My world

• Something big:  I stepped off of the plane on an uncomfortably hot and humid afternoon in September of 2015.  I felt the humidity entrenched over my body.  All I had in hand was two small suitcases filled with belongings and photos of my loved ones.  I scanned the view around me to take it all in.  The sky stretched out before my eyes for miles and I witnessed the vast, brightly colored sky that I had only witnessed in movies.  This would be my home for the year and a half of my life. 

• Something broken: I was on the freeway driving home from a long and stressful day at work.  Unfortunately, my week outside of work was also long and stressful.  I sat in my car thinking about how I couldn’t possibly take another thing.   Just then, I felt my car being launched forward several feet in front of me. I pulled over to the side of the road, stepped out of my vehicle, and surveyed the damage that had taken place.  My back fender was completely smashed in.  This event was the icing on the cake of my undesirable and unfortunate week.

• Something artistic or something man made: I can still the voice of my mother in the back of my mind reminding me to practice the piano.  As a child, sitting down to practice the piano was at the very bottom of my "favorite things" list.  I grew up on the east coast, as a nine year old girl, I felt like my time was best spend playing in the forest behind my house and getting dirty rolling around in the leaves.  You can imagine the struggle it was for my mother to get me to sit down and actual practice my songs.  I can't say I appreciated that persistency at the time, but looking back, I am so grateful she stuck to her guns. 

• Something Mysterious: Why was I born into the family that I have?  Why was a born a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints? Why did my life path lead me to BYU? Why have I met the people that I have? Why do I feel strong love from a God I’ve never seen? These questions are pertinent in my mind, and honestly, I don’t think I’ll know the answers to these questions in this life.   

Image: my first photo taken in Oklahoma 

The Electron

• Something Big: the electron. It's not big at all-- in fact, it's so small that it's almost outside our reach. But one thing is certain-- it will always be outside our comprehension to grasp. It's location: impossible. It's behavior: almost more so. I've poured over my chemistry books, then spent hours at the whiteboard trying to grasp what I had just read. How can something be both a wave and a particle-- both energy and matter-- simultaneously? And then I learned about De Broglie: WE are both a wave and a particle-- both energy and matter-- simultaneously. And how are these "probability waves" part of the physical world? In the crash between the math and the tangible, distressed and caught in the middle of it, I asked a professor whose specialty is physical chemistry, "What is real?" His response was equally mystifying: "You know, you're asking a dangerous question."
  
• Something Broken: my insides. I have Celiac disease, an autoimmune problem that attacks the lining of intestines whenever I eat gluten. That's fine-- just go gluten-free. But it's not that simple. Years after diagnosis, I'm still suffering. I've tried so hard-- crazy restrictive diets, less restrictive diets, more doctors, a dietitian, physical exercise, and so on. But it persists. I'm blessed with a body that works quite well generally, but the stomach is an exception. And honestly, the mental side effects of unexplainable, chronic medical problems are torturous. The constant juxtaposed cry is there: "Am I doing enough? What else can be done?" Scraping, searching, hoping for an answer. But sometimes, nature is just silent.
• Something Artistic: a sculpture in the Musee D'Orsay. There's a portrait bust of a woman on the second level of the Paris museum-- I can tell you the exact place-- that stops me in my tracks when I see her. The first time I encountered the sculpture, it was as though the world stopped moving. Wide-eyed and heart-pierced, I stood and did more than admire her features. Somehow, I felt she personified everything that I can't describe. The simple hair, the chip on the nose. The stillness, peace, and reliability of her face. It was as though she felt the inner yearnings of my heart and wore them on a marble sleeve. I can't for the life of me describe why I felt such an attachment to this sculpture, but I still do. 
• Something Mysterious: my absolute faith as a scientist. Faith, which is supposedly the essence of irrationality, has become such a normal part of my scientific life. And that makes me marvel. From a secular perspective, one would call it a fluke when my laboratory experiments suddenly work so that I can make it to the temple one night. I say to myself, "Of course! God was controlling the circumstances to help you live up to your divine potential." But to the rest of the world, you can't make a miracle something perfectly rational. Moreover, when I need help in searching for scientific answers, I ask an "irrational" God for aid.  It's just inherent to incorporate my faith into my scientific work. Faith is described as a lack of perfect knowledge, while the Latin root of science is "to know". And yet to me, science never lies outside the realm of my faith.

