I made it clear -on this blog even- there were parts of me I did not intend to change on my mission. In fact, I was quite adamant that changing them would ultimately alter the very essence of who I am, leaving me a hallowed out, plastic version of the real Katie.

While Katie still remains intact, I did go against everything I once said: I changed.

I once wrote, “I don’t care if every time I talk politics my voice becomes two octaves louder.. or that I find a way to get heated in ever debate even if it is over butter or margarine,” “I never want suburbia to be enough,” “I won’t allow myself to simply accept a man because he is kind.. I want his tongue to by my favorite pastime. nothing else..”

Those are some feisty words.

Though, I know where I was coming from. I was deeply troubled at the thought of loosing my passion; the part of me that compels me to dance through life and avoid “reality” like the Bubonic Plague. I didn’t want to follow the map everyone so precisely had laid out in front of me: go to BYU, find a husband, have kids, stay at home in suburbia land, and maybe find some time in there to occasionally have a girls lunch as my form of escape.

I wanted to take those choreographed moves and pull the spine from them and let them collapse next to everyones expectations. I wanted my words to puddle into poems, and my love for my husband to do the same. I was never content with “the nice guy” because nice in my mind equivocated to bland and movie date-night had as much passion in comparison to cleaning toilets and debating different breeds of dogs.

How could I possibly accomplish everything I was meant to do on this earth by following the map, or by marrying the man who without even needing to say it, wanted me to be home, responsible, and well-behaved?

I used past tense not because I no longer feel those things, rather my perspective on them have tip-toed in another direction.

No longer do I fear marrying “the nice guy.” The nice one who is slightly more stable than my once nomadic fantasy. One who is both reliable and still holds the capacity for adventure. I’d even go as far to say, one who wants to raise a big family, big enough to fill a full soccer team.

Though hopeless romantic will always come before the letters of my first name, I’ve learned enough about marriage from the successes and failures of others, to know it is more selfless than self-gratifying. Nor does it need to enter the steamy pages of a Nicholas Sparks novel to be worthy of being called love.

I no longer find the map to be a step-by-step walk along conformity’s boardwalk and I find some solace in the thought of stability and a quaint home to call our own.

A columnist for the New York Times, David Brooks, wrote: “people are not better off when they are giving maximum personal freedom to do what they want. They’re better off when they are enshrouded in commitments that transcend personal choices- commitment to family [and] God.” I’ve found this to be true. My family should override the wild-child within me and ground me to the things that bring lasting happiness, not simply momentary thrill.

I’ve learned passion is not the blatant trashing of normalcy, nor is it the same as being argumentative. I don’t need to voice every opinion I’ve ever concluded, especially regarding frivolous topics such as butter or margarine.

My mission has openly and at times forcefully catered to me many adult lessons. “Reality” has entered my vocabulary on more than one occasion. Sometimes the need to grow up occurs regardless of how much resisting is


If I were to be honest; to be true, I’d say even writing this felt like projecting a math equation onto a freshly painted canvas.

You see, this is where the dissonance remains. I’ve changed, I swear I have. I wouldn’t want to revert, however there still is a piece of the fire, that unorthodox lover within me that just cant seem to be completely languid and take the backseat to the more acceptable and culturally approved lessons I have collected on my mission.

I cannot finish writing this because those things I mentioned: the defiance of the expected, and the endorsing of irrational dreams, still lurk within me.

They now have the added company of more respectable goals and responsible pursuits, however well-behaved has yet to find its place in my mental resume.


    Siostra Bak tag


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