Aged to Perfection

My younger brother Eben just turned 19 yesterday. This is a big year in any Mormon boy's life. Not only is it his last as a teenager, but soon he will find out where he will be spending his next two years. My prediction: the Ozarks in Arkansas. This will ensure that he will in fact go through the difficulty of learning a new language but his efforts will not be recognized by the general population as English and Hick actually do have much in common. Regardless, I wish him well and hope that he finds himself somewhere much warmer this time next year.

I also have an older brother that will be turning 30 in a few months which has caused me to think quite a bit lately. What, you ask, is so special about that? People turn 30 everyday. Two things about my brother differentiate him from the general population. First, he is a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints. This in and of itself is also unremarkable. After all, there are over 13 million members worldwide. What makes Danny unique is a characteristic that instills fear and trembling in even the most stalwart of church members: he is not married.

Is there anything more terrifying in the life of a member of the church than to be 30 and unmarried? I can assure you wholeheartedly there is not. Among the list of things less frightening are the following:

1. Being held hostage at gunpoint.
2. Suddenly realizing you are completely naked in front of everyone you know.
3. That dream where you realize it is the end of the semester and you have not gone to class or studied at all and your finals are starting now! (Does anyone else have this dream, because it is one of my constants. Just curious.)
4. Discovering that the mysterious man your 18 year old daughter is dating and refers to only as Juice, is in fact O.J. Simpson.

There are actually hundreds of horrific events most mormon young adults would rather subject themselves to than to be staring down the barrel of the big three zero with no ring and no prospects. Death would probably be more welcome. Now, I don't think that the fear of being alone is unique to mormon culture. This is a very human characteristic. What would sitcoms and movies be without the ever present storyline of either a man or woman realizing they are getting older and and the fear that they will never get married? (i.e. Jerry and George in the "Pact" episode of Seinfeld, the entire cast of Friends throughout every season, and nearly every romantic comedy ever made.) But life being over if still single at the age of 30? That is not universal.

What is the big deal?! Why are we so terrified? I'll tell you why. Because mormon dating culture has officially overtaken Hollywood and the Southern California beach scene as the most judgmental, superficial culture in the world. OK, so I may be exaggerating a little. But only slightly. A good friend calls it Provo Seinfeld. You aren't necessarily judged for the things that you do, you are judged for what you appear to do. Perception about a person is often more important that reality. Do you remember the episode where Jerry gets dumped by the supermodel when she catches him picking his nose? The fact that he didn't actually do it was immaterial. It looked to others like he did, and that was enough to end it. This is the problem with age. If you are 30 and single, the perception is that you are either weird or unrighteous. So ridiculous.

It has become far to easy for people to justify their superficiality. We have code words and phrases that allow us all to be as picky we want yet still maintain the ruse that we are not shallow. Don't want to date boy who has a low earning potential? Easy. Just say that you could care less about the money, but it is a matter of ambition. You need a boy who is more driven and has a stronger work ethic. If you want to be a teacher, keep it to yourself until after the engagement. Stick with pre-law or pre-med until a commitment is made. Can't find a polite way to tell others that a girl wasn't cute enough for you? It's really a personalities thing. We just didn't click. You get the idea.

What saddens me about the age thing, besides the fact that it is speeding towards me like a blitzing linebacker, is that it shouldn't matter at all. So what if you are single and 25, or single and 30? Live your life and enjoy it. It only matters because we associate some level of righteousness with how old you are and whether or not you are married. This is absurd. Judge people for who they are. Serving a mission doesn't make you a good person. Serving an honorable one does. Being in the elders quorum presidency doesn't mean your life is in order. Serving faithfully in whatever calling you are asked does. It is wonderful that many people find the person they want to be with quickly, and we should all be happy for these people. I'm not, but I should. As long as we realize that it doesn't say anything about what kind of a person you are. Neither does your age. The sooner we all realize this, the sooner 28 and 29 year olds everywhere can stop cowering in fear. No more dread at the thought of leaving BYU unmarried. Take comfort in the fact that you are a good person and that you will have all of the joys and benefits of marriage someday.

Unless your personality sucks. In that case, you should probably just settle.

A Love for the Ages

I love my car. This hasn't always been the case, but it has definitely grown on me. It isn't exactly the biggest serving of eye candy you will ever get, and it will more than likely break down any day now, or so I've been thinking for several years. I drive a 1989 Mercury Tracer. That's right. It's the real deal. I think once upon a time it was painted red, but even my colorblind self can easily see that continuing to call it red would be a disgrace to colors everywhere. It's probably something close to a nice pink these days and I hope I will have it long enough that it will reveal many more new and exciting colors in the years to come.

I guess a little background info is in order to completely understand the history behind the beautiful machine that is my automobile. I've had it for five years, which means it came to me already in the twilight of its life. My cousin Brent heard I needed a car when I got back home from my mission, and he offered to give it to me for free if I picked it up. The only hiccup was that he lives in Bend, Oregon, which is about 10 hours away from my house. But hey, how often are you offered a free car? So my grandparents, my dad, and I drove up in their pickup truck, which needless to say was one of the worst car rides of my life, only exacerbated by the fact that it was in the middle of a horrible snowstorm. (Hence taking a truck instead of a normal, comfortable car.) We finally arrived in Bend, picked up the car and started the drive back, and miraculously, the roads were crystal clear and the weather had completely changed for the better. I'm thinking to myself that this baby is a good luck charm! Not so fast, tiger.