"New York, New Yooooork!!"

• Something big: Blast from the past

Just a couple weeks ago, I had a ten-year-old ask me for a summary of the lessons I've learned in my life. I was baffled for a few seconds, but soon found my footing with some solid truths such as "try to love everyone, no matter who they are." Later, I was just thinking about how someone can even pretend to fit twenty-two years of literally constant experience into a few comments, or forty years, or ninety years. Then I thought about history books, where decades of billions of lives' worth of experience are crammed into a few sentences, and I still struggle trying to learn how to navigate a simple friendship.

• Something broken: How can I trust anyone? 

At one point during a job I had in the summer, I was handling small boxes of merchandise worth about $20,000 a box, and I was alone in a very low-security area close to where I had my backpack. It was also the sort of situation where they wouldn't have even realized it was missing till weeks after I'd already left the state. It suddenly fell upon me just how much implicit trust my boss had in me just by giving me the job--how could anyone sanely trust that much? Sometimes circumstances are just too tempting for crime or betrayal. But then again, the world would fall apart completely without it.

• Something artistic or man-made: "New York, New Yooooork!!"

I had the opportunity to work this year in New York City at the US Open Tennis Championships. I was put up by my employer in a hotel in midtown Manhattan, and from the window of my hotel room, I could see an endless line of cars framed by endless towers. I'd think, people are so incredible! But then at work, I'd be dealing face to face with these tennis players who are worldwide celebrities, and honestly? They seemed exactly like normal people. People can be so deep, so creative, so powerful, and so incredible, and yet those whom I supposed to be the vanguard of such qualities seemed so mundane in person.

• Something mysterious: Personality tests--how much accuracy is freaky?

Recently, I spent an inordinately large amount of time on the phone with a friend. How long, you ask? Nine whole hours. Why, you ask? Because we made the fatal mistake of taking the Meyers-Briggs personality test. I've tried other tests before, and to be honest, they seemed more like shotty horoscopes than insightful psychology exercises. I've always felt very independent and in control of my life, but this test made me extremely uncomfortable because it seemed to peer into my motivations and my methods with eerie veracity. But this made me ask, am I even in control at all??

Hanging on for Dear Life

• Something Big: Catching the right ledge 

All of my wilderness skills that told me not to stand on damp, mossy rock on the edge of an angry river heading towards a drop off were apparently taking this day off. One moment I was dipping my hands into the cool water for a drink, the next I was tumbling under the water. “I NEED A ROCK” was the only thing I could think. My arm struck down, caught something, and didn’t let go until the leaders of my group rescued me. 3 years later I returned to the same spot. That winter had been drier, and the river was only a small trickle. I searched for the rock that had saved my life. The entire riverbed was a uniform slab of granite with a single crack about 4 feet from the drop off. That was my ledge, and that was the only ledge. I have reflected on this event many times. What would have happened if I had put my arm down a millisecond later? What would have happened if that ledge wasn’t there for me to grab?

• Something Broken: Catching the wrong ledge

Running up a flight of stairs, my foot caught the edge of one of the steps and I landed hard. My knee hurt, but I shook it off, continued up the stairs, and went on a hike. That evening, however, my leg completely gave out. I was in a wheelchair for a few days, crutches after that. Many specialist visits and scans later, the doctors still didn’t have any answers. I had to give up ballet, missed out on fun hikes and adventures, all because I fell up stairs. UP the stairs. That shouldn’t happen.

