The Delicate Art of a Doorstep Scene

I once went on a first date with a guy who hugged me from behind and laid his head on the back of my shoulder while I was putting my key in my door handle.

So, doorstep scenes aren't really my thing. This could be because I'm not really into hugging people I don't know very well, and it suddenly is highly expected of me after a first date. Dear culture, please make it stop. Also, there's the underlying fear that everyone is going around interpreting what a hug means. To that I say:

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I recently dug up a newspaper column I wrote about doorstep scenes during my undergrad in Cedar City, Utah. It kind of makes me laugh and takes me back several years all at once. I mean, I dislike doorstep scenes now but I can handle them better than the 20-year-old version of myself.

Anyway, here's an excerpt from that gem:

Awkward Doorstep Scenes Present Present Courtship Difficulty

By: Katie Hawkes

Picture this: It's a frosty Cedar evening, the moon is full, and you find yourself on a doorstep at the end of a successful night of courtship. Up to this point, you've managed to quell the awkward monster inside of you and avoided any situations to go down in the archives of bad date stories.

But this is where things get tricky. The porch. The doorstep scene. The little siblings or roommates peeking through the blinds and flashing the porch light. The movie Hitch, in which Will Smith's character attempts to teach awkward, lovelorn individuals how to, essentially, "get jiggy wit' it," attempted to analyze this inevitable final scene of a date.

In the movie, Smith's character asserts that a girl will drop certain hints or clues -- namely, key fidgeting -- if she wants her date to smooch her. The movie purports that if a girl fiddles with her keys in her hands before she unlocks her door, then she's asking to be snogged.

We all have our own approaches to dealing with the infamous doorstep scene, and I'm sure I have yet to experience the extent of these tactics, but I am intrigued by the few that I am aware of.

First: the high five. Guys love giving high fives. It's kind of a "you're awesome but I'm too scared to touch any part of your body other than your fingers and palm for a split nanosecond" approach. It's a little juvenile -- but it's simple, it's friendly, no worries.

Second: the handshake. I've discovered this particular method to be typical of polite young men who may or may not have recently returned from a two-year hiatus away from interactions with members of the female species. (See: celibate church mission.) Some even feel the need to not only shake their date's hand, but also the hand of every living organism within the vicinity as well. More power to you, boys.

Third: the hug. This seems to be the preferred way of finalizing an evening together, and hey, who can't use a nice "skwudge" every now and then? However, the hug presents some quandaries of its own. For instance, arm placement. Girl's arms on top? Guy's arms on top? The one-over-one-under cross method?

This is an awfully big decision to make in that split second it takes to close the gap between the two of you. Be careful, if yours and your date's decisions are incongruent, you might accidentally cause a fumbling mess of tangled arms and the avoid-at-all-costs-too-close-for-comfort face collision.

The fourth approach is, of course, the kiss. Let's be honest, I'm not even gonna go there. Please refer to preteen chat rooms and magazines for advice on this one.

...end excerpt. Thank you for taking part in this ride down historical-Katie-writing lane.

...any of you single people or formerly single people (hint: this means everyone in the world) have an opinion about the infamous doorstep scene? Best or worst stories? Please do tell. It will be so fun for both of us.

Tattooed Mormon Conversion Story

This video makes my heart warm.
Maybe it'll do something for your ticker, too. It's definitely worth watching all the way through the end. Thanks, Al Fox.

"Hard times will consistently be there, but so will Christ."

"Don't quit after one prayer."

on eating humble pie

When I graduated from college a few years ago, I had no idea where I was going, who I was or what I was doing with my life.

Just days before I pulled on my androgynous polyester robe and sat through a well-meaning commencement speech about the-economy-is-terrible-right-now and good-luck-out-there-new-graduates, I still didn't know if I was going to stay where I was (Utah) or head back to my roots (Arizona). But since I had no local job prospects when my apartment lease ended along with the semester, I put my entire life in my CR-V and drove south.

And then I spent two months eating cereal on my parents' couch.

I launched a daily routine: hunt for any-and-all jobs on my laptop, eat free food, attempt to make friends in a social hometown I barely recognized anymore, and watch four seasons of Lost on DVD. My job hunt was widespread and without focus -- I still had no idea where I belonged or who I wanted to be or what I wanted to do. But eventually a job came, and then another, and a couple more after that.

We'll skip all the in-between details, but my life has slowly but surely sorted itself out in some particularly beautiful ways.

I figured out many of the details about where I belonged and what I was doing with my life and who I wanted to be, and I moved a couple cities over and started doing those things and being that person. And life has been good. Stickier at some points than others, but good. Some significant growing pains for sure, but always ultimately panning out to goodness.

Recently, my little life kind of got turned on its head.

But not all at once. It was more like a cartwheel that started out with a little leaning and then a little more leaning and suddenly the trees were upside-down, my feet were in the sky, and my fingers were buried in the grass trying to grip some semblance of stability. (The worst part is, I'm wicked allergic to grass.) (That part's not a metaphor. It makes me itch something fierce.)

Long stories short: my previously stable employment is on its last legs, I'm not exactly sure where I belong anymore, and my condo lease is ending in 13 days with no option to renew.

