprehensive...very cautious. I've just been living with myself for so long (close to 29 years), and I feel like I still have so much to improve and learn about myself.

Anyway. I love Seattle. I really do. I love that I work in the city, in a tall beautiful building. I love that I commute into the city on the bus every day. I love that the city is surrounded by water. I love that I can smell the water as I walk through the city. I love people-watching. The other day, I watched as a man chased another man down to return the cell phone that had fallen out of the man's pocket. I love the good I see.

I don't love homelessness. I see it in its rawest form on a daily basis. People sleeping on streets in the morning. People with mental illness walking around...aimlessly, talking to themselves in clothes that wreak of day's worth of sweat and body odor. I hate it. I absolutely HATE it. I think what I hate the most is I can't do a DANG THING for them. I can give them money. I can talk to them...treat them like real people, because, after all...they are real people. They have parents, they once had a home...they have a story. But really, I can't do anything for them. And it seriously maddens me. I'm frustrated just thinking about it. How do I change it? I can't. I don't know how.

The thing is, friends...I need purpose in my life. I need to join a cause. Or...change a life. Or...I don't know, do something that can, in some very SMALL way, make up for the loss of motherhood. I realize I still have time to experience motherhood. But guys, if I don't get to experience it, I really need something to keep me selfless. And honestly, the job I'm in right now...working in HR...Compensation for a bank, well, it's not filling that need.

So, I need to do something. And I need to do it quick. I want to keep growing, progressing, loving, learning and improving. I don't want to get stuck. I don't want to be selfish. I don't want to glide. I want to climb. I want to fly. And I want to use this life to help others climb and fly.

This Is Me: Thoughts from 10,000 feet above ground

The other day, as I was flying to Utah...these thoughts came to my mind. So I wrote them out on a notepad. And here they are on my blog, for all to read.

I'm pretty transparent. I don't know if that's a fault or if that's a strength. But it's who I am. I've always been candid. I say what I feel and desire others to do the same. I'm trusting. And I'm honestly more surprised, shocked and stupefied than anything when I realize I've been judged for being honest and sincere.

My transparency might make some uncomfortable. Maybe embarrassed. Like when I openly admit my weaknesses and faults to the masses. I accept them as part of what is helping me become God-like. I was placed on this earth to learn to overcome my natural man, and to help others in that process as well. How am I to do either of those things if I try to pretend or act like I have nothing to overcome? That's just silly. I'd have no need for Jesus Christ. I'd have no need to even be here on earth. And how am I expected to help others through the journey if I'm portraying myself as a perfect individual? No one would trust me. No one would feel comfortable around me. No one would really believe my testimony...of the Atonement, salvation, the love of God.

I do believe in constantly trying to better myself. Again, that's what this life is for. To prepare to meet God...overcome sin, to feel comfortable in His presence. So, should I embrace my weaknesses as part of me for eternity...things I can never change? Of course not. But if I try to pretend like they do not exist, then I will never actually overcome them. They'll always be there...the part of me I hate, causing anguish and self-hatred when they rear their ugly heads.

So, I am transparent. I allow you to see the good and bad. I admit I have issues, struggles and temptations. I keep my emotions really close to the surface. The consequence of my transparency usually consists of many deep, ever-lasting friendships everywhere I go. It also consists of inner peace and self-awareness. But sometimes, every once in a while...it consists of judgment and meanness. That's okay. The good consequences grossly outweigh the bad. So, I will continue to be transparent. I wouldn't know how to be any other way, even if I tried.

This summer...

I'm taking acting classes. Boom.

Remember this?

Lately I've been thinking about the relationship between fathers and their children. This song came to my mind.

"You're living proof that dreams come true. I love you and I'm hear for you." This song brings tears to my eyes.

Amy Grant: More than just a singer

Those who know me know of my love for Amy Grant. Seriously. Literally everyone who's ever known me knows I love Amy Grant. It's just part of who I am.

You people probably could NOT care LESS about why I love Amy Grant so much. But I'm writing this post anyway...more for myself than anything.

Yesterday my roommate's friend started asking me about Amy, why I love her so much...what my favorite Amy song and album are...so on and so forth. I couldn't give him a real clear answer as to what my favorite song or album is, which got me thinking. I briefly explained to him that my love for Amy goes much deeper than enjoying her songs or her voice. While I do love those things, there's so much more behind my Amy Grant dedication.

There are a few reasons I've formed such a strong admiration of Amy Grant. For those of you who read my blog regularly, you'll recognize some of this from a post I wrote a couple years ago.

1....

