concerts: part 2

Digitour 2015. I went to this event with my friend Mia, and we both had VIP tickets. During VIP, I met chris collins, crawford collins, sam pottorff, alec bailey, twaimz, luke korns, rickey thompson, alex from target, and lastly, danny edge and paul zimmer. i was dm'ing paul zimmer before VIP started, and once paul recognized me, he couldn't stop smiling and hugging me (which made me Weak™). once VIP was over, mia and i rushed to the stage and linked arms with all the other VIP girls before the crazy GA girls ran in to push all the VIP people out of the way. we got into a full on shoving war before the show, but once it started, it all mellowed out. i saw twaimz perform the llama song, watched my friend get twerked on by rickey thompson, and met one of my internet best friends (kat). it was definitely a cringy-yet-memorable day.

me meeting paul :)

Ed Sheeran. i went with one of my best friends, abbi. we spent the night screaming our lungs out and laughing like crazy with each other. the entire show was put on by his guitar, his loop petal, and his voice, yet he still managed to keep the crowd completely on edge. he made the entire room feel like a comfortable family reunion, rather than thousands of strange faces. i don't think i could ever forget the way the arena was lit up by thousands of iphone flashlights during 'photograph', or everyone's hands bouncing up and down during 'bloodstream'.

One Direction. july 15th, 2015 was actually a very strange day; at noon, i was on a charter boat in the san juan islands, and seven hours later, i'd purchased the cheapest seats i could find, picked up my cousin madison at dairy queen, and we were two of the 35,513 bodies in the centurylink stadium in seattle, ready to be absorbed in nothing but pure, genuine one direction for the next couple hours. having been a fan of one direction for a third of my life, 'excited' was a bit of an understatement. so, between the times the boys came out and went away again, it wasn't a surprise that i'd lost my voice and my cheeks were stained with glassy tears. i was so happy, i didn't even care that we were seated in section 128 and louis tomlinson looked like he wasn't bigger than a speck. when i was 10, i watched the 'what makes you beautiful' music video and called dibs on harry, but overtime, it grew to be more than just a liking for some of their songs. i grew up with one direction. there have been times where all i had to do to calm myself down was listen to 'don't forget where you belong', and hearing that live was unforgettable; the stadium was illuminated with purple and white lights and all 35,513 people felt like family when we were screaming the word 'home' over and over again during the bridge. i felt so at home it made my chest hurt. whether it was harry wearing a cheese hat or the amazing fan signs, i couldn't have asked for a better night.

panorama during don't forget where you belong

5 seconds of summer. only nine days later (july 24th), i got to see my favorite band in the heart of seattle. i'm going to be completely honest and admit that i burst into tears on the way to the arena, whimpering "i love them so much" over and over again, trying not to smear my makeup. the arena was dark and red before the show started, and when the lights went out, every bone in my body was trembling with excitement. i was standing twenty feet in front of the four boys who--at the time--i knew better than i knew myself. seeing them in person and hearing their voices in real life instead of my headphones was unreal. i drowned in the guitar and the lights and the swirling audience around me. i turned around during 'wrapped around your finger' and looked at the people around me instead of the stage. we all had one thing in common: these boys meant everything to us. i knew every chord and every lyric by heart and experiencing all of it--from calum's well-known state champs shirt to michael's raspy, angelic voice--put pieces of me together.

:))

concerts: part 1

(Welcome to my rant about the concerts I've attended)

I've gone to many concerts in my life.

James Taylor. I was almost two years old. I have no memory of the night, but hearing 'Sweet Baby James' always feels like the memory of my second home, where I lived from ages 2-6. I imagine my dad playing guitar in his den as I sit in my nightgown with my stuffed bear, who's now so worn out you can see right through her stuffing, or the sun setting as I'm running in circles in our big, green, perfect backyard with my little sister, Riley.

High School Musical. I went with my three bestest friends of the time (you can find a few more stories about the Fab Four ™ on this blog post). We ate at a strange Asian cuisine restaurant beforehand and then watched Sharpay slay us right before our eyes from the upper side of the stage. We danced and sang along gleefully as our mothers tried to keep happy smiles on their faces while listening to a bunch of bops from the movie my entire generation was raised on.

