Thursday, January 4, 2018

New Day, New Me

End of the year for me also marks the end of a birth year. As a kid, I hated having my birthday on December 31st because I never got the attention I wanted. As an adult, I appreciate having my birthday the last day of the year, because it is a perfect time to take inventory on my life.

Like most, 2017 was a hard year for me. Politically it was insane, which is what I think most people are referring to, but 2017 was hard personally because I became fully aware of some of my bad habits, and actually admitted out loud I had things to work on. Scandinavia was hard, because traveling, camping, walking, cooking, and sleeping with one other person, 24/7, for 22 days straight, is hard. Summer at home was hard because I like to stay busy and I wasn't busy enough. Costa Rica was hard because it was humid and hot and the experience was not at all what I was expecting, though it was incredibly valuable. The road trip around the West was so fun, but hard, because I had to say goodbye to one of my best friends, and greatest loves, for at least a while, if not forever (I cried everyday for a week after Adriaan left). Alta has been fun so far, of course, but hard because I am in a leadership position where I manage the people I live with, and finding a balance is tricky. Plus it's hard because I would like to have good, strong, valuable relationships with people, but the dudes are hot and the hormones run high and I am not disciplined enough and have already found myself in sticky situations. Oy vey. Yeah, 2017 was hard.


I have learned some valuable things, and because 3 is a magic number, I will share 3 lessons learned.

Number One. I am so beautiful. I AM BEAUTIFUL! I am a fine wine, more beautiful with age (I am loving getting older). I feel confident and happy. And though I sometimes drive myself crazy, and I make mistakes, and I do things that don't make sense,  I really, really, really love myself. I am okay with myself. I accept myself, flaws and all. I am told I am crazy. I am told I'm intense. So many people tell me I'm able to get them to talk about things they never normally talk about, and it makes them feel uncomfortable, and vulnerable, and they don't always like it. I get under skins. I get under my own skin. But I love everything about myself. I love that I am bold. I love that I ask hard questions. I love that I laugh at almost everything. I love that I love people, and I love that I'm willing to display my love, even if it makes me look foolish, or makes me look like I care too much. My dad said, "Is it not important to manifest outwardly the love we have, that no one else has in the same portion or in the same way?" I love that I unabashedly show my love, even if it overwhelms people.

Number Two. I can nothing do about it. I have written about this concept before, but I feel like the older I get, the less I care what people think of me, because I have no control over what they think of me. In fact, I am fascinated by how people perceive me, even if it's negatively. It's intriguing! People will think what they will, and do what they want, because they are them and I am me. We are all shaped by how we were raised, our opinions are based on how we perceive things, and how I perceive things is different than how anyone else perceives things. I can't change anyone's mind, so why try to control them? I have no control.

I can control myself. I can control some things about my environment and the people I manage at work and so on, but I have no control how others will react. I don't control their thoughts, emotions, or actions. Someone can be insulting me to my face (which happened just yesterday), and I can sit there, and listen, and smile, and take it, and not let it affect me, because one person's perception of me is based so much on their perspective of the world, and I have no control over their perspective of the world. And so, I can receive what are meant to be insults, but still feel at peace about myself and forgiving of the other person. Trust me, this doesn't work all the time, I'm not perfect at it, but I'm getting better with active practice, and it feels great. There is so much freedom, so much peace, in relinquishing control.

Get it? Got it? Good.

Number Three. I think I've figured out what love means for me. I've been spending the last couple years trying to figure this out. I think love means different things to everyone. We all have our own idea of what love should feel and look like, and that's a beautiful thing. Love, for me, is when I will let someone else take care of me. Sounds weird, right?

I have a very hard time accepting help from others. I love to give and give and give and give, then give some more, then forgive, then give again. This causes me to feel a bit drained, even though I love to give. I see it as a weakness to ask for help, and I do not want to appear weak. I can get people to talk about themselves for hours, but I have a hard time talking deeply about myself. There are people who think we are the best of friends, but it's because they have told me their life story, and I have listened, but they've never asked about me. It's weird not feeling at all close to people who feel so close to me.

This is where dear, sweet, (butthead) Adriaan comes in. I spent two months traveling with him last summer, and we saw every side of each other. He met my friends and family. He mowed my mom's lawns and bought my grandma flowers. We fought, talked, walked, laughed, fought some more, compromised, kissed, loved, cried, gave, helped each other. He knows me better than any other person knows me. Most importantly, I feel safe with Adriaan, safe enough to let him baby me, take care of me when I'm sick, carry me when I'm tired, let me (literally) cry on his shoulder. I trust him completely.


He lives in The Netherlands and I live in the States, and neither one of us plans on moving to the other country. So we remain good friends, I hear from him every day, but we will never be together. I'm not sad about it (anymore). The reality is that no matter how comfortable I feel with him, he still drives me crazy. I don't believe there is just one person out there for me, I think there are many different kinds of people I could love, and I might even find someone I'm more compatible with. I'm not looking for an American Adriaan, I wouldn't even want that. I just want someone I feel safe with. Someone who I can let my guard down with, who I will trust to take care of me.

There are my three.

Here's a bonus: I am trying to be a lot more forgiving of myself, allowing each day to be a new beginning. Instead of focusing on the mistakes of the pervious day, I will forgive myself and allow myself to move forward. New day, new me.

And peace be with you.

Sunday, July 23, 2017

I'm starting a new church (but not really)

When I’m in Alta or when I’m traveling, I never (or very rarely) hear or talk about Mormonism. I am allowed to be Marie, free from being defined as a “former Mormon,” "Non-Mormon,” “Exmormon,” or whatever label you prefer. It is wonderful. If you wonder why I live my life the way I do, that is one reason. I feel free being a vagabond, making strangers my friends. Strangers have no expectations of me because they don’t know who I was in the past or where I came from. They have no perception of who I am based on old habits. They embrace me for who I am now because they don’t know any different.  

