A Holly Jolly Christmas

The older I get, and the more Christmases I experience, the more I realize that the joy I felt growing up didn't go anywhere, and it didn't disappear; it is still there, albeit in a different way. It is reborn in the next generation. I see my nieces and nephews open their gifts with wide-eyed wonder and see the gratitude expressed both in those who give and receive, and this warms my heart and soul.

Such was the case Saturday night, as the Plowmans (and Woodsens) gathered to celebrate Christmas Eve together. Steve put together a very nice Christmas program for us all. We are especially grateful that Grandma was with us to bear her testimony of Christ and His divine mission, as it looked like something not necessarily guaranteed all that long ago.

It was eight-month-old Graham's first Christmas (seen here with his 11-year-old cousin Luke):

It wasn't a pink rabbit suit, but Kylee still loved her panda pajamas:

Jackson was over the moon with his Minecraft LEGO set:

And Kira was the same about her presents:

I hope that you all enjoyed a wonderful holiday season (which, by the way, continues through January 5, the real twelfth day of Christmas). And if 2016 has been a rough year for you (it has been for me in the form of my own challenges), I hope that 2017 dawns all the brighter. I'm a big fan of new beginnings. If I can help make that happen for you, I'm here to do what I can. That, I feel, is one of the most important lessons the baby born in Bethlehem came here to teach us.

White Christmas

I don't know if it was particularly the White Christmas Bing |Crosby dreamed of or the one from his nightmares, but whatever it was, this was the scene outside this morning:

I didn't care much for all of the new snow while on my way to our one-hour church meeting (sacrament meeting only), as the roads weren't that cooperative on the way into Bountiful. But they were cleaner and better on the way home, and I'm grateful for the snowplow drivers who left the comfort of home and family on Christmas Day to clear the roads.

Looking out at the scene now as the day winds to its close, I daresay that all is calm, and all is bright.

Blessed to Give . . . and to Receive

I am not a homeless person, though I've played one at the request of an old friend.

Not long ago, one of the men who served as a high councilor over my YSA ward (and also a trusted friend) contacted me with an unusual request: Would I be willing to play a vagrant begging for money to help illustrate an important principle for the Young Men he shepherds in his present calling?

This was an unusual request. For one thing, admittedly, I am not a person you'd take a look at and say *ahem* "He's not getting enough to eat." Anyhow, I accepted and told him I would do my best. His idea was that I would dress as grubbily and as poorly as I could and that I would approach his class (they were having a lesson out of doors on this particularly cool autumn day) to ask for money or food, and this brother would then tell me to go jump in the lake without a life preserver.

It wasn't my best acting (that usually comes when I play dead bodies at improv shows, which actually happens frequently), though we executed our plan the following Sunday afternoon over, and I gave the role my best effort. After being turned away, I waited around the corner for several minutes, then I reappeared, my friend revealed my true identity, and the class discussed how they had felt or reacted when I showed up begging. My friend used the moment to teach the young men a lesson about giving and the whole "Are we not all beggars?" message of King Benjamin.

As for myself, I resolved then and there that the next time I found myself in a similar situation (being asked to give something to a destitute person), that I would help that person out and go the extra mile in doing so.

It didn't take long for an opportunity to present itself. I was getting some work done on my laptop at the local McDonald's because my home ISP (which rhymes with "Mentury Mink") had decided to go on vacation for the week. A young man came up to me to ask for something to eat. I told him that I didn't have any cash on me (which was true and is true the vast majority of the time), but that I'd be happy to buy him anything he wanted to eat with my debit card. He requested only three cheeseburgers to go, and after I paid the cashier and the order was ready, the young man thanked me and went on his way outside.

I share these experiences not to toot my own horn but instead to illustrate a point (in my usual roundabout way), and I feel that it's this: If we ask Heavenly Father for opportunities to serve, He will send people our way. We don't have to look very far (nor to be asked) to see that there are needy everywhere. We don't have to do something big to make a difference. Some of the needy are in want of a meal, like my friend at McDonald's, but others are lonely, or depressed, or ill, or their hands hang low for any number of other reasons. They are in our wards, in our neighborhoods, in line at the store, at our places of work, and even in our homes and/or families.

As I have observed friends and acquaintances share their experiences following the Church's "Light the World" campaign this month, I've witnessed many wonderful things happening. Again, these simple acts of service and the kinds words aren't grandiose, but they add up to mean a lot.

"Christmas means giving," taught President Gordon B. Hinckley. "The Father gave his Son, and the Son gave his life. Without giving there is no true Christmas."

If people don't receive that great gift, then there's no true Christmas, either. Receiving, I think, is just as important as giving. Both giving and receiving are part of a cycle that will continue to bless the giver and the receiver.

In my own, imperfect way, I've tried to give throughout this season of "Light the World." But I have also been blessed to receive a great deal from others who have been lighting the world, too. A little over a week ago, I came home feeling less than wonderful about myself, and I found that one of Santa's elves had left me a care package that included 12 gifts to be opened over the next 12 days, culminating on Christmas Day.

I hope the person who did this, whom I hope is reading this, knows what an enormously needed, timely, and appreciated gesture this has been for me. It alone has made Christmas for me this year. It has also inspired me to do the same for others as I go forward from the Christmas season that will be a thing of the past all-too soon. (Well . . . have a merry little Christmas now, as the song says.)

Who knows? I may even have chances to "Light the World" in January, or even in February. This thing could catch on. Giving and receiving are contagious.

God bless us every one, my friends. And speaking of receiving: Let Earth receive her King.

Family Dinner/December 2016

Over the weekend, we gathered as a family to celebrate our December birthdays: Mike and Kylee. (My oldest niece has one year remaining as a teenager!)

Kenna and Kate were looking cute in orange:

While Grandma enjoyed some time with 16-month-old Daniel:

And following "Pass the Parcel," Jackson taught us all how to dab:

So, it was an eventful night!

"Papá Noel in Perú"

Twenty years ago (twenty!) this week, I had one of the most memorable weeks of my mission. My companion and I saw the baptism of two sisters who (1) remain good friends of mine, (2) remain active in the Church, and (3) would bring the remainder of their family into the Church in the years that followed. Our week culminated with a stake Primary program, for which yours truly got asked to play Santa Claus (or, colloquially, "Papá Noel").

It wasn't one of my best acting roles, although it has remained one of the most memorable. I wrote an article about the experience, which was published in the Church's Liahona (international) magazine in December 2001. (As a side note, one of the other articles, published adjacent to mine, was written by the mother of one of my fellow Improvables troupe members! Incredible.)