Kenny Chesney. Personally, I'm not the biggest fan of country music. The only time it fits into my life is during the summertime when I'm surrounded by my family. But, I was raised on Kenny Chesney. So July 7th, 2007, was a pleasant summer evening, and the CenturyLink Stadium was filled with people holding beer bottles and dressed in cowboy hats. My dad had me on his shoulders most of the show. I wore my prettiest white dress and gripped the biggest sunflower I could pick from our big, green, perfect backyard, hoping to throw the yellow petals onstage after the show. However, Kenny seemed to have a different idea--he whipped around the stage and pointed to me, and my dad gently placed me on the stage. I cautiously walked my way over to him in front of thousands of people, shaking. My view of the audience was nothing but a sea of lights from video cameras, until Kenny pulled me into a hug, kissed my forehead, and handed me a signed guitar in exchange for my sunflower. Even though being on stage was a bit terrifying, I knew it felt right.

Kenny kissing my forehead feat. my sick pink crocs

American Idol (Season 10). I was so committed to American Idol in 2011, so my grandma and my mom believed it would be fun to take me to their show. I looked at Pia Toscano, Stefano Langone, Haley Reinhart, and Lauren Alaina with the biggest heart eyes, and couldn't have possibly enjoyed the flashing green strobe lights any more than I had.

Digitour Jack & Jack (please understand that thirteen year old me was obsessed with Magcon for reasons I still don't fully understand). I went with my friend Nina, but we met up with other people from our school while we were in line. It was my first G.A. experience (at the Complex of all places), and I was absolutely freaking out when I saw Gilinsky and Johnson for the first time (I also saw many of the other boys on the tour that I adored). Nina and I somehow ended the night being front and center, inches away from the Jacks. The body guards provided water, and most of it ended up down my shirt. But, even though Magcon is dead, all of Jack & Jack's early songs still have a special place in my heart.

goodbye to a decent year

Including today, there are thirteen days of school left. We're wrapping up with all of the final assignments being thrown at us, and a blog reflection is required--technically, this post was due on Friday. But, I've been 1) concussed, and 2) putting it off.

I have had a really strange year. I have been homesick, physically in so much pain it has brought me to tears, and unbelievably confused about my purpose in life and why I feel the things that I feel. There have been many nights where I've kept my best friend up late listening to me rant out my panic attacks and also many nights where I've been too sad to engage in any kind of human contact. Time has been a strange concept to me this year. It feels like my life has been on pause since mid-August, but at the same time as it feels ninth grade has lasted 10,000 days. The year has been a blur.

Even though sometimes it feels like it, my year has not been completely awful. When I'm sad, I'm drowning myself in doubt and hopelessness. But my life is not only made up of bad moments. This year, I have grown and gotten stronger. This year, I have learned a lot.

I have learned what it feels like to be at peace while hanging out with my friends, and I have learned how to be selfless enough to take care of my friends. I have learned the extremity of my pain (physical and mental) and how to deal with it. I have learned, at least somewhat, what I want to do with my life, even though I don't talk about it much. I have learned how to write about the things I feel so homesick about to make that aching feeling hurt a little less.

There are things I'm trying to learn but have not really mastered yet: I am learning how to properly communicate with my mom and not be so scared and guarded all of the time. I am trying to understand that I am not being constantly judged. I am learning how to appreciate moments and slow my mind down. I am learning how to deal with the aftermath of visiting my home state, where when I come back to Utah, it feels like a piece of me has been ripped from my chest. I am learning how to talk about my problems and feelings. I am learning how to let go of things I no longer enjoy, but preserve them as a good memory. I am learning to be stricter with myself in some areas, and also more lenient in others.

photo courtesy of Maggie Lindemann

I am learning. I am trying. I am growing. I sure as hell know that I'm not perfect and I am trying my best to get beyond my self doubts and realize that I have a major support system. I am comfortable with my friends, but I need time to really get comfortable with myself. I hope that by this time next year, I have done nothing but improved. I plan on continuing to post on here, but I do not know when that will be. So for now, I'd like to thank this blog for giving me a place where I know I can always rant. But, in peace, I am leaving the shore, and hopefully I will find a better place to plant my roots. I am more than the person I was this year.