Though it is important to me to spend time with my family, I find it, at times, to be rather frustrating. Most of my siblings have accepted me for who I am now, and even my mother has for the most part, which is great. We’ve come a long way, and time with family is fun and meaningful most of the time. I love my family. But there are still times when side comments are made about my “lack of faith,” religious terms are referred to in a way to chastise me, and even my morality is brought into question. It doesn’t happen as much as it did before, but it still happens. When I come to Salt Lake I feel a bit out of place as well. Even though I love this city for so many reasons, Mormonism is brought up in the headlines, podcasts, new reports, and everyday conversations. Those of you who are still members of the church, hear me out: if you wonder why people who leave the church “can’t leave it alone,” these are the reasons why. I WANT to leave it alone, I love leaving it alone, I don’t want to talk about it anymore, have no desire to attack it, but if I am hearing snide comments about my lifestyle, or I’m being told that my “sins” make other people sad, how am I supposed to leave it alone? I feel I must constantly defend myself, which means talking about Mormonism. If it is exhausting and frustrating for you, imagine how tiring it is for me.

I did not leave the church because I wanted to “sin.” I didn’t leave because I was offended, or led away by Satan, or stopped going to church, or stopped praying and reading the scriptures. I didn’t stop attending the temple and I didn’t stop fulfilling my callings in church. If anything, I did those things more, desperately trying to hold on, trying to retain my belief. Those of you who know me well knew how faithful I was. So, anyone who says it is easier to leave a religion than it is to stay in one obviously has not been through a faith transition. I can tell you right now: it is not easy. It is one of the hardest things a person can go through.

Think about it: you have been given a template by which to live your life. You have been raised to believe a certain way, been given rules to follow and guidelines to go by. You’ve been told what to do, how to do it, when to do it. You’ve been given a narrative that makes sense of life and death, giving a meaning and a purpose for everything. Then you learn something that shatters this template, this story, and you are left a completely clean slate, usually well into adulthood. You are left to pick up the pieces and figure out what you believe your own, with no certain, clean narrative. I can tell you right now, from experience:  that is not an easy thing to do. Especially if your family is still in it, and mourning the loss of your soul. It’s hard.

I truly envy the people who can stay in a religion, especially an orthodox one, and still retain a sense of self. Those who never felt held back or stifled, who felt free to do and be who they wanted to be while retaining their faith. Those of you who stay in a religion, whatever that religion may be, determined to make changes from the inside, kudos to you. Truly, truly, I look at you with awe and amazement, and I love you. Fight the good fight, pioneers, I will not stop you!

I just could not do it anymore, and guess what? I am all the better for it. Those who say people who leave a religion will never be as happy as they were in the religion probably also have never gone through a faith transition. Again, I can tell you from experience, it is possible to leave a religion and be MUCH MUCH happier without it. I didn’t even realize how stifled I was by Mormonism until I finally left. I feel like my happiness can be seen from the outside even! I am healthier, more physically fit, more in-tune with myself, more comfortable and confident with myself. I feel much more peaceful, I have chilled out. I don’t hold myself back anymore, I go for adventure anytime I can. I am doing things I only dreamed of doing. I’m becoming the Marie I’ve always wanted to me. Sometimes I wish I could go back to sixth grade Marie and be like, “Look little Marie, you made it! You are a chef (which is something you always wanted to do). You are running marathons (also something you wanted). You are traveling (your dream). You have fallen in love, many times. You are beautiful (finally out of that awkward stage). You are becoming your own version of Joe March.” Sixth grade Marie would be so proud.

Within Mormonism I didn’t feel free to be this Marie.

This Marie has finally come into herself, and has embraced the fact that she is imperfect, very, very imperfect, and constantly changing. This Marie realizes that she knows nothing, NOTHING, and that there are no certainties in life. This Marie has come up with her own template that seems to be working, but probably still needs tweaking. So with that as a disclaimer, fully owning that what works for me may not work for you, I present to you my 10 commandments. These are meant for me and only me, but if they resonate with you, cool man. Also, I should say that I am not perfect at these, not by any means, but I’m trying. Here we go:

1.)    BE KIND: Love thy neighbor as thyself. Give of your time and money when you are able. If you feel inspired to send a text to someone telling them you love them or are thinking of them, do it. It takes 30 seconds. Compliment people. Smile. Talk to people, ask them how they’re doing. Take time to listen. Turn freaking water into wine because wine makes everyone feel better. Just, you know, be like Jesus and hang out with everyone, no matter who they are or what they’ve done.

2.)    BE OPEN: Be open to people, experiences, and perspectives. Being open to other ideas does not mean you must embrace those ideas and believe them as gospel truth. You don’t have to agree with everyone, but don’t be afraid to engage in those conversations! Be open to the unknown! Being open allows you to understand people more, it causes you to be more understanding and compassionate, which helps with the first commandment, to be kind. Also, be open to exploring new places and trying new things! Don’t hold back!

3.)    BE IN TUNE: Listen to your body. Listen to your heart. Listen to your mind. Take time to be still and peaceful. Being in tune means knowing what you need to be happy and healthy, but is also means being aware of others and their needs. It means being aware of the energy you put off and others put off. It means listening to The Spirit within you, whatever that spirit is.

4.)    FOLLOW THROUGH: Actually act on the good things you are inspired to do. We can sit and talk all day about how we want to make the world a better place, but if we don’t act on those words, then they are just words. Go do!