I don't have the rights to re-print the text here, as I signed them away and whatnot, but you can read all about it by clicking on this link. And if you don't, well, I'll still be your friend.

May the Spirit and goodwill of the Christmas season be with you all.

These Shoes Were Made for Walkin'

M y 16-month-old nephew Danny is walking like a champ these days, and his skills were prominently on display recently here at the homestead.

Improvables: Christmas Party 2016

My troupe is filled with some pretty amazing people. Our gatherings are always a blast, even away from the stage, and our annual Christmas party is no exception.

One of the highlights is the white elephant gift exchange, which this year included a Steve Buscemi calendar, a Vladimir Putin calendar, an R2D2 piggy bank (which yours truly held in his hands until it was Yankee swapped, dang it), a set of custom-made Improvables dolls, and other goodies, including this gift that Parker ended up with, presented here without comment:

Jamie and Tanner ended up with the bag of goodies I wrapped up after a recent shopping spree at Dollar Tree (because that's just the kind of classy guy I am):

And it made them plenty happy, so that's good enough for me.

Light It Up

Previously on Paco Nation, I've written some of my thoughts on the mid-singles fireside message delivered by Elder Dallin H. and Sister Kristen Oaks back in August. Though this was four months ago, I am still reflecting on both things I learned and things I've pondered about from time to time.

One item I do not I believe I addressed fully at the time of my initial blog post on this talk was the topic of fear. At that time, Elder Oaks spoke of a conversation he had with someone who had fulfilled a Church calling to minister to the inmates at one of the LDS branches at a local correctional facility (AKA "jail"). The lesson that he taught us from this experience, as I recall, was: "There are more shackles on singles in the Church than there are on these prisoners, all because of fear." (Those were my notes from that night, so I may be paraphrasing the exact quote.)

The question that I am then led to, and which I put to my fellow mid-singles is: What, exactly, are you afraid of?

Certainly, many of us fear being vulnerable and putting ourselves "out there" in pursuit of a relationship only to fall flat on our faces yet again. For some of us mid-singles, this might feel like it has happened not only hundreds but instead thousands of times by this point. This feeling of frustration creates a term I call Rejection Burnout. (Don't worry, single friends in your teens and/or early twenties; you still have plenty of chances for heartbreak ahead of you.)

I'm only kidding about that last comment. Partly.

Others, I believe, fear not rejection but actually fear being successful. In other words, they've become used to being independent rather than what would be a better option: becoming "interdependent" with another.

"Interdependence is the kind of life the Lord desires for us," Elder Oaks taught.

Further, he added: "We have to be careful when we are single and we don't have a spouse to steady us, that we are not unduly influenced by worldly messages. For example, the world seeks and honors the accumulation of money, property, car, home travel, graduation before marriage, etc."

If I understood the message correctly, being successful, then, might put a damper on some of these pursuits.

In my own brainstorming, I've come up with a few other possible fears, and they include: social anxiety; self-esteem challenges; and health or financial difficulties.

If there are other fears I've failed to include here, well, please include them in the comments. I'd love to hear your point-of-view. Or talk to me about them in person over a froyo (your treat, of course!).

In addition, we singles, at this time of year, are bombarded with messages about how wonderful and great it is to be in love, and it comes in many forms. It's the songs about riding in one-horse open sleighs, letting it snow outside while staying indoors to cuddle, or going outdoors in the cold and getting married by snowmen acting as wedding officiators (which is, apparently, a thing). It's the countless Hallmark movies (which, admittedly, are one of my guilty pleasures) about people finding that special someone at long last under the mistletoe or in some other filmed-in-Canada location made to look like a setting somewhere in the United States. It's also possibly in the form of seeing others who have already been granted the blessing we desire to have, who get to enjoy it with their spouses, children, pets, etc. All of these can lead to some sort of envy.

In the movie Roxanne (which is not a Christmas movie, though I think the sentiment is applicable), C.D. Bales, he of the big nose, portrayed by Steve Martin, laments:

"Sometimes I take a walk at night, and I see couples walking, holding hands, and I look at them, and I think: 'Why not me?' Then I catch my shadow on the wall."

Maybe it's not a "shadow on the wall" that causes you and me this grief but (X) worry or concern, (Y) health or financial challenge, or (Z) other issue entirely out of our control.

What I'm getting at with this, and why I bring it up during the Christmas season, to boot, is that the angels who visited the shepherds and other witnesses of the birth of the Christ child began their proclamations with two simple but powerful words:

"Fear not."

"I don't have the answers," types a single guy wondering about these very things in his own life. But, as for myself, I've committed this holiday season to focusing on controlling some of the things I do have control over, and one of them is to do my level best to follow the Church's "Light the World" campaign, which is a wonderful initiative. It encourages us to perform one act of service or kindness every day in December. (But, if you can, why limit it to just one?) I've already tried a few things that were out of my comfort zone, and I'm looking to try a few others in the days ahead, including anonymously done deeds for family, friends, and neighbors.

If you're feeling down and out this Christmas season, whatever the reason(s), I invite you to join in on the fun and to see what miracles, small or large, occur in your life as a result.

I don't understand many of the reasons behind my own challenges right now, and I surely don't understand yours (although I'm willing to try), but I join with the prophet Nephi in proclaiming that "I know (Heavenly Father) loveth his children" (1 Nephi 11:17). And as Tiny Tim observed, I believe He does and will "bless us, every one" in ways we may not now expect as we strive to serve His children in whichever way His Spirit prompts us to do so.

My Dinner with Luke 2016

My nephew Luke reached his 11th birthday Tuesday, and tonight I got to play the "fun uncle" and take him out to dinner for his Big Day. He chose Chuck-a-Rama, where we had a most enjoyable meal.

In talking to him, I realized that he knows a heckuva lot more about football than I'd given him credit for, and that he wants to eventually play high school ball and then, afterward, in college. He's an excellent student in his fifth-grade class and is overall a wonderful kid.

Am I biased when it comes to my nephews and nieces? Maybe a bit. But in this case (and in 11 others), it's true.

Fantastic Feasts (and Where We Found Them)

Thanksgiving happened last week! Perhaps your heard?

This was our year (yay!) to gather as a family on the actual Thanksgiving Day, and everyone came together to make and excellent meal and even-better company. And, to boot, there was football, board and card games, and karaoke. So, basically, it had everything you could want in a family party.