• Something Artistic: Imprinting 

One evening I was attending one of my mother’s concerts and the piece that was playing struck me like nothing ever had before.  I came often and so was no stranger to good music, but this was different. From the first note I was captivated. For the rest of the piece I was just drinking it all in, squirming in my seat because I couldn’t physically handle the concentration of beauty I was being presented with. I described my experience to my mom, and with a thoughtful smile, she told me that that piece had been playing on a CD when I was born. I would say that that would explain why it had impacted me so much, but claiming that my subconscious remembers the music that was playing during the first few minutes of my life does not seem like a valid explanation.

• Something Mysterious: Trust

I am ok when people say that to love or to be happy is a choice. For me, choosing to trust is sometimes harder. My trust in someone seems so tied to their trustworthiness based on past actions. If I choose to trust someone who isn’t trustworthy, won’t I end up getting hurt? But if I withhold my trust from someone who deserves it, am I hurting our relationship?

Something Big:Grizzly Bear Scat

• Something Big:Grizzly Bear Scat

On a beautiful chilly summer morning in Yellowstone National Park, my twin brother and I set out on an adventure. The goal was to climb Mt. Washburn, and skirt the edge of the grand canyon of the Yellowstone. On the way down I rolled my ankle and realized just how dangerous it would be to get injured with no cell service, and no way out except four miles up a mountain, or 10 miles along the plain. It began to mist then sprinkle as we made our way down from the peak. Just as we reached the bottom, and began along a meadow, we ran into massive paw prints in the fresh mud. We knew they couldn't be more than 15 minutes old because of the rain, and the hair began to rise on our necks. Five feet later, a pile of grizzly bear scat that was steaming in the frigid air. The hair continued to rise, along with the feeling that we were in too deep, and that we were the smallest part of the park which we thought we'd conquered at the top of the mountain. The sense that we were being watched continued until we'd cleared the meadow and we could start breathing again.

• Something Broken:

My Grandad is one of the most charitable human beings I know. The distinctive smell of a leather coat, whiskers from his cheek, and a twinkle in his eye as he hugs me are ingrained in my memory. He was married to my grandmother for 52 years before she passed away. Peggy developed Huntington's disease, a genetic disorder, that slowly destroys all the motor and brain function. My Grandad never left her side for 4 years while she struggled to remember who she was, and could hardly talk. Now when I am greeted by hugs I can feel the ribs through the leather jacket, the whiskers are too long, and the twinkle almost gone, like his Peggy.

Donald and Peggy Murray

• Something Artistic

There was a rift as wide as a canyon in my freshmen dorm room. We lived together, but besides the polite small talk, we might as well have been strangers. Like the kid that you knew from somewhere and some event that you nodded to as you passed in the hall. Then came a flyer, "Paint Party in Salt Lake", and we all decided to go together. The pounding beat of the music, the crushing waves of the crowd, and the smothering heat of the room forged a bond stronger than steel. We went in as strangers, but the music, the atmosphere, the crazy bacchusness of the rave gave us a common bond. The music had torn down the barriers between us.

• Something Mysterious: Spiritual Experiences

Spiritual experiences have always been somewhat esoteric to me. I grew up in a very spiritual household. Both my parents were members of the church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints, so I naturally followed them in scripture reading, daily prayers and church attendance. I had instances where I truly felt something outside of myself, a warm feeling of awe and love. I have taken these, in combination with answers to prayers as my evidence of a loving God. I often wonder however why my brothers cannot experience the same inspiration that I have. My brother dedicated two years of his life to the church, tried to be good, honest and sought for the same answers, but according to him, the answer never came. Others outside my church have described similar warm feelings in response to Buddhism or Islam, or other Christian Churches. I believe I have something special and wish my brothers could feel the same.

Earthquake Dreams

Something Big: Humanity's Garbage
My sophomore year at BYU I was a custodian in the Harris Fine Arts Center, the music and arts building. One of my duties was to empty all the trash bins. We filled about 5 large trash bags every day. This amount of garbage overwhelmed me, especially when I thought about how that was only the waste for one building, in one university, in one city, in one state, etc.! There are so many people in the world! And they all create so much garbage! How do we possibly contain it all!?