5.)    YOU CAN NOTHING DO ABOUT IT: Learn that we have very little control over what happens in life, and little to no control over other people. Trying to control other people is just going to bring you and them frustration and unhappiness. Let bygones be bygones. Live and let live. Now, of course there are exceptions to this. If you know someone is suicidal or physically hurting themselves or others, by all means, step in. However, when it comes to lifestyle choices, political or religious beliefs, taste in music or movies, or whatever it may be, you have no control over anyone else, and trying to control them will just hurt you. You can’t make anyone love you, or love the things you love, or do things the way that makes sense to you. People are going to do things their way. They’re going to love who/what they want. Let them.

6.)    BE GOOD TO YOUR BODY: Eat healthily, whatever that means for what your body needs. Be active. Walk instead of driving, if you can. Be smart about what you do with your body. Live a long, full, able, and healthy life (however long that may be).

7.)    LOVE YOUR BODY: Realize that no matter what the beauty standard in society is now, it will inevitably change, therefore it is better to appreciate and love your body for what it is, naturally. The fact that your body can heal itself, that is it healthy and you can climb mountains with it, think with it, make food with it, kiss and hug people with it, etc, is miraculous. So love it!

8.)    GET OUT IN NATURE AS MUCH AS POSSIBLE: Nothing brings more peace than being in the mountains, surrounded by trees and plants and animals. The sounds, the sights, the smells, all of it brings peace, gratitude, and joy. Nature is medicine. So get in it! Get dirty!

9.)    RUN: Get into the rhythm of your body, your breath, the sound of your feet on the ground. Let your mind go. Be in the now. Run run run run run.

10.)  OWN YOUR IMPERFECTIONS: You are not perfect. You will never be perfect. You will still hurt people, let people down, do things that don’t make sense, no matter how hard you try. It’s okay. Own it, forgive yourself, try harder next time. There is beauty in embracing and owning your imperfections. They are what make you human.

So, there are my 10 commandments. The gospel of Marie. These are the things I find most important right now, things I want to focus on. I don’t want to tear anyone else down. I don’t want to take anyone away from whatever they believe that brings them happiness. I’m not trying to convert anyone to or from anything. Except love. I do want to convert everyone to love. I guess that’s my agenda.   

Monday, July 10, 2017

beep beep beep beep beep

Every time I visit my grandparents in California, my grandma tells me I need to write a book about all my experiences traveling, that she would love to read my stories, which is such a sweet thing for her to say, but it isn't true. I mean, I think she would probably enjoy all the rated G stuff, but I'd want to write about everything, even the rated R stuff, and I know she would not like the rated R stuff. I have thought about giving myself a pseudonym so that I can write about everything without getting myself into trouble with my family because even though they know I am not active in the Mormon faith, there is a lot of don't-ask-don't-tell maneuvering I have to do in order to keep the peace. It is exhausting, to be honest, especially with all the time I've been spending with my family for the last couple months. I am drained, but it is worth it to me to keep the peace. I'm still not at a point where I want to deal with the shit I'd have to deal with if I opened up to my family in full detail about my life, and I don't know if I ever will be. Quite frankly, they don't need to know everything anyway.

I will, however, get into some detail here, though it's not really rated R stuff. Don't get too excited.

In April and May I was in Scandinavia, walking from Oslo to Copenhagen with Adriaan. Adriaan and I met on the Camino de Santiago in Spain almost two years ago, and we have kept in touch everyday since then. I am probably my truest, rawest self with him; he sees the good, the bad, and the ugly. I am incredibly comfortable around him, always have been. He is an important person to me. He is also frustrating, infuriating, charming, funny, kind, not-so-kind, difficult, while also being very easy-going. When people ask me how Scandinavia was, I feel like I have to sugar-coat it and talk about how the scenery was amazing and the food delicious, but really, if I had to use one word to describe Scandinavia, it would be hard. That trek was HARD. Not because the trails were difficult or because we had to deal with bad weather, because besides a coupe rainy days, the weather was perfect and the terrain relatively easy. Nope, it was hard because we were walking together everyday, sleeping in the same tent at night, we didn't have showers so we smelled bad, our muscles were sore, and we didn't really have opportunities to interact with other people. We were with each other 24/7 for 20 days. It was hard. We laughed a lot, had a lot of fun, but we also argued and cried a lot. I learned hard things about myself, #1 being that I sometimes play the victim which causes me to be mad at people and blame them for my anger when they have done nothing wrong. Man, that was a hard realization for me. I hated it. However, I am happy to be made aware. I am a difficult person sometimes, but I want to be better, and I'm trying.

Guess what? Adriaan is also a very difficult person. And guess what? We are still friends. The last day we were in Copenhagen we had a pretty big argument. As we were talking through things he told me that if I never wanted to speak with him again he would understand. He is used to people leaving him and never speaking to him again. I told him I was not going to stop speaking with him, that arguments are a chance for us to reflect on how we can both be better and more understanding of each other. So we worked through the argument and we still talk everyday. He is coming to the States in October and we are going to road trip through the West for a month together. My friends and family who have heard me talk about Adriaan for the last couple years are finally going to meet him. He's gonna charm the socks off of them cuz that's what he does.

Don't get too excited, friends.

You know those people you love so much who end up getting into serious relationships or even getting married after years and years of being single and you see the pictures on Facebook and you get so excited they have found their person? I feel like I am that to a lot of people, so every time I posted a picture or video of Adriaan I felt like I needed to write a disclaimer like, "don't get too excited, friends. I know he's good looking and all, but we are not a couple." Adriaan and I have the kind of relationship I would like to have with someone someday, one that is honest and open and raw, but we are not in love in the gushy, Disney movie sort of way, never have been. I mean, we like to talk, we get excited to see each other, we respect each other, enjoy each other's company, but we never went through that rose-colored-glasses, he/she-can-do-no-wrong phase. I honestly can't decide if that phase is necessary. Maybe it would be best to just skip that part and get into what a true relationship is, which is, ya know, HARD. Relationships are hard! I mean, I have definitely felt butterflies for people, and it is exciting and exhilarating and fun, but it always ends. I don't necessarily trust butterflies. However, it doesn't really matter because the gushy honeymoon feeling is what Adriaan wants, and we don't have it. He wants that Disney romance, and I want Adriaan to be happy, so all I can do is hope he finds that kind of love with someone. And maybe I'll find it too, maybe it does exist, and can actually last, who knows?