It was seven-month-old (eight months tomorrow!) Graham's first Turkey Day, and his attire reflected that fact:

And so, we move on to the Christmas season. Twenty-month-old Kate was already in the spirit, posing next to the grandparents' tree, which had already been put up:

Turkey leftovers all week are actual a wonderful thing. Even better, the Most Wonderful Time of the Year is upon us.

The Dementors of Tryptophan

Following the conclusion of Thanksgiving dinner, the last football game of the day, and my tryptophan-induced nap, I settled down to get a little reading done Thursday night. I'm currently making my way through the Harry Potter series for the first time ever.

(Insert here reaction of horror and/or dismay and chants of "Unclean! Unclean!")

The initial waves of Harry Potter mania passed me by for one reason or another, possibly because I was technically already an adult when the books began to take the world by storm. I did, however, often attend midnight premieres (this is a thing we did Back in My Day, kids) of the movies with my siblings and their friends, and I always enjoyed them even though I did not necessarily understand the cause behind all of the jubilation. Likewise, I had a enjoyable experience seeing the spin-off film Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them last week.

Once upon a time, I also researched and wrote (and published) a brief biography on J.K. Rowling for a work project. I remain rather impressed with what she has been able to accomplish as an author and as a philanthropist, overcoming some rather difficult circumstances to get where she is.

Anyway, I'm a filthy Muggle, but I've been trying to atone for that. Currently, I'm onto the third entry in the series, Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban. The books have not quite yet reached Lord of the Rings or Star Wars levels of symbolism for me yet; nevertheless, I did find myself empathizing with the characters when they first meet the dementors of Azkaban on the Hogwarts Express. These are the characters who, in their initial encounter with our heroes, bring only despair and misery.

Here are a few passages that describe their encounter:

"The thing beneath the hood, whatever it was, drew a long, slow, rattling breath, as though it were trying to suck something more than air from its surroundings."

"The cold went deeper than his skin. It was inside his chest, it was inside his very heart. . . . He couldn't see. He was drowning in cold. He was being dragged downward."

"'It was horrible,' said Neville. . . . 'Did you feel how cold it got when it came in?'"

"'I felt weird,' said Ron, shifting his shoulder uncomfortably. 'Like I'd never be cheerful again.'"

"He felt weak and shivery, as though he were recovering from a bad bout of the flu; he also felt the beginnings of shame. Why had he gone to pieces like that, when no one else had?"

One thing I learned about J.K. Rowling in my research was that she had lived through periods of major depression, and that she created the dementors as a representation of what the illness feels like. Having been through more than one episode myself, I concur wholeheartedly that the dementors very accurately represent what depression is like.

I've heard more than one person (including one in a sacrament meeting talk Sunday) remark that 2016 has been a really tough year. That's certainly been the case for me. I've learned or re-learned the lesson that problems and trials don't really ever go away completely; they just come at you in different forms. One month it's dementors, and the next it's three-headed dogs or Mandrakes or what-have-you. And I've also been reminded through an extremely difficult period of time that my own personal battle with my own dementors is not over, and it's not something that's "cured" like other illnesses; it's a fight I'll have to continue every day for the rest of my life in one way or another.

Even so, as I took in this message on Thanksgiving Day, having also had my parents (one of whom was not home for the holidays last year), my siblings, my nieces and nephews, and even two of my three favorite puppies around me for a good portion of the day, I couldn't help but realize how immensely blessed I have been this year, too. They are my favorite people in the world. In fact, my cup runneth over in many, many ways.

There are parts of my life that remain incomplete, but though the dementors would have me focus on those, I am trying to choose instead to focus on what I do have, and to control the things I can control. If my own experiences with the dementors haven't helped me to be more understanding, more patient, more kind, and more grateful, then those lessons have been wasted; but I'm trying to make sure they are never lost.

Another message given in the book, once the attack has been thwarted, is that eating chocolate helps you to feel better. Which is also 100 percent correct.

"Give My Regards to Bad Guys"

Yet another member of the family has been bitten by the acting bug!

My 16-year-old nephew Dallin participated in CenterPoint Academy's Give My Regards to Bad Guys performance last week at CenterPoint Legacy Theatre, and he was phenomenal. (So what if I'm a bit biased?)

In addition to providing backup vocals and dancing to a host of numbers from The Lion King, The Little Mermaid, Xanadu, and (of course, the one that everyone's talking about) Hamilton, Dallin sang solo on "Gaston" from Disney's Beauty and the Beast and hit it out of the park.

The apple doesn't fall far from the tree.

Sounding of the Trump

I stayed up late last night watching the election results come in. Here are some thoughts I composed on my Facebook account:

"Well, folks, Trump just gave his victory speech. Hillary called him to concede. It's over. And it's just beginning, too. I left my showing of "Doctor Strange" tonight and feel like I walked through a portal and into one of those multiverse alternate worlds in the film.

"With all of the sincerity I can muster, which I don't always do here on FB, I'm floored. I know many of you if not most of you are, too. Some are angry, saddened, or just in shock. I don't blame you.

"For the third straight presidential election, the ticket I voted for did not win. I supported Scott Walker and Carly Fiorina till they dropped out, then Marco Rubio, ultimately Ted Cruz in the primaries, and then Evan McMullin and Mindy Finn in the election today. Many of us on the right saw the rise of Trump and said, "Not on our watch." He won anyway. #ThatHappened

"Along with the Challenger disaster of 1986 and the terrorist attacks of 9-11-01, I believe tonight will turn out to be one of those "Where were you when . . . ?" moments of our lifetimes. It's historic, but in the way few expected. I honestly expected a Clinton landslide.

"When people threaten to leave the United States if a certain candidate wins, it's silly and childish, though. Dollars to doughnuts, if you think other nations have it better than we do here (with apologies to my cousins in Great Britain and my many friends in Peru - my two other favorite nations of the Earth), you've not spent enough time outside of its borders. In my experience, I've lived in and traveled to countries over three continents, and there's still nowhere on Earth like the USA. That is why everyone wants to come here. That is why we have the phrase "the American dream." That's what my Danish ancestors fought to give me here and what my mother dreamed of as an immigrant herself.

