🎵you're the inspiraaaaation🎵

Here is something that I'm constantly wanting more of, while simultaneously thinking I don't have any access to: inspiration. Since I talk a lot about religion and belief on this blog, this is just a clarification that I am not talking about spiritual inspiration. Dis alllll 'bout creative inspiration--which, to me, does involve spirituality, but not the kind you're thinking of right now.

I'm constantly bombarded by distractions; some of my own creation, others more external. Recently, I've run my mouth about Instagram/social media, which to me might be the #1 Biggest Distraction for Most People on the Planet Right Now. And I don't just mean the surface-level type distraction (you constantly pick up your phone to scroll when you're bored or just sitting on your butt). I'm talking about the kind of distraction that makes you think you're not doing enough, other people are "better" than you, and basically, your life sucks. I think this should be called Soul Distraction, because it's the adversary's way of making you forget who you are and what you were born to do. And when you forget that, suddenly everything is pointless and why bother?

Maya Angelou said "You can't use up creativity. The more you use, the more you have." 

Isn't that a relief? So, when you think your well is dry, all you have to do is stop trying to be perfect for a minute or a few minutes or hours, and go for a walk, or flip through a cookbook, or listen to a favorite song. The only rule is that you can't do something that stops the flow of brain juice. This is obviously because inspiration requires using your brain, and if you're vegetating on your couch looking at a screen, the opposite of inspiration will begin to stir (read: that annoying "soul distraction").

Something I have always loved to do is make inspiration lists. These are the things I know will inspire me if I do them or think about them or write about them. These are foolproof. Everyone's list is different, and maybe it will help you to write one down and keep it near whenever you start to fall into a pit of self-despair and volcanic rocks (volcanic rocks are the worst kind because they're scratchy and very hard, and falling on one can give you a giant scar, don't ask me how I know).

The other rule is to not care if whatever you produce/do is "bad." If you procrastinate doing or creating something until it's "perfect," it will not ever get done. Perfection is the enemy. It's way easier to produce something awful right when you think of it, and then go back and polish it later. At least you've produced something! Staring at a blank page makes your morale plummet to the basement, like the elevator in You've Got Mail. Waiting to go for a run until your posture is perfect and you no longer look like a toad slouching to the nearest puddle means you'll probably never go on that run. Just go. Right now. Well, put on pants first.

McKenzie's Inspiration-Station

Going on a walk, preferably when the sun is setting
Going for a run (I guess moving my body is good for me, wow, such surprise very insight)

Reading a book (or pretty much anything; the only rule is it can't be on the internet)

Make a playlist on Spotify, then clean the house while listening to it

Paint! Draw! Embroider

Write a letter 

Put away the laundry for crying out loud

Take a shower (there's got to be studies on this phenomenon by now)

Read scriptures (this opens up all kinds of inspiration that you didn't even know you wanted)

being your own fan

This information is not really anything new or groundbreaking or like, HEYYY she's saying somethin'! It's been said before. But like all moments of self-realization, like a funny smack in the face from the universe, it needs to be talked abOOT over and over again (I have been watching a lot of Olympic coverage and the Canadians' accents are getting to me).

We worry a lot. We=humans. We pick apart our outfits and the relentless dry skin around our index finger and the ONE hormonal zit that decided to show its face at the tail end of a really good skin week. We fret over the things we create--probably not good enough, we say.

Last week I finally sent out some of my poems for publication. I say "finally" like it was eons between the time I wrote them and the time I sent them out and honestly, it might as well have been! Why did I wait so long? Sure it was terrifying and I'm still a little nauseated thinking about that moment when I pressed "send," but.

I couldn't stand the suspense anymore.

Do you ever wonder how much cooler your life would be if you stopped being afraid of your own ness? Your courage, your creativity, your sense of humor, your ability to hold your breath for longer than a minute (trust me, this is a real skill, because it shows you have absolute disregard for fear, and I need that sometimes)?

I mean, yeah, what if I'm no good at writing poetry? What if my cinnamon rolls are secretly really gross (guys, they're not, they have like 2 cups of sugar and an entire cube of cream cheese, you can't mess that up)???????? What IF WHAT IF WHAT IF.

I hate those two words. They make me--when I'm literally already crossing the starting line--turn back really quickly and hesitate. They make me turn outward and see everyone staring at me and remember the time I fell during that 400m dash (it was in eighth grade, you'd think therapy had fixed that one by now). And then I think "Oh no, what if I mess up?"

My mom says to "fail faster!" If you're going to mess up, you might as well start now. Why put it off? Of all the things to procrastinate, why would you put off the messy bits that, yeah, suck eggs while you're pushing through 'em, but in the end turn you into The Absolute Coolest Version of Yourself God Intended.

Yeah, I'm bringing God into this because for me, personally, I usually can't get past that starting line without a divine nudging. And that's okay, because I'm divine, and I just need a reminder. I need an assist. God is the Stockton to my Malone.

I propose the best thing you could do for yourself today, right now, is to become your biggest, best, unabashed fan. If you're picturing a ceiling fan, fine, but maybe you could switch that image over to one of those industrial fans used to clean up a flooded basement. You're going to need the extra push to get over that scary cliff.

But don't worry.

There's a trampoline at the bottom.

haunted houses

File this one under "Things You Shouldn't Do When Your Mind is Being Ravaged by PMS."

I am, and have always been, a sentimental sap. As such, I cry whenever I see pictures of my siblings as babies, hear a song that unburied me from an avalanche at a rough time in my life, or drive past the Provo Temple any time ever, because let's face it, that place was my second home during one of the harder years of McKenzie Grows Up.

The other day I was looking at housing in Oregon and Washington, just because (no mom it's not what you think) (maybe it is) (but not now!).

I already know what it's like to live in the Pacific Northwest, but if you don't, well here's a rundown:

• Clouds. You better get used to seeing the veins under your skin for the rest of your life because the sun will only grace yo' face for two months of the year (three if you're lucky).
• People let their grass die in the summer (those two months I mentioned). Everything is brown and shrubby and then suddenly it's green again, almost like Dorothy stepping from a black and white world to one that's Technicolor. 
• People care a lot about marijuana. 
• Your food will mold instead of grow stale.
• You're not allowed to say "Merry Christmas" at school.
• It's frickin' expEN$IVE (compared to where I live now)
• Most importantly, you can live by these landmarks:

I have a special kind of nostalgia reserved for Oregon. Everyone has that nostalgia for the place they grew up. And it's just the pits. It's horrible, because a lot of us don't live where we grew up, and we can't scratch that sentimental itch just by taking a short jaunt in the Hyundai. 

A short jaunt to my old house is a day's drive. 

Anyway, when I was looking at housing, I wandered over to Google Maps, which has a satellite image feature. And maybe I used (abused?) it, but it was all in the name of sentimentality. When I'm dead I'll go back to these places just by teleportation, and then I can peek in the windows whenever I want and rattle the pipes and fold their laundry for them. Yeah, that'll scare 'em.

It's probably not the smartest idea to look back at a favorite place through a lens--it romanticizes it too much, makes all the bad stuff that happened kinda vaporize. But you know what, maybe I don't care. Maybe I don't even remember the bad stuff anymore. And maybe it wasn't bad at all. 

the house I grew up in (and my dad, too)

the last house we lived in before we moved (those trees used to be shorter than me)

Camp Alpine: a formative place if there ever was one