So in two weeks, I'm moving back in with my parents.

I truly don't mind the idea of living with my parents. Momsie and Papanwa are the good kind of people. But I can't help feeling a little bit like it's a step back that I'm going to be sitting on their couch in a couple weeks, eating cereal and watching who-knows-what on DVD or Netflix. (Any suggestions?)

Last year I dated a guy who lived with his parents and younger siblings. And it bothered me. I tried to pretend I was able to look past it at the time, but I think it always festered. Part of it was the lack of privacy when I went over to his place, part of it was my uppity thinking that you-should-have-life-more-figured-out-by-the-time-you're-25, part of it was...well, we broke up eventually. I sat on my bed the other night pondering my current state of affairs, and somewhere between the rambling journal entry in my lap and the angry little hot tears leaking out of my eyes, I became fully aware of the thick slice of compelled humility lodged uncomfortably in that awkward place between my throat and my esophagus. I'm moving in with my parents, and my position is being eliminated at work. And try as I might, I still can't figure out how all my best intentions and hard work and plans and proactivity managed to land me in this place. And I thought back to that relationship from last year and some particular attitudes and beliefs I held at the time, my chin dropped a bit lower and I felt like a royal idiot. The irony was almost laughable. Here I am, and humble pie, indeed.

But here's what I know: it all works out.

I think I vaguely knew this truth when I went through the "what am I doing with my life" phase right after college, but now I know it in a tried-and-tested-been-to-the-cliff's-edge-and-found-a-saftey-net-at-the-last-possible-moment-as-my-toes-touched-thin-air kind of way. I also know myself about 110% better than I did during my last cereal-and-DVDs phase. Truth be told, I am not worried. Sometimes I feel stressed and/or emotional, depending on the day, but I do have an abiding core of faith that reassures me that the right things are going to pan out at exactly the right time. And it's comforting to confront the truth that, even as so many things I build my daily identity around -- my home, my work, my beloved Scottsdale that will always-and-always own a very large piece of my heart -- are slipping out of my hands, that I am not losing my identity at all. I am more than where I live or where I work. And that means that, regardless of external circumstances, I really am going to always be OK. More than OK.

And maybe some understanding and humble pie is exactly the taste I needed in my mouth right now. Just to keep my feet (or my wobbly cartwheel hands) on the ground.

ever make mistakes?

This communicates just about everything I want to say today, and then some.

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Happy Friday.

p.s. Congrats to Antonette S. for winning the Conscious Box giveaway! An especially happy friday to her.

A&A: fanny packs & devil toast

I've gone radio silent the last few days, because....well, because. I think my post on Monday kind of took something out of me (in a good way) and I just needed to let it sit for awhile. Plus I had a raging fever on Monday followed by two days of headaches and wooziness (heffalumps and woozles?) so that didn't help my desire to look at a computer screen any more than I had to.

I owe you all some marvelous pictures of my weekend in California. And some ramblings about the general craziness of my life lately. But since I already had the following post in the queue, I'm going to let it run and say, "Happy awkward and awesome Thursday!" We'll chat more soon, I pinky swears it.

Awkward...
▲ I discovered that Walmart sells fanny packs but calls them "freedom hip packs." I don't know if I'm inspired or troubled by this bold break from tradition. Either way, I wore one to Disneyland (plus space pants and R2D2 ears) and I definitely felt free.
▲ I went grocery shopping on Monday afternoon with a 101 degree fever. There was a lot of shuffling around and messy hair and mismatched pajamas. I'm still not entirely sure what's in my cupboard, but I'll check on that soon.
▲ This happened Tuesday morning:

Awesome...
▲ These cat exercise gifs were almost awkward but then I loved them so now they are awesome.
▲ This devil toast video probably made my entire month.
▲ That one time I went to Disneyland and a wheelchair was involved (legitimately needed, no deception with our gang) so we got to basically cut all the lines. I don't recommend doing Disneyland any other way.
▲ I found this blogger and she apparently designs clothes and then sews them and models them and I just think that's super cool and you can see the series of her creations here. Also, she likes Harry Potter.
▲ I had this amazing experience yesterday where I discovered that one of the best mexican joints in Arizona (the burger house in Globe, AZ) (yes, the burger house) has had sister restaurants all over the place for some time now. Don't worry, I've already been to the nearest casa reynoso and it didn't disappoint. There were even barefoot children wandering around like they owned the place.
▲ You. You are awesome.

I'm single, I'm happy, & I'm a mormon.

I'm 26 years old, and there is no ring on my left hand.

I've been rolling this particular post around in my head for probably close to a year now. Pieces of it are scattered on scraps of paper around my room and on random pages of notebooks and in various half-written notes on my phone. At the Elevate Blog Conference this weekend, the message I kept hearing was, "Be raw. Be open. Be vulnerable. Take the walls down." Particularly, the thoughts from Ashley at Little Miss Momma kind of hit me in the heart and settled heavy in my gut. And for that reason, I am sitting here on my bed, with my suitcase plopped in the middle of the room, 15 minutes after arriving back in Arizona, spilling a piece of my heart into my laptop.