"To paraphrase a friend of mine, back when Barack Obama won eight years ago: We should now root for Trump to succeed. His country is our country; and it's the only one we've got. If he succeeds, we succeed; if he fails, we fail. In four more years, we have another chance to hold him accountable for his successes or failures, as our Constitution outlines. We have a system of checks and balances that will hold him accountable until that time comes, through the men and women of Congress we also elected today. The Founding Fathers were wise, nay, inspired in the system they created. The ball's in your court, GOP: For all the criticisms levied at Obama for the past eight years, here's your chance to put your money where your mouth is with the trust now handed to you, or you could lose it again soon.

"If you don't like the way things are, get involved. Don't "boo," as Pres. Obama said recently. If you're already involved, keep at it. Speak your mind, and not just on Facebook or Twitter. Get out and run for office, or campaign for those who share your values. Hand out fliers, go door to door, or go to rallies. Show those who might foolishly and carelessly use the label "sore loser" that you are not one; that you accept the will of the people, just as you would have done had your candidate won and you would've been a gracious winner.

"If you're frustrated or upset, and those feelings *are* valid, consider how others have been frustrated or upset on occasions when your candidates have won and theirs have lost. Are their feelings valid, too? I know several people who voted for Trump, and none are racists nor sexists nor a handful of other terms they've been labeled. They're not. Like you, they've tried to follow their consciences and just do the right thing, or at least the best they could with the options they were given. This is no more the end of the world than some people on my side claimed when Obama was elected.

"This is not perfectly written, but these are my thoughts at this time. I'm not looking for an argument. I sense an epic (improv) game of "Rant" on social media tomorrow. If you want to discuss any of these points, let's talk soon. You name it, I'll make time for it. I've prayed several times today for my country. Ultimately, our only hope lies not in Trump nor Obi-Wan Kenobi but in Almighty God. How wonderful that we live in a land, a place I believe God our Father had a direct hand in founding, where we can have these discussions, learn from our mistakes, build on common ground, and strive both collectively and individually to be better.

"Onward we go."

Family Dinner/October 2016

Sunday's family dinner was also our family birthday party for five October birthdays: Kira, Jana, Steve, Ben, and yours truly!

In addition, many of the kids came dressed up in their Halloween costumes, mainly for the benefit of the grandparents but also for the cousins who wouldn't get to get Trick-or-Treating with each other Monday night.

Costumes included two Links (Luke and Jackson) from The Legend of Zelda games and two Snoopys (Jake and Graham) from the "Peanuts" comics:

Kate was the cutest Ewok this side of the forest moon of Endor:

And so, here we are now in November. 2016 is going by way too quickly.

Improvables: Eighth Annual Halloween Show

Last night at CenterPoint Legacy Theatre, it was my troupe's annual Halloween show (our EIGHTH together!), which is one of our favorite nights of the year. I got to take the stage to perform along with Bryan, Cassie, Erica, Keenan, Kelly, Landon, Parker, Richard, and Ricky, with Lorin as MC for the night and Willis on keys.

One of my favorite parts was getting to sing a song about pajamas in the style of the late artist formerly known as Prince, joined by Cassie as Taylor Swift in a duet.

In memory of my Uncle Dexter, who passed away about this time last year, and who was often seen wearing overalls, I wanted to portray a character with overalls this year. So, I chose Wreck-it Ralph, of the Disney movie of the same name.

Our troupe, as always, came up with some amazing costumes, and everyone contributed to making it a wonderful night.

The Belonging You Seek

I'm going to go out on a limb today and make a real-life parallel using an example with something from Star Wars, which I may have done a dozen or so times before now. Also, it gives me an excuse to put up a photo of Daisy Ridley, so there's two reasons right there.

Bear with me.

For those who have not seen Episode VII, The Force Awakens, yet: (1) What's wrong with you? and (2) There is a scene near the middle of the film in which Maz Kanata, she of the Mandarin orange head, speaks to our heroine, scavenger Rey, about her destiny. Rey is worried because she desperately needs to get back home to Jakku, where she has been waiting for her family to return since she was left behind as a little girl.

In reply, Maz tells her that they're never coming back and, in the film's most poignant teaching moment, instructs her: "The belonging you seek is not behind you. It is ahead."

Far be it from me to apply this particular moment to dating, but I'm going to do just that.

I think a good number of us (and here I refer to my fellow single adults) are trapped in the past for one reason or another. I know because I've tried to a date a number of people who lived with something in the past that haunted them and held them back: a previous relationship (even an engagement or marriage) that didn't work out and left them jaded; a death of a close friend or family member; and a bad date or even a stalking experience with a (member of a certain gender), leading to inaccurate belief that all (members of this gender) are bad or perverted or have ulterior motives. I also know because I've had conversations with a number of others, both male and female, about their various experiences.

Now when I list these reasons (and before the hate mail gets sent), let me state for the record that I have been through all of the above difficulties or challenges myself, and I validate them all. I do my best to mourn with those who mourn and to lift the burdens of those who are feeling the weight of their own challenges, too. There is a time to grieve or to be sad about what has transpired.

But when that frame of time stretches from months into years upon years, this is when, I believe, the belonging we seek, held firmly in a past that could never be, holds us back from progressing.

To give you a couple of examples, I dated someone for a short while who Dear John'd me by e-mail, letting me know that a relationship of hers that ended "more than a year ago" that she was "not over yet" meant that she was "just not looking for a relationship right now," even though we had met through an online dating site. (Yes, Paco was once a member of one of those sites. Ask me about it sometime over froyo; your treat.)

Another example is someone I dated who was wracked with guilt over the death of a family member she could have in no way prevented nor helped, and this had occurred a significant amount of time in the past. Despite my willingness to discuss the matter with her for what often seemed like four or five hours toward the end of every date, I could not perform the work of a professional trained to deal with such matters, and she refused to talk to a bishop, or a counselor, or anyone else about the matter. She refused to get help for her anxiety over the matter and was obsessed over the issue to the point of frustration.

Again, I repeat, a reasonable amount of time to grieve is understandable. But when an issue spirals into years upon years, it holds one back. It stops progression. And though we have eternity yet ahead to progress, I think our Heavenly Father also expects us to progress as much as we can here in this Earthly sphere.

Moreover, your decision to drop out of the dating market affects not only you but also another someone you could potentially make happy, and whom could make you happy in return. If not others.

If we will choose to see it, there is so much joy ahead for us all if we will but accept the reality that just about everyone lives with or has faced something very difficult for him/herself, that some degree or another of misery or trials have plagued all of our pasts. One of the great tests of this life is to face those things, to learn what lessons can be learned from them, and then to move forward.