Otherwise, I'm happy living my life as I have, which is a good, good life. Costa Rica coming up, Alta again in the winter. I love Alta. I am so excited for the season to start. I'm also so happy to be a crazy, addicted runner. I posted a little about this yesterday, but I am incredibly happy to have discovered running. Running is the most effective method of meditation for me in that it totally clears my mind and causes me to be completely present. When I run, I am focused on what my body feels like, what my surroundings look like, what my path is, and what my end goal is. When I run, all I think about is running. I think it makes me a more peaceful, in-tune, happy person. It is my thing. I want to make yoga my other thing, which is why Costa Rica is exciting. I'll be working at a yoga retreat center and doing yoga twice a day, which will be awesome. Yoga also makes me very aware of my body, my breathing, and puts me at peace. Above all, these activities make me appreciate and love my body. It's a good body.

Anyway, I am sitting in Sugarhouse Coffee in my dear Salt Lake City, a place I love, and it's probably time to release these thoughts into the universe and catch the train home. Peace and love for now.

Thursday, April 13, 2017


I haven't written and shared anything in a long time. This season at the Goldminer's Daughter I have been working as sous chef, which has ended up taking up most of my time. I work, run, occasionally ski, and sleep. The season is coming to a close and I feel myself coming back to life yet being quite introspective.

Here's the thing: I cringe when I write, I cringe more when I share. It seems so self-indulgent, and why would anyone care about what I have to say anyway? Yet I write and I share. I guess maybe I need validation, or maybe I'm hoping that someone will read what I have to say and gain something from it? Not that I'm the wisest person in the world. I am not. Anyway, here I am, writing and sharing. Stream-of-consciousness, here we go.

I have mentioned this in a pervious post but I think I kind of knew my father was going to pass away. I felt the need to visit home a lot more in the last couple years to spend time with my parents, and felt something heavy in my heart for a couple years leading up to his passing, like something major was going to happen. I was home the week he passed, which I was thankful for. Intuition is a crazy thing, I'm glad I listened to mine. This experience taught me to listen and trust myself with more confidence.

A lot in my head and my heart changed with his passing. I was holding onto people, things, ideas, expectations, and beliefs that all went out the window when dad died. My mindset totally changed. It was similar to leaving Mormonism, and solidified many of the conclusions I had been coming to since leaving the religion.

Here's what I want:

I want to be around people who push me, support me, make me better. I want my relationships to be equal and mutual. I want to be around people who emanate the same energy I do.

I want more experiences and less things. I want to live life as fully as possible.

I want to write a book.

I don't care about what society tells me I should be doing or having. I don't have a car, haven't for 3 (or 4??) years now. I don't own a house, don't know if I will? Don't plan on getting married or having kids anytime soon. I feel great about all these things.

I want to be as healthy, both mentally and physically, as I can be. As much as I have control over, that is.

I want to allow myself to change my mind at any point, because it can and will happen.

I want to be good in the community I live in, good to my friends, good to my family.

I want to get really good at running and rock climbing.

I want to be totally in tune with my body, heart, and mind.

I think that's all for now? The list could change, get shorter, or longer. Who knows?

Here's what I know: I feel really good about myself right now, where I'm at in life, and what the future holds. I am content. I am more present than I've ever been. I'm happy with being a nomad and a wanderer, even if in the eyes of society I look irresponsible. I am happy, and that's what matters. I think too many people worry too much about what they SHOULD be doing. Shoulds don't necessarily make us happy. Maybe they make some people happy, maybe they make you happy, I don't know. But I spent so many years doing what I was told I should do, and once I threw the shoulds out the window, I began living, and became much much happier.

That's all.

PS love you, dad.

Monday, January 2, 2017

Dad's Eulogy

David Keith Heywood was born in Blythe, California to Kenneth and Lorraine Heywood on September 4th, 1954. He loved his daddy; he knew the sound of his father’s car and would get excited when his daddy came home from work. Dad and his brother Bob loved to dress up in their boots, hats and vests and would go outside and play cowboys. He recently told me a story that Uncle Bob reminded me of about riding Thunder the horse. In Bob’s words:

“Most summers we went to Grandpa Heywood’s house in Panguitch, Utah to visit or spend the entire summer there. Grandpa used to graze one of his horses around the house to keep the tall grass down and when David and I were boys we would take turn riding him. We loved watching Grandpa or dad saddle him for us so we would have a saddle horn to hang onto. Grandpa or Dad would either lead us around the yard or ride with us to keep us safe. Well it didn’t take too many years before we fancied ourselves to be quite the cowboys and we decided to saddle Thunder ourselves. Thunder seemed to think it was okay, too, so we saddled him up and tightened the cinch as best we could. We thought we were ready for a ride around the high school track which was right next door. David was the oldest so he got to go first. Off he went at a nice easy walk, and everything was looking great until Dave kicked Thunder in the ribs to make him go a little faster. I’m sure everything was a blur for David after that as he got the intended reaction from Thunder and then some. Thunder broke into a dead run and when he did the saddle David was riding on flipped down between Thunder’s feet and David fell off rolling away from Thunder’s pounding hooves about half way down. Thunder walked over to the fence of Grandpa’s house and started munching on grass and it seemed like he was smirking just a little bit, while David laid face down in the dirt, eventually got up, and shook the dirt from his trousers. He learned a lot that day about smirking horses who hold their breath while they’re being cinched.”