As soon as we crossed the Oregon/California border, all hell broke loose. It started snowing like crazy, to the point that we could hardly see the road, and we were having some serious problems tractionwise. It would have made sense not to keep driving, but we were trying to get home to celebrate new years, so we forged ahead. Then it happened. A harbinger of things to come for my new car and I. The windshield wiper motor went out. Whose windshield wipers give out?! Seriously!! We're probably about five hours from home at this point, and maybe two or three from getting out of snow range, so we do what any father/son team would do in this situation: keep going. We found some rope in the trunk and constructed a puppeteer like system for clearing the snow off the windows. The rope was tied to the end of each of the wipers and we rolled the windows down so that we could pull the ropes back and forth while driving. Shockingly, it worked quite well. Not to say it was a comfortable ride. Have you ever driven with the window down in a snowstorm? I wouldn't recommend it, unless you are looking to pick up the always popular souvenir I like to call hypothermia. It was awful. To make matters worse, the rope was wearing my hands raw from my Gippetto impersonation. Miraculously, we ended up getting the car home without being killed. We got everything fixed, and I was able to take the car back to school with me.

I should have known things would never be easy for us. A month later I was driving on the overpass that leads to the Provo Towne Centre Mall, on a date mind you, and what do my wondering eyes should appear, but a car, parked in the middle of the road. There was traffic on both sides of me, so all I could do was slam on the brakes, resulting in my rear ending the idiot in the middle of the road. Great date! Needless to say, things didn't work out.

Fast forward a year. A couple buddies of mine and I are headed down to St. George to be in a good friend's wedding. Once again we hit a snowstorm and this time we break down altogether just outside of Beaver, Utah. What else would happen?! Come on! After freezing our aces off for an hour or so waiting for the tow truck to find us in the middle of the night, we are forced to get a hotel room and miss the wedding. Oh, well. Spending a couple hundred bucks on tow truck fees and the finest hotel Beaver had to offer was fun too.

I could go on and on, but I won't. Needless to say, we've had our struggles. I used to think that it would be awesome to have a sweet car to cruise around in and pick up women. Like a great wingman who brings them in, but doesn't swoop in and intercept. Not anymore. My car is so much better than that. It is a true litmus test when it comes to women. Is she shallow? I'll know within one car ride. Materialistic? Please, Big Red won't allow that ish around here. If a girl can be cool with riding in my pocket protector on wheels, she is good enough for me.

I'm not sure how much time we have left together. The glove box fell off. The heating takes about 20 minutes to kick in. The tailpipe rattles like a tambourine. When it's cold, it idles at about 3000 rpm. The front windshield leaks and has a big crack. The trunk rarely closes. Most recently, I think the shocks have given out, and the back left side of the car is riding perilously low as a result. Am I worried? Hardly. I plan on still having this dreamboat of a ride when I get married and actually have to be a grown up in 10 years. Of course, by then I will be 42.

But then, what is life if not growing old with the ones you love?

Feeling the burn

I've never really enjoyed running. It's easy to admire those that do, but I am just not one of them. I hear lots of stories from friends about how wonderful it is during a good run to feel the adrenaline pumping and break through that wall and get runner's high. However, I have yet to experience such a phenomenon. While it is true that I am just plain lazy at times, a better explanation might be that throughout my life, running has equaled punishment, which I think dates back to playing team sports growing up. Mouth off, you run laps. Don't give max effort, run laps. Accidentally wear a purple fleece to school because you think it's blue, well, you get the picture. This has always been my mindset, so I've never actually gained any pleasure from this activity. The closest I've come is when I am done, it is glorious to know I don't have to run again until the next day.

Sadly, this aversion to running transferred to any form of physical activity that wasn't directly related to playing sports, particularly working out at the gym. I've never been able to enjoy that much either. Always seemed like more of a chore than an activity. That is until recently. About eight months ago, my friend Tony Capone convinced me that I needed to get back in shape in order to increase my desirability with the opposite sex. As much as I didn't feel like it, I knew that it was probably necessary. Or maybe I just assume all women are as shallow as I am. Hopefully not, but I decided to plan for the worst.

After two months, nothing much had changed. Aside from the marginal returns I was seeing, I still had yet to find that intrinsic motivation to transform myself into a 21st century Adonis for any reason besides making myself more competitive in the meat market that is Provo dating. Then, something happened. Actually, it wasn't really any one thing in particular. One by one, everything that I had been planning on for so long seemed to change. As I took inventory of my life, I came to realize that I had very little control over anything. Landlords can throw your stuff out for no good reason. Jobs can be lost at anytime. People you love don't have to love you back. In fact, the only aspect of life that I felt in complete control of was going to the gym and working out. Nobody could stop me from doing that. It became the one constant in my daily routine. I would go when I felt great, and I would go when I felt terrible. I would go when I was happy, and I would go when I felt things couldn't get any worse. There is a direct correlation between the effort I put in and the results that come. That is a beautiful thing.

That point of epiphany was about five months ago, and I'm still going strong. Sure there are days when I'd rather be doing something else, but I just have to remind myself that there aren't many things as controllable as this. Be thankful for the ones that are. Now, if only dating were so simple.