I know this, as well, because I feel like I've had my share of problems, many of them out of my control, and some of which I've already shared here on Paco Nation. Some days, I feel like I've had more than my share.

To us all, I offer these words of encouragement:

"Don't give up, boy. Don't you quit. You keep walking. You keep trying. There is help and happiness ahead—a lot of it. . . . You keep your chin up. It will be all right in the end. Trust God and believe in good things to come."

 -Elder Jeffrey R. Holland

Unspoken Expectations

"It's not real if you don't feel it.
Unspoken expectations;
Ideals you used to play with."
 -Cyndi Lauper, "Goonies 'R' Good Enough"

One of the great ironies of our time, I think, is that we have more methods of communication now than we've ever had as a society (cell phones, social media, FarmersOnly.com), and yet we, collectively speaking, often seem to be utterly terrible at communicating. And I think this issue contributes to a great deal of the misunderstanding and misery we single adults deal with on a near-constant basis.

For example, many people feel more comfortable texting rather than holding an actual, face-to-face conversation. For a second example, I've actually had more than one singles ward bishop tell me that multiple young ladies in the ward felt they had no other recourse but to employ the help of bishopric members to, in turn, talk to a number of young men in the ward whose romantic intentions were bothering these young ladies. The message to be delivered was, "Leave me alone." This kind of turned the bishopric members into bouncers or goons hired by the mafia. Yet in the vast majority of these cases, no actual stalking was in any way involved; these young ladies just couldn't tell these men, who were for the most part honestly trying to make their intentions known, a direct "thanks, but no thanks" or some other clear message that they weren't interested.

This baffles me. But then again, I don't get calculus, either.

Unspoken expectations—the stuff we really want out of dating—can be frustrating if they are not made clear.

I had a conversation with one of my brothers recently in which he mentioned that a mutual female friend of ours, whom I've met in person maybe twice, wondered why I hadn't asked her out on a date. Well, for one thing, this nice young lady and I have had about three minutes total of actual conversation time. For another, I had gleaned absolutely no inkling from her that she was interested in more than polite conversation. (We men are terrible at distinguishing between someone who is being polite and someone who is actually interested in getting to know us better. This is an unspoken expectation I'm getting out there now.)

As the Peruvians would say (and this is a phrase definitely lost in translation): "No me llamó la atención."

There is nothing at all wrong, ladies, with saying something right to the point, such as: "I think it would be fun if we went out sometime and did (activity)." This is not even you actually asking the guy out, but it is making an unspoken expectation, well, spoken. I have had someone tell me this phrase, or something akin to it, only once in my decades of dating, and honestly I was pleasantly surprised by it. I called her a week or so later for a date, knowing with confidence that she was at least interested already even if she already had plans that week. It didn't work out for us, but I appreciated the honesty and the tactic she employed.

If it turns out that the guy is just not interested when you've been direct like this, well, you've had maybe five to 10 seconds of an uncomfortable moment, and then you can both move on, without wondering about any ifs and not second-guessing anything.

When you're in an actual relationship, well, I think expectations about how you'd like to be treated or things that would make you happy (some would say your "love language") need to be made known.

Two of my relationships in the past few years ended with an "exit interview" in which, in part, the person I had been dating had mentioned things she expected to happen in the relationship—actual specific actions or deeds she'd hoped I would do (you should've done this and this, and I would've appreciated it more if you hadn't done this other thing)—and yet these things were never mentioned until this last time. On both occasions, I asked her for another chance to do those things she had wished I'd been doing all along; and on both occasions, the reply was "no."

In other words, you can't get mad at someone for doing or not doing something important when you don't actually, audibly, clearly tell that person why that thing or things matter to you.

For example, she says: "Golly, there's a lot of dishes in the sink today."
He says: "Yeah, there are!" and continues playing Halo.

A better way to express what you're really trying to say would be the direct approach:

She says: "The dishes are really piling up today, and it's your turn to wash them, Joe."
He (clicking his heels together like one of the Von Trapp children in The Sound of Music): "You're right! Hail Hydra!" (He salutes her, military style.) Also, my name is Walter. (He then does the dishes. Ideally.)

Say what you mean. Don't drop hints. Don't drop no eaves, as Samwise Gamgee would say. I think this is a thing that would help us all.

That's just the opinion of one guy blogging at McDonald's because his home Internet has been down since Monday. I'm here all week, folks!

Out of the Mouth of Babes

"All the broken hearts in the world still beat;
"Let's not make it harder than it has to be.
Ooh it's all the same thing;
Girls chase boys chase girls."
 -Ingrid Michaelson, "Girls Chase Boys"

I'm gonna get a little candid tonight, folks. But the older I get and the more I try out that singleness thing, the less I really care about being vulnerable like this. So, here goes.

I took my niece out to dinner the other night for her birthday. Maybe you read about it on my award-winning blog.

At one point during the course of the evening, she took the conversation in a rather unexpected direction.

Niece: "How is that girl you brought to family dinner?"
Me (marveling at this girl's candidness and excellent memory, but also stumped for an answer): "She's doing fine, I guess. We're not dating anymore."
Niece: ". . . (Name) is not your girlfriend?"
Me (still in awe of this kid's memory): "No, not for a while now."
After a brief pause, she asked the $64,000 question that she had been leading up to:
Niece: "You should ask her to marry you."
Me (after what seemed like five minutes, but which in reality was only about 10 seconds): ". . . I wanted to. But she didn't want to. That's just the way it goes sometimes."

Later that night, reflecting on this conversation, I had a well-know scripture come to mind:

"And a little child shall lead them" (Isaiah 11:6).

It's amazing how simply a child can see life. To be honest, she makes a great point. The whole miserable process is really very simple in its essence. But we're the ones who make things much, much harder than they have to be.

Life gets in the way in so many ways. Imperfect people make mistakes they don't necessarily intend to make, like being selfish, communicating poorly, keeping their eyes wide open to others' faults while keeping their eyes half-shut to their own, being "nice" over being direct, and a number of other errors. I know because I've inadvertently done them all, and I've felt the sting when others have done the same to me.

This is the point at which the gals will say, "Men are problem, because they do this, and this, and they don't do this," while many of the men (believe you me) feel the same way about the ladies.