May we meet again. Sincerely, Kenzie.

baker lake 2015: part two

The water in Baker Lake is indescribably gorgeous. It's the brightest shade of teal you'll ever see and the sun reflecting off the calm water summons you to jump in. Taking the boat out in the morning is unbelievably rewarding, especially when we get to go to our favorite rope swing afterwards. After one swing each, six boys swam over to us (the boys from the day before). They introduced themselves officially; their names were Gunner, Henry, Moses, Elijah, Riordan, and Nate. We just started talking.

We were with them for hours.

Gunner effortlessly climbing 20 feet up the tree to unhook the rope with the other five boys screaming the Tarzan theme song. Ryan paddling over with a football to throw for us to catch mid-air. No matter what we were doing, it felt like we'd been friends forever. I didn't feel an ounce of the sadness I felt the day before. We went back down to the beach as the sun was setting and the sky was turning lilac and got in the water and talked until our arms were tired from chucking rocks against the log boom and our lips were matching the color of the sky.

After convincing our grandparents to let us have a later curfew, we changed into our shorts and sweatshirts and made a beach bonfire. The sky was inconceivably clear and there were more stars than I'd ever seen in my entire life. The ten of us sat around our fire we made on the beach that felt like ours. We told jokes and ghost stories, and looking back we couldn't have been more cliché, but back then it felt like we were infinite.

our beach bonfire

The next morning, we packed up as fast as we could. It was our last day. We'd planned to eat breakfast with the guys at 7, but our grandparents didn't let us leave until 10, which caused the guys to complain about our evident tardiness. At 10:10, Gunner, Henry, Moses, Riordan, Madison, Morgan, and I sauntered through the warm sand and sharp rocks in between our toes and duck dove underneath the lane rope for the swimming area. Madison and Gunner kept swimming to the logs by the island, whereas the rest of us beached out on the seventh log (the most stable to balance with the five of us). We had so much fun.

We dove for crushed beer cans. Got sunburnt to the point we turned bright red. Screamed at Madison and Gunner. Moses told me all about his, Henry, and Elijah's family, and I told him all about Madison, Morgan and I's. We laughed the entire time. Stumbled over each other to get to the island. Skipped giant, un-skippable rocks. Discussed things like how jet-skis would be better off being called 'boatercycles'. 

Eventually, we were forced to swim back, since Grama and Bapa were getting impatient and couldn't wait any longer to leave. I walked back across the logs with Moses swimming underneath me. We put our clothes back on over our wet bathing suits and scraped our ankles on twigs and shrubs on the trail back to the motorhome. We exchanged numbers and promised to come back at the same time again next year and watched Gunner's cow towel disappear around the corner.

Baker Lake is special. It's a place we've always been able to go to to forget all of our problems and responsibilities for a while. It's a place to go to refresh and re-vamp yourself. Sitting on the island, I realized I had never been more at peace. Baker Lake 2015 will forever be one of my favorite memories, and I am unbelievably ecstatic too see my cousins and new friends and return to our secret little corner of the world again.

baker lake 2015: part one

Summer is my favorite season; there's no school, it's sunny, I get to sleep in and spend time taking care of myself, and I get to go to Seattle for an entire month. With it being just around the corner, I’m often reminded of my camping trip from last summer.

Every year since I was five, my grandparents have taken two of my cousins (Madison and Morgan) and I camping. We skipped around for a couple years, trying a bunch of new campsites, but we always seemed to make our way back to Baker Lake. Whether it was the island or the three rope swings or the hill we declared as ours when we were younger, there was something about that place that was addicting. Last year, after almost month in Seattle, I was exhausted in the best way possible. It was a known fact that I've always been happier in Washington, so the closer I got to my departure date, the more and more anxious I got about leaving and going back to Utah.