***Many of you know me as the daughter of Chuck and Carla Hanchett. Or, if you don't personally know my mom and Chuck, you most likely do know that my dad, Brian Perry, passed away when I was 8 years old. Amy Grant, to me, represents the me that existed as the daughter of Brian and Carla Perry.

I was introduced to Amy Grant's music when I was...maybe 3? I used to say that my first encounter with her music was when I was 5 years old. My mom was pregnant with my brother and I distinctly remember my mom and dad buying her Heart in Motion album/tape and saying to Kayleen and me, "We're going to have a little baby in our home soon. And this tape has a song about a baby." We were excited...there was a song about our little unborn brother on that tape! My parents were referring to Amy's popular song Baby Baby which is about Amy Grant's daughter, Millie. Amy wrote it for/about Millie when Millie was only an infant. The record company made it into a love song. But, now that I think of it, I don't believe this was my first introduction to Amy, because my mom had Amy's "Collection" tape that I can remember listening to prior to Baby Baby. Anyway...I loved Amy back then because I wanted to be a singer, and I loved pretending I was her. I'd stand on the coffee table with a hair brush and just belt it out. Kayleen and I would request her on basically every car ride.

My dad liked Amy Grant. My mom liked Amy Grant. Our little family liked Amy Grant. We all listened to her together. So you see, she represents a part of my history that not many people know or are familiar with. The Brian/Carla Perry family. The days when my dad was not just a memory.***


2....

***My dad's death, and then my mom's second marriage to Chuck, were not easy for me.

When my dad got sick, he changed. He was not the same person. He was more impatient, more child-like...and my 6, 7, and 8-year-old brain just couldn't handle it. He wasn't my dad. But Amy...Amy was Amy. And she'd calm me. When everything else around me was changing, Amy Grant remained the same. I'd listen to Heart In Motion and my mind would go back to the simple days in Germany, when my dad was well and things were "normal." After my dad's death, she produced another album. I got it for Christmas, and of course, listened and listened and listened. Amy's soothing voice was familiar to me. And helped me during really, really hard times. She was my friend, and her words brought me comfort.

Sometime after my mom got remarried, I went through a really depressed period of time. It's not exactly easy to combine two separate families... I won't go into that with too much detail, but we'll just say there were a lot of changes, and I, once again, had a constant in Amy. Not only was there a constant in Amy, but she influenced me to express my emotions and feelings through music. I had remembered hearing her say in an interview something to the effect of, "I believe everyone can write a song; they're just intimidated by the idea, so they never try." I decided to put that theory to the test. I wanted to try. I borrowed my math teacher's guitar while I saved up my baby-sitting money for a year in order to buy my own. I learned simple chords and began to play Amy Grant songs. And then, I did it. I wrote my first song. And then my second, and third, and fourth, and a million. Amy was my inspiration. Because of my desire to play and write songs like she did, I had an outlet. I stayed sane. I developed my love of writing, singing...my love of artistic expression.***


3....

***I'm someone who tries to wear my heart on my sleeve. Actually, I don't try. It just comes naturally. I can't keep a lot of things inside. I talk about everything, good or bad. I try to be real. Transparent. Again, I don't really try. Often, to my own downfall, I'm too transparent. I can't hide what I'm feeling to save my freaking life. It can be really bad sometimes. There's good and bad about everyone's personalities and qualities.

But here's the deal. Amy Grant always seems real to me. Even when her music was kind of pop-ish and mainstream, she still wrote songs that meant something to her. She often says, "My mom always said, 'When you get on stage, sing something that matters.'" And she's tried to do that. You can hear the rawness and realness in her voice. She smiles while she sings. Sometimes she cries. You can just hear it.

Amy wrote this on her Facebook page the other day...and it represents exactly how I feel. "At some point in life you realize that some things really matter and some things don't. Living matters. Celebrating life matters. Seeing the value in hard times matters. Relationships and people matter. Faith matters. I feel like that's where my head has been while writing and recording this project." That project is her latest album, How Mercy Looks From Here.

Amy gets me. We're on the same page. At least, I think we are. Her music represents who and what I'm trying to be in this life. Real, raw, a good friend, a faithful daughter of God. ***

 These three things leave out a lot of tender things...like fond memories made over Amy Grant music, concerts attended with friends and family, Christmas decorating, karaoke fun...all to Amy's music. But, I'll spare you all those little memories.

So, friends. Amy is much more than a voice, a lyric, or a tune. Call me crazy. Call me obsessed. Call me a fanatic. That's fine. Her music has, I believe, made me a better person. If I ever get to meet her one day...well, I'll probably pee my pants and blubber some random nonsense. Maybe I'll just print this out and hand it to her. Who knows. But I'm thankful for her dedication to creating real, raw, meaningful and good music. It's saved my life on more than one occasion.