If you find yourself in this situation, let me suggest a new strategy: Rather than making it all about someone else, take a good, hard look at yourself. Take charge of the things you can control, and do not worry about the free agency of another. Be your best self. If you're not finding the Captain Moroni or the Rebekah you seek, ask yourself if you are being the Mrs. Captain Moroni or the Isaac that type of person would attract. If you are struggling with a favorite sin or bad habit, pray to overcome it, work as if it all depended on you, and then work on the next thing.

President Spencer W. Kimball taught:

"You might take a careful inventory of your habits, your speech, your appearance, your weight, . . . and your eccentricities. . . . Take each item and analyze it. What do you like in others? What personality traits please you in others? Are your dresses too short, too long, too revealing, too old-fashioned? Does your weight drive off possible suitors? Do you laugh raucously? Are you too selfish? Are you interested only in your own interests or do you project yourself into the lives of others? . . . What do you do to make yourself desirable? Do you overdo or underdo? Too much makeup or too little? Scrupulously clean both physically and morally? What are your eccentricities, if any? I think nearly all people have some. If so, then go to work. Classify them, weigh them, corral them, and eliminate one at a time."

Sooner or later, because "intelligence cleaveth unto intelligence," someone else, using his or her own free agency, will choose to be around you and may even decide to stay, because you're both at the same spot on the straight and narrow, working on the same goals and striving to improve those imperfections.

It's just my two cents on the matter. For an expert's opinion, though, go and see your nearest niece or nephew. It may cost you dinner, but it's an investment well worth making.

My Dinner with Kira 2016

As I mentioned in my previous post, my niece Kira turned eight years old last week prior to her LDS baptism. To celebrate her birthday, I picked her up for dinner last night, and we were on our way to Chuck-a-Rama (which was her choice, of course).

A girl after my own heart, she went straight for the macaroni and cheese. After that first plate of mac and cheese (see the photo), she went back for another one. Showing more sense than I possess, she also drank water rather than a sugary soda.

Kids sure know what they like, and Kira is no exception. She's also a fantastic conversationalist and told me all about how she is liking second grade and how she has been enjoying her dance class. I'm grateful to be her uncle.

Kira's Baptism

My niece Kira, who celebrated her 8th birthday last week, was baptized into the LDS Church Saturday by her father, my brother Dave, at their stake center in Woods Cross.

Nearly all of our immediately family members and their kids attended, though sadly none of our Utah County cousins were able to make it. Attendees included most notably Mom, who we're grateful was able to leave the hospital Friday night, fewer than 24 hours before the scheduled baptism ordinance. We certainly view this as a tender mercy, something which I wrote about a great deal in my last post. All week while she was being treated, her goal was to be able to make it home to be able to attend, and sometimes you are allotted those things you want in addition to those things you need. She has to be on oxygen for the time being, so we're taking things a little bit at a time and helping her as best we can as she makes her recovery.

Here's all of the Woods Cross family members, looking sharp:

It was a beautiful day and hopefully a memorable one for a great kid.

Another Birthday and Matters of the Heart

It's actually my niece's birthday today, though more will be coming about her soon, as a landmark event is taking place in her life in the next few days, and we have yet to make our annual birthday excursion together. Assuming she's not too busy . . . unlike some people.

Ahem! I share a birthday week with my niece, and due to circumstances I was unable to prevent, I turned another year older Monday.

I think age 11 or 12 was approximately the last time I fully expected people to make a big deal about my birthday, or at least it should have been. Still, it's wonderful to see people still try to make a fuss, each in their own way.

My caring, faithful Aunt Marilyn, for example, has never missed a single birthday . . . ever. Not even while I was overseas in Peru as a missionary. A letter, birthday card, and some money arrived over the weekend:

. . . and, as was requested, I purchased some ice cream with it:

It's really great to have people send you ice cream money during everything's-pumpkin-flavored season. I do not say sarcastically that this is perhaps one of the Lord's thousands, possibly tens of thousands, of little tender mercies that perhaps I do not always pay attention to, happening all around me daily.

I began the Big Day Itself Monday by conversing with Mom, who had suffered through a terrible weekend of sleeplessness, shortness of breath, and overall exhaustion. Though she had a doctor's appointment scheduled that afternoon, she looked even worse Monday. Her lips had turned blue, and she said, "I feel like I'm having a heart attack."

Off we went to the ER, where it was determined that she was suffering from congestive heart failure. No wonder she couldn't sleep for the past few weeks. The biggest, strongest heart I've ever known was in serious trouble.

With respect to her privacy, I won't go into any more details at this time, except to say that we've been worried, we've prayed, and we've tried to comfort those who stand in need of comfort. We're in the middle of that struggle as I type these words. We don't know exactly what's going to happen at this point, though we are grateful for the dedicated medical personnel seeing to her every need.

Yet during the week, I've also seen my family rally around the cause, sacrificing and giving of themselves freely to help out where help has been needed. I've seen neighbors come over with dinner, which may be one of the most cliché things about Mormon culture, yet it amounts to manna from heaven at times like these.

During general conference over the weekend, President Russell M. Nelson of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles taught:

"Life is filled with detours and dead ends, trials and challenges of every kind. Each of us has likely had times when distress, anguish, and despair almost consumed us. Yet we are here to have joy? . . ."

"Just as the Savior offers peace that 'passeth all understanding,' He also offers an intensity, depth, and breadth of joy that defy human logic or mortal comprehension. . . . His joy is constant, assuring us that our 'afflictions shall be but a small moment' and be consecrated to our gain."

And so, my Big Day was not really about me (nor did it have to be), but yet in a way it was; for I was surrounded all day by the people I cherish most, and whom love me most. I heard from literally hundreds of friends through social media, texts, e-mails, and phone calls.

Though as a family we lamented the circumstances that brought us together, we had each other, and through the Lord's promises, we will have each other for a long, long time, come heck or high water. And that was and is enough. To me, it is the most important of all of His tender mercies.

Puppy Sitting

This past week, I got to spend four days dog sitting for my brother's family, who went out of state on vacation.

I had a great time with Neala hanging around. There's nothing like falling asleep with a puppy curled up at your feet.

Dogs are good people. They're better people than a lot of people are, in fact.

Family Dinner/September 2016

OK, so our family's only September birthday (to this point) is my sister's birthday.

We celebrated her big day in usual family fashion a couple of weeks ago at family dinner . . . like a boss.

White Flag

When the Island of Misfit Toys came into existence more than two years ago, finally giving mid-singles in Davis County a ward that they wouldn't have to make a round trip of 80 or 90 miles to get to (uphill both ways, of course!), I was one of those who began attending and who helped to get the word out to friends whom I thought would enjoy taking part.