Wednesday, August 5th, we arrived at Baker Lake. We pulled into the campsite with excitement streaming through the blood in our veins, awaiting the adventure before us. The fresh air and the smell of rain daunted us down to the beach to run around in the rain before returning to the motorhome to make tea and write in our traditional camping journals. After dinner, we fell asleep to the sound of rain drizzling down the windows.

It was sunny the next morning, so we changed into our bathing suits and went to the rope swing and then the beach. We would walk/swim across the log boom to get to the island, as we have hundreds of times before. But this time, there were some guys on the logs. We ran into them once we reached the fifth log, and made a bit of small talk. We discovered that they went to a high school in Seattle that we knew of, and they'd been coming here since they were five, like us. We hoped that maybe we'd see them again.

view from one of the rope swings on an overcast day

A couple hours later, we came back to the beach to wade around in the water. Now, Madison and Morgan are some of my bestest friends in the world. We've grown up with each other and can tell each other anything, so, we didn't need to plan to rant to each other about the things on our minds; it was inevitable. We sat on our towels at the tip of the boat launch throwing rocks at our feet as we spewed out everything we'd been holding in for months. Sports, school, our family. How reality is going to hurt like hell when we leave our little Baker Lake bubble. By the time our Grama called us back in, everything suddenly felt like our lives were moving at a thousand miles per hour and we couldn't stop spinning. We had three days until I was gone. We weren't ready to leave.

We went on the boat that night. Swung off of one of the sketchier rope swings and basked in the setting sun in the middle of the lake. Started a campfire and made our own cinnamon and honey toast. We were feeling better now that we were distracted with the little joys that Baker Lake brought us, and before we knew it, we were already on the third day of camping.

scoliosis + dance

I’ve been dancing for ten years—that is two thirds of my lifetime that I have spent in a dance studio. I started dance the first time when I was three. All I can remember from it is silently getting frustrated at the other girls when they sickled their feet. I stopped for two years and tried a few other sports. 

But, it wasn’t long before I knew I preferred dance over skiing, gymnastics, soccer, swimming, ice skating, cheerleading, and tennis. When I finally got back into it, I went to a studio called Dance Premier. I did classes for a few years and managed to sneak my way up a few levels, and on my sixth year of dancing, I finally worked up the nerve to try out for Prodigy (the name for the competition team at my studio) and made the team. However, the whole time I danced at Dance Premier, I didn’t feel like I was trying as hard as I could have been.

A year later, I moved from Issaquah, Washington to Park City, Utah, and had to start all over. One week before school started, I flew down and stayed with friends to attend the final week of summer dance camp at my new studio, Dance Tech Studios, so that my new teachers could elaborate my dancing and see which team they would place me on. Sitting in the studio for the first time, I decided that I didn’t want my experience at Dance Tech to be repeating what I did at Dance Premier. I wanted to be the dancer in the front, instead of being shy and hiding in the back—that plan didn’t exactly fully carry out until recently, but I worked my way up to the front somehow and over the years, my confidence improved.

However, there was a bit of a bump in the road. Right before I turned thirteen, I was officially diagnosed with scoliosis. For those who don’t know, scoliosis is when there is abnormal curvature in the spine. My spine started to curve when I was six, but it was so minor that we couldn’t do anything about it. But, while I was growing, my spine just grew twisted, until there wasn’t much we could do about it.

simple diagram of what scoliosis can look like

They threw me in physical therapy and got me fitted for a brace, which I would have to wear for the next year and a half (or until I was technically done growing). Everyone told me I would be fine, that we’d caught it before I needed surgery, that I can keep doing normal things in my daily life as long as it wasn’t causing me any pain—all of this was reassuring, but kind of led me to false hope.

Eventually, I had to stop all dance (besides hip hop). Ballet, jazz, and contemporary were too difficult to continue. I couldn’t properly balance on releve, I was physically not flexible enough on one side of my body, everything was unbalanced and chaotic and it was hard to improve or even maintain my technique without being in pain and not being able to do things I've been training my whole life to do make me constantly feel like a failure and made me burst into tears on a daily basis. So, since I’ve focused more on hip hop the past two years, I’ve improved a ton, but I’ve lost a lot of my ballet, jazz, and contemporary skills.

