All The Best, Jess

This is to everyone, but this is most especially to my friends on the edge, looking out over nothing and wondering if that would be easier, if that would be kinder, if that would be better. I do not pretend to know your pain and experiences, for those are yours and no one else can truly comprehend them, but I know what my pain feels like, and I know where I've been and what I've survived, and I have a few things to say. The world is dark. Things are not easy. It is hard to look at the hate that is everywhere, the wars that are being waged, and all that we are losing or have lost and see anything that can make continuing worth it. There are things you are going through, or have gone through, that you have done nothing to deserve. There are people who hurt that leave you with echoes in your mind and scars on your heart and I am so sorry, but I cannot take them away. I cannot erase the things that are wrong, and I cannot pretend that it goes away easily. People like to sa...

I have always struggled with being blunt. I think it's part of the nature of artists, or perhaps just the nature of being human, but I want to make things sound prettier than they look, softer than they feel, gentler than they sound, and better than they are. I will start a post about the things I struggle with, only to have to restart because I am apologizing where there is no need, romanticizing things beyond my right, or just simply being too vague and far too specific within the same paragraph. I am not a perfect person, and therefore I am far from a perfect writer. I honestly don't know exactly what I want to say right now, but I want to write. I want to be able to put some of the thoughts that have been racing inside of me out in the world because then I can really process it, put everything to rest, and start anew. Things are always changing, and if this year has taught me anything, it's that waiting will get you nowhere. Though it may be shaky, I have to keep w...

I'll be honest, I have sat with this blank post on my computer for about five days now. I want to write, but sometimes I find myself paralyzed in the face of actually putting words down and publishing them. Somewhere along the way, over the course of a literal decade, loving writing started walking with being scared of not sounding "right" when it came time to actually sharing the things I have to say. This is not an experience unique to me--I'm pretty sure almost everyone who loves doing something struggles putting themselves out there because, well, what if everyone else doesn't love it? Loving something is so challenging because that love makes you want to be good at it, but "good" is almost always subjective. This is not a new struggle for me, but it is one I have become increasingly aware of over the last semester, and not just in writing. Most people know this, but my first love is music, closely followed by acting. As someone who is studying ...

It came to my attention recently that I do not know how to live without trying to live up to expectations. For as long as I have been aware of the world, I have been unable to ignore the feeling that someone is watching and measuring me up to some impossibly high standard that I have to reach somehow, sometime soon, no matter the cost. So I work. I have a job, I take at least 15 credits a semester, I attend church and clubs and fulfill my calling, I get my homework done on time and I have never paid a late fee for a test. Maybe I should be proud of this; I used to be proud of things like this. There was a sense of satisfaction in having things under control, but lately I have begun to see that I am wound so tightly that cracks have started forming where the pressure has built up. Instead of feeling at peace when I finish an assignment, I only feel my heart beating, working so I can work, and then I feel guilty. Even with all my knowledge of mental health and the negative impacts of st...

Dear Jessie, For you, it is December 6th, 2016. In a year, almost exactly, you will sit down and begin a blog post called “A Letter to My Fifth Grade Self” filled with most of the lessons you will have learned and all of the ways you’ve grown in the past year, starting tomorrow. For me, it is February 23rd, 2019. We are 19--we made it here. I am at BYU pursuing acting and a creative writing minor. To quote the letter you will soon write, “Things are different now, but they are better.” I think about you often. Even though everything you are experiencing and feeling was me a little over three years ago, I can barely recall anything. We’re really messed up, though, aren’t we? I do know that. You are currently sitting on your bed, crying, barely home from a rehearsal that left you feeling completely worthless, utterly hopeless. This isn’t the first time you’ve left school feeling this way; more often than not you are here or worse. You want to drop out of the show you are currently c...