Dad was a typical kid, involved in typical kid shenanigans. Again, in Bob’s words:

“We got new bows and arrows for Christmas one year and being safety minded as we were, thought the best place we could shoot them was down the street in the Richland School yard. After a while of shooting at targets, we could barely see because of the fog, so we decided it would be great fun to shoot the arrows straight up into the air where they would disappear, and then run for our lives. We thought that if we shot straight enough that the arrows would fall at approximately the same spot from which they were shot. This being our well thought out stratagem, we went on with our plan until we mysteriously lost all of the arrows. Thankfully no one was hurt.”

When Dad was 2 or 3 years old, he and his brother Bob were riding in the back seat of the old car. Those were back in the days when there were no seatbelts, and Dad and Bob were playing in the backseat when Dad opened the car door and went tumbling down onto the highway. Grandpa was able to stop the car immediately, scoop Dad up, and took him to the doctor where all they found were a few scratches. Grandma said the next morning, Dad was on his rocking horse, bouncing and laughing like nothing had happened.

Dad was someone who always had a good sense of humor, and was a bit eccentric. His sister Valerie gave this account:

“I was sitting at the piano practicing and David bursts through the front door, scaring me, and singing, 'they’re coming to take me away, haha, they’re coming to take me away haha hoho hehe, to the funny farm where life is beautiful all the time.' He was flapping his arms like a chicken and bounding all up and down the room. My initial fear turned to almost immediately to uncontrollable, tear filled laughter.”

A story from his brother Carl:

“My brother David was an awesome guy. I’ve idolized him all my life. Of all my memories of Dave, one in particular stands out in my mind. We had gone into Bakersfield and decided to stop for pizza. As we sat at the table I hoped he was buying because I didn’t have any money. The nice-looking waitress came over and David ordered two pepperoni pizzas. I thought, ‘Wow, he must be hungry!’ Before I could order she walked away and I thought, ‘this is gonna be a long lunch’ because all I had was a cup of water. Anyway, David whispered, ‘here, take this toothpick and put it into your straw,’ which I did, thinking we were going to have a spit wad fight. Then David pointed his straw at the waitress and said, ‘watch this!’ With a puff on the straw, off went the toothpick hitting the waitress in her lower extremity. Naturally the waitress jumped. I looked up at David in shock. He was looking down at the table, completely red, holding his hand over his mouth to stifle his unique, loud laugh. Then he looked up at me, still red in the face, and said, ‘your turn!’ and then he started to laugh out loud. A little later the pizzas came and David said, ‘here, this one is for you.’ My jaw dropped! I’d never had my own large pizza before! At that moment David went from an idol to a god! After that I remember scarfing down the pizza as quickly as I could, trying to keep pace with David.”

His son Tyler recalls:

“Dad always liked to sit in his chair, watch TV, and eat a snack; especially on Friday nights. One such night, when I was in high school, Dad had made himself a hamburger. The problem was that he was apparently very tired. He had fallen asleep with the hamburger still in his hand without a single bite taken out of it. In his other hand was the TV remote. I watched as dad, half asleep, took the remote (which I'm sure he thought was the hamburger) and put the end of it in his mouth. Upon realizing that the remote was indeed, NOT a hamburger, his eyes opened in a very brief surprise as he removed the remote from his mouth and then fell immediately back to sleep.

I then received instructions from my mother to take the hamburger, put it in a bag, and place it in the refrigerator. I did so with as much Indiana Jones stealth as I could. then I excused myself to my bedroom to get ready for bed. About a half an hour later I came out to get a drink from the kitchen, and on my way I found my Dad, still asleep, with the hamburger back in his hand and the bag left on the kitchen table. He had obviously woken up, realized something was missing, went and found it, then took it back and fell asleep, without ever taking a bite. He just really wanted to hold it I suppose.”

Of course, everyone knew of Dad’s love for music. Grandma and Grandpa said this love started even as a baby, saying that when he wasn’t even one-year-old, Dad would bang on the piano and dance. His sister, Becky, recounts, “when I was about 18 he took Carl and I on a work related trip to Sacramento. He had an 8 track tape player in the work van he was driving and one 8 track tape. We listened to Queen all the way there and back. That's where I learned the words to Bohememian Rhapsody and We Are the Champions. Like so many others, he influenced my love of all different genres of music.” Valerie remembers him “blaring his horn to Chuck Magioni’s ‘Primal Scream’ and trying to reach that triple high C like his idol. The windows would shake in the house,” she said. Dad eventually completed his Bachelor’s in Music and Master’s in Curriculum and Development, and taught music for 35 years, sharing his passion with his students and the community.

Dad was never secretive about his past, and considered himself a hippie. When he was in his early 20s, David joined a traveling jazz/fusion band where he played the trumpet and keys. This was a time when he explored and experienced lots of things, but he eventually made his way back home, and shortly after this time he started writing letters to his future wife, Christy. Dad and Mom wrote letters for a year, and were married on August 7th, 1981, shortly after they met in person. This last year they celebrated their 35th wedding anniversary. He adopted Heather and was sealed to both her and Mom in the Salt Lake temple. As it happens, Dad’s little sisters were a bit jealous of Mom and Heather at first. Valerie remembers, “he was very generous with his little sisters…I was so jealous when he got married and he had Heather to give all of his attention to, but I also knew Christy and Heather would be part of our forever family.” Heather was a little hesitant of Dad at first, but of course, he was able to win her over. In Heather’s words:

My Dad's first real attempt at winning my heart came just a few days before he married my mom. I needed new dress shoes for the wedding and he said he'd take me shoe shopping. I was a little worried about that because I wasn't too sure about him yet. We got to the shoe store and I immediately fell in love with a beautiful pair of dress shoes that looked like they were made out of wood. They had a little 2 inch heel on them and I was convinced my love affair would never be realized because they were too grown up for a 6 year old. But lo and behold, Dad thought they were perfect and immediately purchased them for me. I thought for sure mom would march us back to the store and exchange them for a more age appropriate pair. But Dad was confident we could get them past mom, and instantly I knew he was someone I could tolerate for at least a little while until I could figure out a way to get rid of him. Seriously, though, he was one of the most accepting and welcoming people I knew. He never made me feel like I was someone else's kid. He was my Dad from day one.”