Something Broken: My Concept of Time
I sit in my car outside the address pulled up on my phone. I contemplate driving away at the thought of my 45-minute-late entrance into the apartment, all conversation halted as the party pauses to collectively sneer at me with disdain. I meant to be 5, maybe 10 minutes late to my friend's bridal shower, an acceptable window, just to avoid being the first person there. But somehow, there I was, at 7:45, without even a paper-wrapped peace offering because I ordered through the Amazon registry. For probably the millionth time in my life, I ask myself, Why am I like this? I sigh, slump out of the car, and shuffle like a worm to the front door.

Something Artistic or Man-Made: Pirates
It's 2009 and I'm spending a week at my cousins' house in Holbrook, Arizona. It's a time-worn house amidst a vast span of dust, but that's part of its charm. The charm runs thin one night, though, when I lie in my cold sleeping bag, overcome with worry about my parents' growing disenchantment with one another, my cousin's disease, my fear to drink the mysterious Holbrook well-water. Shakily I stuff in my earbuds and roll my iPod nano's wheel to the soundtrack of Pirates of the Caribbean: At World's End. A mist of cello and french horn dances down my spine, and somehow I once again believe in love, and hope, and safety.

Something Mysterious: Déjà-vu
I have a dream, or a daydream, or something: I'm on the phone with my friends Jordan and John, playing a game online, talking about John's new dog. Then the table and ground and blinds start shaking, and I panic, until I snap out of it. I comfort myself: Jordan and I haven't spoken in years, I don't even have that game downloaded anymore, and John doesn't have a dog—certainly there won't be an earthquake either. I forget about this, until much later I am actually in that phone call, playing that same game, and I remember the words we already exchanged in my "dream" as we say them again in real time. I panic, remembering the earthquake. It doesn't happen. This is more than remembering a similar past event; there is no way this could have happened before, and it was so specific. As always, I catch my breath, and try not to think about it too hard.

To Sleep or to Paint?

• Something Big: The beauty in the random                                                                                  The thing about nature that has perplexed me forever is how it is so random and yet so beautiful. The way leaves fall from trees can't be replicated by a man. It would look unnatural. But when a tree sheds its leaves it makes beautiful shapes and patterns on the ground. No two snowflakes are alike, but all similar and beautiful. Mountains in their grandeur differ wildly and from one to the next, but all are awe inspiring. The bark on a tree, grass on a lawn, even the dirt behind your house. It's random, non uniform, and yet incredible to look at. Nature has a way of captivating the eye with its mastery of making random look beautiful.
• Something Broken: Could someone please tell me whats wrong with my body?             Why is it always something weird? Something Strange? Something unknown. I've lived a mostly healthy life, but the medical problems I have had have been odd to me. I've had shingles as a 24 year old (the average age of those with shingles is over 50), Lyme disease, and other skin conditions which numerous doctors couldn't diagnose. Looking around I see people with the flu, or strep, or some other common illness. Not me! When I get sick, I find something weird to get sick with, and I don't understand it.
• Something Artistic or Man-Made: To Sleep or to Paint?                                                         I like to sleep, I think everyone does, or at the very least everyone needs to. However, when my artistic side makes an appearance (and when it does, you better beware) I seem to lose the need for sleep. I love to paint and when I start I can't stop. There have been many nights when I paint until the morning. One time years ago I stayed up for about two days straight, painting nearly nonstop. When I'm in the middle of it, I don't even feel tired. I just have this drive to progress and finish what I am working on. I don't know how this works or why. However, this inexhaustible energy which fuels my painting disappears the moment I stop. I have woken up many times in my chair or on the floor because of this. 
• Something Mysterious: Shadows                                                                                                  Walking through an empty building on a guard patrol, there is nothing to report but empty rooms and dead silence. This should instill calm, knowing everything is ok, but walking through this dark empty building at 1 A.M. does the opposite. I feel anxious and jumpy, surrounded by shadow, hearing only my footsteps and the soft buzz of the emergency exit lights. What is it about the dark that causes a fear the cuts us to the core? What is in the shadows that we are so afraid of?