It was kind of heartbreaking to me. Growing up, all I ever wanted to do was be a dancer. I constantly watched dance videos. I wanted to spend all of my teenage years in the studio. I wanted to improve, I wanted to be the best. I wanted dance to be the center of my life, and once I was diagnosed, that dream kind of faded away. I’ve been in too much pain to think about dance.

So there is technically no reason for this post, I just felt the need to rant a tiny bit, because I'm feeling a little bit upset about it right now. But, I think that might be what this blog was created for.

this will be graded in the next 24 hours, right?

It is 8:27 p.m. on Sunday, March 20th, 2016. I got home an hour and a half ago after being in Seattle, my hometown, since Thursday morning. I’ve hardly slept this weekend. I feel sick. I have to wake up in nine hours.

I got to go away for the weekend. I got to see where my mom went to college. I got to celebrate my grandpa’s 91st birthday. I got to see my cousins, who happen to be three of my favorite humans in the world, who I have missed terribly. It was a break; a fresh exit from the stressful reality that has grown to be my life. Going back to Seattle always calms me down—whether it’s the people I’m with or the sights I see or even just the simplicity in the abundance of trees alongside the road, I always seem to feel at peace when I’m there. The only problem is that when I leave, that peace stays behind.

a picture I took on the way to my cousin's house

Twenty four hours ago, I was asleep, only to wake back up again at 1:36 a.m. when my cousin Madison returned from Tolo (the Pacific Northwest’s version of Sadie Hawkins). Twenty four hours before that, I was watching my cousins’ and I’s favorite movies, and twenty four hours before that I was doing something else and twenty four hours before that I was doing something else. 

Time is moving uncontrollably fast, too fast for me to catch up. Every day drags on endlessly, but looking back, it feels like 2016 hasn’t even started and I’m still stuck in late August of 2015. Ever since the week before school started, everything has been a blur. And if you don’t understand what that means, then let me try to explain it: I feel like I’ve been stuck in time for the past seven months. I can hardly tell the difference between days and I’ve run out of ways to talk to people about it. 

Basically, in the grand scheme of things, I’m trying to say that my entire mental health has gone to hell since school started. This is nothing new, it happens every year. I’m not surprised that it happened again, even though I’m always hopeful otherwise. But I’d like to publicly state that I am not the only student going through this.

Earlier today I felt this feeling—this numb feeling I’ve been describing, where I shut down and lose all sense of feeling—and I desperately asked my best friend what to do about it. She admitted to me that she also felt this feeling, and specifically mentioned that this feeling occurs when at school/dealing with school. Like we’re waiting for something in our lives, but we don’t know what. Like the only way we’re getting through life is by distracting ourselves. And this, by first hand experience, seems like the worst way to go through life, as I’ve mentioned in one of my previous blog posts. 

When it gets to the point where students would rather hibernate from the world than get up and ride the bus one more time you know there’s a flaw in the system. When it gets to the point where students are living in a constant state of depression and anxiety and can’t help but try to hide it from everyone, that is when you know there is a flaw in the system. When it gets to the point where students are expected to get at least eight hours of sleep at night but are kept up cramming in schoolwork to keep up their GPA’s, that is when you know there is a flaw in the system. When it gets to the point that kids are having physical panic attacks worrying about if their 'A' will turn into an 'A-' (I'm not exaggerating, this is fucking reality), that is when you know there is a flaw in our system.

It is now 10:11 p.m.. Twenty four hours ago, I was asleep. Twelve hours from now, I will be in second period. I am exhausted. My head hurts. I should have been asleep two hours ago, not writing this. But hey, at least I turned it in on time, right?

forgotten memories

Does it scare you that your entire life is in the past?