Dad’s love for Mom is also something that stands out. He was always writing songs for her, writing her poems, and sending her flowers “just-because.” Not a day went by that he didn’t tell her how much he loved her and how beautiful she was. I remember, every day, he would say us, “do you kids realize how beautiful your mom is?” We all remember their make out sessions (which Tyler would interrupt by hugging them while they were kissing), and the times dad would take mom and dance with her in the kitchen, cheek to cheek. His love for and devotion to his wife and his children was incredibly strong.

Dad was a good, supportive, and loving father. He cared deeply for his children, almost to a fault, and he wanted them to know of his love for them. Sarah remembers riding to school with dad, and told this story:

I attended first and second grade at Belridge where Dad taught a couple of days out of the week. He drove me to and from school each day, even on the days when he was assigned to different schools. It was an hour drive round-trip, so we spent a lot of time driving together.

On one such ride out to school one day, we decided to pass the time by writing a song together. I was supposed to write one verse, Dad would write one verse, and we'd write the chorus together. And this is what we wrote (though, let's be honest, Dad coached my verse):
It's a kiss "hello," it's a kiss "hello"

Instead of a kiss "goodbye"

It's a kiss "hello," it's a kiss "hello"

Instead of a kiss "goodbye"

My daddy is a teacher

He goes to school with me

So we don't have to say "goodbye"

We say "hello," you see

We love to talk and talk and talk

While driving in the car

It's always fun to be with us

No matter where we are

It's a kiss "hello," it's a kiss "hello"

Instead of a kiss "goodbye"
It's a kiss "hello," it's a kiss "hello"
Instead of a kiss "goodbye"

On a different drive home one evening after a long day at the school, we climbed into the car and Dad looked at my half-closed eyes and said 'I'll bet you a kiss and a hug that you'll fall asleep before we get home.' Being stubborn and six, I said 'No I won't.' But of course I fell fast asleep. When we pulled into the driveway and I woke up and realized I had fallen asleep, I burst into tears. I had lost the bet. Dad said I had to pay up, even though I was crying, because a bet was a bet and you had to pay. So I gave him a tearful hug and kiss. He gave me a hug and kiss back, and then took me to get ice cream.”

Jana remembers the fun way dad would put us to bed. She recounts:

“The memory that I often think about, especially when I can't sleep, is when we were younger: the days where we pile on Mom and Dad's bed and read the latest chapter of Little House on the Prairie. 

After Mom read, Dad would tell us about a land in our dreams that was entirely made of candy (pretty typical of Dad, right?). We would each take a turn and describe our little place in this Candy Land, painting the most delicious picture possible. 

Whoever was next had to name the previous places and then describe there own. By the end of this, we would have a land with volcanoes that spewed hot fudge and baseball games where the ball exploded marshmallows and edible gardens that would make Willy Wonka jealous. As Dad closed the land, he always added the detail that we would all be there together, enjoying each other's company, eating to our hearts' content."

A little over a year ago when I decided to quit my full time job to travel and explore, dad told me how great he thought that was and said wished he could join me. He didn’t lecture me on how unsafe it would be to travel alone as a woman, he didn’t tell me it was foolish for me to leave a full time job with benefits, instead he hugged me, and told me he was proud of me. His love and support are part of what gave me the confidence to do a lot of the things I’ve been able to do.

Maybe you’ve noticed that pizza has been mentioned a few times? Dad loved food, and seemed to especially have a passion for pizza. David Jr, his son, shared these experiences:

“In reading through the stories people have shared about Dad, a lot of them have involved pizza. The first one is just a sort of vague recollection. Mom was gone, and there wasn't much in the house to put a meal together with, but such were the conditions under which Dad thrived, at least to the pleasure of his own palate. For the rest of us, Dad's experiments in the kitchen either turned out really great or really bad, with not much in between. But somehow, with no yeast, tomato paste, or about half of the other ingredients that are usually required to make a decent pizza, and to my pleasant surprise, Dad produced one of the most delicious home-made biscuit dough pizzas I've ever had.

On another occasion, Dad, Tyler, and I were driving back home from Las Vegas. We were at a car show or something like that, which was never really our cup of tea, but we had met up with some family there and had had a nice time. It was late, so we were pretty tired and quiet on that trip. When we were about halfway home, a commercial came on the radio for a local pizza place, but for some reason, the way they described the pizza just gave me a huge craving for some. I noticed Dad reach down for his phone, so I asked who he was calling, and he said that he was calling Mom. So I (jokingly) said "Hey, tell her to order some pizza for us." Of course, it was a silly request since it was about 10 at night and we were still 2 or 3 hours from home. Dad's reply: ‘Well why do you think I'm calling?’ When we got home, we had cold pizza waiting for us. It was delicious.”