From that first meeting, when the bishop asked me to offer the very first prayer given in this new ward, we grew not unlike Gremlins who go snorkeling. Elders quorums and Relief Societies were formed, and they have since split three times each. We soared to more than 600 people, with many more visitors and guests joining us. Membership dipped some when a similar ward was created in Riverdale last year, but according to the latest figures, we are over 600 strong again.

Not every friend I spoke to was enthusiastic about this new opportunity. One friend in particular surprised me a great deal when I told her about the ward, responding, "Oh, I don't do that stuff anymore."

And that was the end of that conversation. You could have knocked me over with a feather. And then, my emotions changed from shock to sadness. I was sad that my friend had either had her heart broken so many times, or she was exhausted with trying to meet people and dating, or Darth Vader had come down from the planet Vulcan and told her to stop or he'd melt her brain, or she had just stopped caring altogether that she no longer considered singles activities worthwhile. Perhaps it was some or all of these reasons that had brought her to this conclusion.

I don't presume to know anyone else's motivations, and I don't blame people who have become utterly frustrated with the whole dating scene that they raise the white flag for the last time and surrender. Because I've been there. I know that it sucks. I've been dating for more than half of my life now, and it often seems like the more I try, the less I understand, the less success I seem to have, and the more I sour on the tiresome process. I hear my single friends' stories and complaints, and hardly a week goes by that I don't talk to someone who is ready to give up and retire to their own planet to live like a hermit, not unlike Luke Skywalker in Star Wars: The Force Awakens.

I wish it were that simple. Back here on Earth, C.S. Lewis wrote:

"To love at all is to be vulnerable. Love anything and your heart will be wrung and possibly broken. If you want to make sure of keeping it intact you must give it to no one, not even an animal. Wrap it carefully round with hobbies and little luxuries; avoid all entanglements. Lock it up safe in the casket or coffin of your selfishness. But in that casket, safe, dark, motionless, airless, it will change. It will not be broken; it will become unbreakable, impenetrable, irredeemable. To love is to be vulnerable."

There are always statistics being floated around by pessimists that you're more likely to die by shark attack, be struck by lightning, or be eaten by a shark being struck by lightning than to get married after age 30. Or some such. But at the same time, I also understand that if I give up altogether, my chances fall to zero. My chances may be one in a million now, but at least I have a chance if I keep trying. And yes, I realize I'm letting myself be vulnerable while also paraphrasing Dumb & Dumber to make my point, but I think it's a valid one.

Recently, I've come to think of a well-known scripture in a different light, as it pertains to my efforts at dating:

"Let no man count them as small things; for there is much which lieth in futurity, pertaining to the saints, which depends upon these things. . . . Therefore, dearly beloved brethren, let us cheerfully do all things that lie in our power; and then may we stand still, with the utmost assurance, to see salvation of God, and for his arm to be revealed" (D&C 123:15, 17).

To do anything less than all things that lie in my power is not good enough.

For me, that also includes continuing to invite my single friends and associates to try out the Island of Misfit Toys, if you are over age 30 and live within our very, very large boundaries. If you don't know anyone else there, then come and sit by me, and I'll introduce you to some of the very best people I've ever met. If Misfit Toys aren't your thing, then join a singles Web site, or have a trusted family member or friend set you up, or hit me up for a double date, or any number of other activities.

Together, we'll be vulnerable. We'll get our hearts pureed in a blender sometimes. But who knows? We just might also find something well worth waiting for. Any day now.

Improvables: Fairytale Festival

The good folks at CenterPoint Legacy Theatre recently hosted their annual Fairytale Festival, and the Improvables were asked to help pitch in, which we were more than willing to do.

Our assignment was the storytelling tent, for which we portrayed a few different characters to . . . well, tell the kids fairy tales. Cassie ("The Princess and the Pea"), Erica ("Rumpelstiltskin," pictured), Joe ("Peter Pan"), and I ("The Hobbit") told our respective stories over the course of the evening.

Yes, The Hobbit. It counts.

Highway to the Stranger Zone

You unlock this door with a text message, maybe an e-mail. Beyond it is another dimension: a dimension of being out of sight, out of mind. You're being dumped into a land of both shadow and forgetfulness. You've just crossed over into the Stranger Zone.

We've all heard of the Friend Zone, haven't we? Well, most of us have . . . right?

The thing is, it doesn't really exist. Not in my experience, it doesn't. It's possible, but it's quite improbable.

You don't have to go on very many dates with someone to get friend zoned. Heck, you don't even have to have gone out on a date with someone to get friend zoned. I've seen it happen. I've also seen people hire a friend or a member of the bishopric to deliver that message second hand. Maybe hired goons with brass knuckles named Vito (the goons, not the brass knuckles), I dunno.

The Friend Zone is what you get for having the "let's just be friends" talk with someone in whom you are interested romantically, right after they put your heart into a blender, mix in Chlorox bleach, leave it in the fridge for four weeks, forget about it, pull it back out covered in freezer burn, duct tape the pieces back together, and then mail it to you by carrier pigeon.

Consider this sample conversation:

Girl: I think we should break up.
Boy (feverishly checking his pockets for a receipt for the engagement ring he purchased earlier that day): Wonderful! Who needs a heart, after all? As long as we can still be friends!
Girl (while checking her Pokémon Go stats on her phone): Sure, friends.
Boy: Great! That way, I can still go with you to the movies every Tuesday. As friends!
Girl: No.
Boy: Well, at least (using air quotes) "AS FRIENDS" (meanwhile, several anxious people in the restaurant turn their heads in concern, and the manager calls for security) I can still see all your Facebook posts when you rebound within a few weeks and find a better-looking, independently wealthy guy! One with big muscles!
Girl (almost cutting him off): AND a jeep!

I don't mean to say by this that the only alternative to the Friend Zone is any kind of Enemy Zone. I'm not going to do anything rash like gun the engine and run over someone who once dumped me if I see her crossing the street, for example. But I'm really not going to be part of her life in any way, shape, or form ever again. I call it the Stranger Zone.

Nine out of 10 times this is the case, anyway. With that tenth person, your interaction tends to be limited to very casual conversation; "hi"s and "hello"s and not much more.

This is not necessarily a bad thing. I'll use a Book of Mormon example here, and it is simply that Nephi and his family reached a point in time at which it was no longer safe for them to remain near Laman and Lemuel. Namely, they would be murdered savagely. Following Lehi's death, they packed up their stuff and put a great deal of distance between themselves and their brethren. Nephi and friends still loved their brethren, cared for them, and forgave them, but they needed space.