To make it clear, I believe in and plan on marriage.

My religion places a heavy emphasis on marriage and family, and I'm 100% on board with that. I believe in that plan, I support it, I condone it. I wholeheartedly invite the blessings of marriage and motherhood into my own life. However, what I don't believe in is the strong cultural pressure that tells me exactly when and how those things should play out for me as an individual.

My story is not far off from many of my close friends: I graduated from college a few years ago, I'm doing the whole career thing, I'm active in my church and my community, I'm developing an ongoing and ever-evolving relationship with Christ, I socialize, I date, I volunteer, I have hobbies, I spend time with my family, etc. My life is very rich, and my heart is very full.

"So why aren't you married?"

Sometimes, people assume they know all the reasons why a normal, healthy mormon man or woman in his or her late 20s could possibly still be going it alone. "She's too picky." "He has commitment issues." "He's selfish." "She's immature." "He must not understand the way the plan works." "They don't know what they're missing out on."

The issue with these statements (other than the obvious fact that they are tasteless and hurtful) is the false assumption that anyone is capable of fully understanding or knowing someone else's story. Sure, maybe some of the above reasons do apply to some of my single peers. And maybe some of them have applied to me at one point or another in my life.

But what you're missing is the real story.

The guts and the heart and detail of it all. Gather a dozen single mormons in a room somewhere and I can guarantee each one of them will have their own personal, unique stories to tell about their individual relationship histories. And many of these stories will include elements of heartbreak, loss, abuse, infidelity, addiction, and any number of other tough (sometimes really tough) experiences. It is impossible to judge what you do not know, and it is unkind to put someone else's trial on a platter and deliver it up for laughs or thoughtless discussion.

Another problem with the "why aren't you married" mentality is the implication that if you are not married that you must be doing something wrong. This, in turn, implies that there is only one right way to navigate life. It also portrays marriage as a milestone that somehow signifies, "Hey, you made it! You're finally worth something!"

But the real truth is that a person's inherent worth isn't, never has been and never will be about a wedding band or lack thereof.

Married or single or divorced or widowed or man or woman or tall or short or black or white or rich or poor, a person's value and worth is based on one thing and one thing alone: you are a human being. You are a creation and child of God. Not once, not anywhere, in my entire life of consistent mormonism, have I encountered a gospel doctrine that says a person's value is based on his or her relationship status at age ____.

A wise man named Gordon B. Hinckley once said, "Marry the right person, in the right place, at the right time."

What he did not say was the who, the where, the when or the how of exactly how that would play out in an individual life. He didn't put detailed specifics on the counsel to get married because God doesn't put specifics on it either. He simply says, "The right person, the right place, the right time." This could mean 18 years old, 22 years old, 30 years old, or possibly never in this life. Heavenly Father doesn't put an age on marriage or parenthood, and neither should we.

What's most important is that you're right with God.

It matters that we pray, it matters that we counsel with our Heavenly Father, and it matters that our hearts are in the right place. The decision of who to marry and when to marry is between an individual and God, not between an individual and friend A, family member B or well-meaning-stranger C. Certainly, close friends and family can play a trusted role in the path toward marriage, but ultimately, the decision is personal and sacred.

For me, it's most important that I be emotionally and spiritually ready to marry someone before I commit to time and all eternity. And that means that I don't put a timeline on it. I'm open to it happening this year, next year, 10 years from now, etc. Like I said earlier, I wholeheartedly invite the blessings of marriage and motherhood into my life, but that doesn't mean I want to rush the decision because I'm afraid of being alone or because someone says my particular path should be shaped a certain way. In my mind, I would rather carefully navigate and be fully committed to someone who I wholeheartedly respect and love than give in to pressure to be a wife or mother by a certain age.

Here's the truth I hold closest to my heart: in the eternal scheme, it matters more the direction you're traveling than the cultural speed at which you're getting there.

My intent in writing this post is twofold: to put into words what I and many of my peers feel in their hearts, and also to increase understanding for anyone who often interacts with a single friend or family member. This weekend I learned that one of the greatest powers of blogging is to be brave enough to put into words what other people are afraid to say. My hope is that someone will read this who really needs to hear it, or will pass it on to someone who does.

To anyone who feels that their relationship status, atypical life path or unconventional life goals mean they don't belong in the mormon world, I'm telling you: you have worth, and you have a place here.

I'm 26, my heart is right with God, I'm happy, I love and am loved, my future is bright and my faith is strong, I'm single ...and I'm a mormon.

writing: slow burn

You are a slow burn.

Like morning, peeking into the cracks of my room and imperceptibly filling every corner.

And like waves, crawling slowly up the sand, not announcing every new inch they're steadily claiming, but laying foundations just the same.

And just as softly and surreptitiously,

You blended into my gaps, my skipped-a-beats, my between-the-lines.

Until your name is somehow already on everything my mind touches, and your approval is my silent catalyst, and your arms are my unexpected anchor, ready just behind me, bracing me at the elbows.

And your mark is heavy on my skin, though i can't recall pausing to give you permission.