Dad was also someone who gave his love freely, and was always willing to serve. He rooted for the underdog, took anyone into his home who needed help, and never spoke ill of anyway. Growing up, if any of us ever started gossiping, dad would stop us and defend the person we were bad-mouthing. He was a defender and a giver. His sister, Becky, described him perfectly by saying, “He was always someone I trusted as a confidant.  He was thoughtful and wise.  He wasn't judgmental. He was gentle.  He listened and then he talked.  I always appreciated how loved I felt after a conversation with him.  He was intelligent, well read, and had a beautiful and practical testimony of the Gospel.  He filled his life with service.” His sister Chrystal recounts:
“One of my first strong memories of my big brother, David, was having a date night with him when I was about 7 years old. He picked me up and drove me to his little white house just a few short blocks from our home on 2nd street. I felt like a queen just getting to spend time with him by myself. We made homemade pizza with tomatoes and onion. He teased and tickled me, asked questions about my life, we laughed and had a lot of fun. I saw a spider on the living room floor and asked him to kill it. To my amazment he said all living things are precious, and I watched in awe as he swept it up with a piece of paper and put it outside. That's the kind of big brother he was. I felt safe when he was around.”

His daughter Jana tells this story:

“One Christmas Eve, when Dad was branch president, I remember being fairly young and heard the phone ring. It was a call from the police department, informing him that there was a homeless man at the station who said he was LDS and needed assistance. Dad rolled out of bed, got dressed and headed to the station. A few hours later I heard him come back and he told Mom that it was clear that this man was not all there, in fact, he soiled himself as dad was taking him to the local hotel.  Mom got up and cleaned the car seat as Dad made final preparations for Christmas. I'll never forget their love and kindness for a complete stranger. Dad, I'm sure, took care of this man the best way he could, with a meal in his belly, a warm bed, and a few bucks in his pocket. Dad embodied the concept of the Good Samaritan, regardless of his church service, and was always giving, both his money and time, but moreover, his heart.”

That's the kind of man Dad was. His faith, strength, and love, always evoked love and admiration from others. That’s why he was such a good teacher, and why his students care so much for him, he truly loved all of them and was willing to let them lean on him for whatever they needed.”

Grandma Heywood, Dad’s mother, wanted me to share these words from her brother, Bob. “I know our Lord has made a place for David as He has for each of us. He knew his heart and character by the things he said, what he wrote, his music, his actions, the way he loved the kids he taught, and his work. He was a good man, son, brother, and I suppose our Heavenly Father has a work for him that is important, but when I consider eternity it seems to me it could have waited a few more years.” I think we all feel like this was sudden and that it was too early for Dad to go. It may take some time for us to fully heal from the loss of him, but I think the best thing we can do to honor him would be to love one another, think the best of everyone, be accepting, give of ourselves, do good in the world, sing and play music, eat good food, hug each other often, and laugh loudly. Thank you.

Thursday, December 29, 2016


Everyone is talking about what a shit year 2016 was.

It wasn't for me.

I mean, my father passed away, which is hard.

Trump got elected president, which is hard. There is a fight ahead, one I am so ready to fight.

But other than those things, 2016 was good to me.

I was able to see so many countries and meet so many people and learn so much about myself.

I love myself more than ever. I am at peace with myself more than ever.

My dad's passing caused me to see how much like him I really am, and how happy I am to be like him. He was an amazing man loved by so many people. How could it be a bad thing to be like him?

I have learned that it is important to keep good people in my life, and not fret about the rest. I love people so much, but some people are not good for me. Life is short. I want to be with people who love me and appreciate me and help me to be better. Though I still value everyone, I've decided that if someone is draining me or hurting me, I don't have to keep trying with them. Perhaps that is harsh, but I am at peace with this realization.

I love my family so much my heart can't handle it sometimes.

My mother is amazing.

People are good. They really are.

I learned what love is, or at least what I would like it to be. My best good special friend Adriaan, who I met over a year ago (crazy), still keeps in contact with me. We talk everyday. We trust each other, support each other, are honest with each other, share everything with each other. I've never been so comfortable around another human being. It is a beautiful thing. We are not meant to be together, I don't think, but I am so happy I met him and experienced the comfort I have with him. That is what I want. I want to be totally comfortable with someone. That, to me, is love. Perhaps I will find that with someone who lives closer to me someday.

The world is a lovely place. I have more to explore.

Yes, many people died, got sick, tragedies happened, but 2016 was a damn good year, in my opinion. One for the books.

Monday, November 21, 2016


For a long time, probably a couple years now, I've had this looming feeling that something major was going to happen in my life. It was not a pleasant sensation, it was a feeling of doom, like something was going to hit that was going to be very difficult. Of course, being the selfish hypochondriac I am, I thought I was going to be diagnosed with some horrible, incurable disease, or get into a bad accident or something. It didn't even cross my mind that this feeling of doom could have to do with another person.

I also felt very strongly that I needed to spend more time at home with my parents in California. Part of the desire to visit California more often had to do with my cute twin nieces and their baby brother Gus, who are growing up so fast it breaks my heart, but I also had the feeling I needed to spend time with my parents, especially my dad. I have been able to go home four times in the last year, when usually I only make it home once a year. After this last trip to Montana, I hadn't planned to go back to home, but for some reason I felt like I needed to. I wanted to be able to sit down and talk to my dad. I wanted to go on a daddy-daughter date with him. I wanted him to share some of his music with me. I booked a flight to California instead of going right back to Utah. Turns out I have a magical intuition.

My dad passed away suddenly a month ago, while I was in California visiting. He and I were able to go on a daddy-daughter date the Monday before he passed, and I was able to sit down with him and listen to a few of the pieces of music he'd been working on. We had pleasant conversations. Things were peaceful between us. I am so thankful I listened to my gut.