Likewise, it can be "unsafe" for you and your heart, your emotional and spiritual well-being, to be around someone who has caused you pain or to whom you've caused pain, and making a clean break is not a bad or wrong option.

My problem with the "let's just be friends" talk, which ends up being the Stranger Zone anyway, is that people mostly don't really mean to continue to be your friend if they're rejecting you.

I once upon a time went out with a girl in my ward a few times. I thought we had a pretty good time together, and my thinking moved into the "I'd like to get to know you better" conversation in my head.

Ha ha! I have delusions of grandeur sometimes, huh? Assuming anything else was going to happen was my first mistake. I called this person after a couple of weeks had gone by, after I neither saw her at church (it's a big ward) nor received any kind of ping pong/positive contact. She did not answer, so I left a voicemail. More time passed. I called and left another voicemail. Then I heard nothing back a second time. Ultimately, and in a final effort, in case her preferred method of communication was text, I sent a text message, my "third call, that's all," and finally received a reply, in which I was told, in summation: "I see us being only friends for now."

Naturally, this is not what she really meant. I don't blame her; it's never what anyone means. It's just the way our culture has conditioned us to act, as if getting to still be friends with someone who has crushed you like a gnat is some sort of consolation prize, like going on "Jeopardy!" and finishing the game with a negative dollar amount but still getting the chance to embarrass yourself of national TV and earning a gift card to Texas Roadhouse.

I finally saw this girl at the church the very next Sunday after the aforementioned text, and she avoided/walked right past me without saying a word. You know, like "friends" would do.

I also think of the time when cruel fate placed me and a date in theater seats that were directly a row behind my ex and her now-husband. It had not yet been a year since our breakup, and in that time, she had somehow recovered from this "difficult" breakup by finding this other guy, marrying him, and, at the time of this encounter, was already showing a baby bump. And there they were there in front of me, cuddling throughout the duration of the show.

It was torture.

Nevertheless, I did not make actual verbal or eye contact with this couple of front of me because they never turned around; had they done so, I would have smiled and said hello, and then I would have let them get on with their lives. I also paid attention to the show on stage more than I've ever paid attention to any musical ever. It is possible to be in the Stranger Zone while still being polite and still being a good person.

DISCLAIMER: Before the hate mail pours in, yes, ladies, I realize that we guys do stupid, unintentionally hurtful things, too. It's a recessive gene on the Y chromosome, actually. I accept dumb things I may have done wrong, too, because I'm learning as I'm going along, just as you are. I know only my experience and how certain events have affected me; I don't know anyone else's thoughts or motivations.

Basically, what I'm saying (to anyone who cares to listen? to the chair Neil Diamond is so fond of talking to? screaming out my window like Bastian at the end of The Neverending Story?) is: Don't send someone to the Friend Zone if you don't really intend to be that person's friend from that point forward. It's okay to accept the Stranger Zone. And in many cases, it's better for both people that it be that way.

Family Karaoke Party

Fortunately, I belong to a family who, for the most part, enjoys karaoke as much as I do.

I recently purchased a karaoke machine, and Ben and Christian were good enough to perform a duet of "My Favorite Things" from The Sound of Music to be the first ones to break it in.

Attack of the Killjoys

Me: Hello, my name is Paco.
Crowd: Hi, Paco!
Me: . . . and it's been three weeks since I was last an obnoxious killjoy.

Maybe it's not quite that extreme, but I imagine we've all been in the position in which we've either been the killjoy or been the one annoyed or saddened by someone else being a killjoy about something that brings us . . . well, for lack of a better word, joy.

Admittedly, one of the unfortunate tendencies I still struggle with is that of trying to come across as being snarky, witty, and cute rather than being nice or, even better, saying nothing at all when something that brings someone else happiness, but does nothing at all for me, is expressed or mentioned. It can be a very fine line, and sometimes I do not realize that I've crossed it until it is too late.

While social media has many positives, it also exacerbates the problem of the killjoy.

One of the ground rules of improv, and it applies here, is that you never sell out a teammate for a cheap joke. Though it may generate a chuckle or two, it ultimately damages team cohesion and makes you, well, a weenie. This is what the killjoy does.

It is a rule that applies to improv, and likewise it most certainly applies to friendship.

I remember a specific conversation not that long ago when I found myself caught in this trap, after which I pimp-slapped myself emotionally for my thoughtlessness. Comic-Con, or one of those other similar cosplay events was approaching, and a friend mentioned how excited she was that one of her favorite actors was scheduled to appear. I muttered something about how I (KILLJOY ALERT) "can't stand" this particular person.


If this friend happens to be reading this, and you can recall me being a jerkface on this occasion, I hope you'll accept my apologies. Or, let's talk about it in person sometime, and I'll buy you an ice cream.

The whole Pokémon Go thing, for example, did nothing and does nothing for me. Animé as a whole I find uninteresting and unappealing in basically every way. Nevertheless, this has been one of the things about which I can pat myself on the back and say, "Good for you. It's not your thing, but you weren't a killjoy about this." I've enjoyed seeing family members and friends post their Pokémon Go photos and tell their stories about going out hunting for Pokémons here and there and having a great time doing so. I've been geocaching before, which I'm told is somewhat similar to this craze, and I loved the experience of doing that.

Not being a killjoy does not connote agreement; it just means not being "that guy" that no one likes, who pooh-poohs something you love to do.

And so, my friends, please don't let any of the times I've been a killjoy stop you from pursuing your dreams, creating your creations, writing your plays, singing your songs, drawing your drawings, dancing your dances, and above all fanboy your fanboy-ing stuff. (Is that a verb? It is now.) Not that you need my permission.

We all have a compelling story to tell, and while some of us do it through blogging, others do it in other ways. Embrace and enjoy your Pokémon Go, travel, cosplay, concerts, photography, favorite sitcoms, articles you read and found interesting, sports, "Doctor Who," Mrs. Which, and Mrs. Whatsit hobbies. Or what-have-you. Meanwhile, I hope you'll continue to encourage me to do the same in my own way. Thank you for being patient and understanding with me during those times when I slip. It's what friends do.

However, if you're going to make an inordinate number of status updates or post several dozen photos of yourself doing these things to clog up my feeds on Facebook, Instagram, and the like, we might be having a different conversation.