You see, my father and I kind of had a rocky relationship. My dad was diagnosed with depression and anxiety (however, I wonder if maybe he was misdiagnosed and was actually bipolar, though we will never know at this point). Growing up, my siblings and I never knew what dad we were going to be greeted with when he got home from work. Sometimes he'd be in a crazy good mood, laughing easily and loudly, joking along with us, having a great time. He could be such a funny, happy guy! But sometimes he was volatile. He had a temper, he was paranoid, he could not be reasoned with. He would overhear conversations we were having, assume we were talking about him, and erupt for no reason, sometimes lecturing us for hours about things we hadn't even said or done. As kids, we all just took it, not wanting to deal with dad, and we'd just roll our eyes and laugh about it with each other later. But as I got older, I became less and less tolerant of these unnecessary outbursts and started to argue back. I had a couple tear-filled, knock-down, drag-out fights with dad because I was so tired of being blamed for saying or doing something I hadn't said or done. Then I just started walking away from such arguments. Especially the last couple years, dad liked to debate about everything, even though none of us wanted to debate. There were a couple times on a recent visit when dad started arguing about something unnecessarily, and I just walked out of the room, ignoring his comments, because I didn't want to deal with him.

We all had so many conversations about what to do about dad. How could we help him? How do we deal with his crazy? Do we just put up with it or argue back? How do you deal with someone who is so unreasonable? How do we love him? Then I listened to an episode of Invisibila (which is a great podcast, check it out) where they talked about this village in Belgium where the villagers take in the mentally-ill. Here is the description of the episode from their website (they do a better job of summarizing than I do):

"We are naturally drawn to finding solutions. But are there ever problems we shouldn't try to solve? Lulu Miller visits a town in Belgium with a completely different approach to dealing with mental illness. Families in the town board people – strangers - with severe mental illnesses in their homes, sometimes for decades. And it works, because they are not looking to cure them."

That last sentence is the trick: the mentally ill who go to this town find happiness and thrive because the people who take them in don't really care if they ever get better. The villagers accept the mentally ill for who they are, crazy and all. The episode goes into more detail about how the families of those who suffer from mental illness actually do more harm than good because they usually have unrealistic expectations for the family member suffering from a mental illness, they get disappointed when the person doesn't make progress or doesn't seem to be getting better, and they have too much pity for the person, saying things like, "I would do anything for them to get better," or "I just want them to be happy." They don't accept the person for who they are, mental illness and all, but instead constantly look for solutions to the problem of mental illness, which ends up being counter-productive. After listening to this episode, my whole view of the way we had been dealing with dad changed, so I sent the episode to my siblings and my mom, and we discussed how we had been treating dad. All of us decided that we needed to be more patient and more accepting of dad, even if he was hard to deal with sometimes. We needed to just let him be, and let go of finding solutions, which is why I wanted to go home and visit him after my trip to Montana. I wanted to repair the damage that had been done. I wanted him to feel loved and cared for. Then he died.

My dad was a music teacher at the junior high in my hometown, and was beloved by his students. We decided to hold a memorial for him at the gym of the school so that students could say words about dad if they wished. It was incredible. The gym was filled with students, parents, teachers, and community members who all went to pay tribute to dad. Several of his students spoke about dad, talking about what a fun, energetic, kind man he was, about how they knew he really cared about them. My dad saw the good in everyone and believed in the kids he taught. He was eccentric, without a doubt, but that was one of the things everyone loved about him. It was so interesting to see the view all of these strangers had of dad as compared to my view of him. I mean, I had always known him to be a very kind and caring man with a big heart who was willing to sacrifice for others. But I also knew the crazy, volatile dad who could be so hard to live with. I had focused more on the negative parts of dad instead of the good parts. How tragic! I have a genuine love and concern for strangers and for friends, yet I am so hard on my family members. I try so hard to see the good in everyone, yet I couldn't focus more on the good in my dad.

Of course I need to be more forgiving of myself. The fact is that dad was good at turning on a happy face and fighting his anxiety to be such a wonderful and loving educator, but that drained him and when he got home, where he didn't have to put on that face anymore, we saw some of the ugly parts of dad. His students saw only the good parts, we saw all parts. Living with someone who has a mental illness is really, really hard, and we did the best we could, but I wish I had done better.

In the last conversation I had with my mom, I admitted to her that anytime someone told me I was like dad I always took it as kind of an insult because of how difficult a person he could be. But now, when I think of all the good in my dad, I want to be like him, and I'm so glad that I have a lot of him in me. I asked my mom what traits she thought I got from dad. She said dad had a curiosity for the world, and if he'd had the time and money he would have travelled a lot more. This makes sense because when I told him I was going to quit my steady job to work seasonal jobs and travel, he said he was proud of me and wished he could join me. My dad felt things very deeply, did not have a very good poker face, and wore his heart on his sleeve; I am very emotional and feel things very deeply. It's hard for my not to express my emotions. My dad was very hard-working and goal-oriented, always striving to achieve; as a little girl I would write lists of goals and then rewards for completing those goals, and I continue to do that as an adult. Dad loved to create things, was always writing poetry and stories and music, of course; I love to paint, write poetry, write stories, and play music. Most beautifully, however, was my dad's huge heart, his willingness to forgive and to see the good in everyone. He gave everyone the benefit of the doubt. I genuinely love people and think everyone is good, or at least has good in them. I try to see the good and bring it out in people, just like my father did. I know I got that from him.

If only I had seen these things earlier. I think my dad and I would have had a much stronger relationship. I would have appreciated him more. But then I wonder if I would have realized any of this if dad hadn't died. Maybe his death was what I needed in order to feel closer to him? I don't know. I'm working through it.

All I can say is this: love those who are closest to you. Forgive them as you would a stranger. Focus on the good. Appreciate them for the people they are, warts and all, but try not to focus too much on the warts. We need to be so much kinder to those we love.