The breath you just took, the sixty-fifth math class you’ve taken this year, your favorite song that you just finished listening to for the hundredth time. The time you went cliff jumping at your cabin, the era of your life when you used to be obsessed with baking miniature cupcakes, the day you met your best friend. Everything that has ever happened to you is in the past, even the things that happened 0.0000001 seconds ago. Your entire life is nothing but a memory. You are a walking participle of the past.

The scary part about that is that you don’t remember all of your life, either. You have forgotten things that have happened to you, things you have said or done. In twenty years, you won’t remember this blog post, or what you wore on January 23rd, or how many times you’ve cut your hair. You won’t remember any of it. I believe that’s pretty selfish of us human beings to only remember ‘the important things’.

A little while ago, four of my longtime best friends (Jen, Alexa, and Tori) were joking about something that happened at this hilarious sleepover we had when we were kids—and I couldn’t remember it. I tried and tried to rack my brain, searching every corner to try and picture it, but I couldn’t do it. I remembered all of our other sleepovers.

Tori, Alexa, Jen and I at
the Bite of Seattle last summer

I remember Alexa and I’s first playdate, when we threw water down my wooden hallway and slid on our knees to create an Indoor Waterslide. I remember sitting with Jen and her brother JJ as he defeated Robot Patrick in the Spongebob Game while simultaneously arguing over what the largest number in the world was (we had decided on ‘infinity google plux’). 

I remember the day Tori moved to Tennessee—I was sitting at the bottom of my driveway with tears in my eyes as she ran out of her parents’ car and tackled me in a hug. She pulled a piece of Dubble Bubble gum out of her pocket and wrapped it in my hands. I started to cry, because she remembered that Dubble Bubble gum was my favorite. And then, she drove away and left.

I remembered everything else but what they were laughing about. It killed me because that memory was important to them and I had carelessly forgotten it, as if it didn’t matter. I have too many memories to even name, and each of them mean so much to me. My memories are my biggest treasures and to think of losing them could bring me to tears. 

This terrifies me. The idea of forgetting a good memory is petrifying because these are your memories and they define your life story. I exist, I ought to owe it to someone to be able to remember and be blessed for all of the good times I’ve had, and it’s not in my place to forget. No one else knows you better than you know yourself. You may share memories with other people, but they always mean something different to them than they mean to you.

a wake-up call

Do you ever get the feeling that you’re wasting your life?

You wake up at 6. You get on the bus at 6:45 and ride until you get to school at 7:15, then you go to class and learn things (sometimes) and are handed busy work and told to complete it in the next two days. Then you go to three more classes and eat lunch and go home and go to your activities and do your homework and go to bed and sleep for a couple hours until you repeat it again the next day and the day after that and the day after that. The things you want to be doing are pushed off another day, and you spend your limited hours in a classroom or in bed. The days feel so long but yet there’s still never enough hours in a day. How is this possible?

Sometimes you get a taste of change, say you go to a friend’s house after school, or your mom makes your favorite meal for dinner, or your favorite band releases a new album, and your daily routine is shaken up a tiny bit. You enjoy it, because this opportunity doesn’t always appear. But once the moment is over, all you want to do is experience another change, which is unfortunate because your routine begins again the next morning and another repetitive day has come and gone and you find yourself going insane until you get to the point of breaking, where if you have to wake up and do the same things one more time you will start screaming.

The problem is that when you’re going through life like this, you usually know what you want. You have this list—whether it’s physical or mental—of things you want to do before you die, and as each day passed, the thin dust layer on top of it gets thicker and thicker. Slumped in a desk at 8:23 in the morning, feeling as if you haven’t slept in weeks, you think to yourself, “I wish I could be road tripping up and down the west coast, not sitting here watching this boring geography movie” or coming home from practice late at night thinking, “I wish I could have time to see my friends during the day”.  I think it’s harder knowing what you want and knowing you’re so far away from the physical possibility of accomplishing that. All you want is to reach out your hand and start steering the direction your life the way you want to, and you can’t.

the map of a person who's travelled everywhere

Humans have made life so complicated. The mere purpose for life is to go to college so you can get a good paying job so you can have a lot of money. Yikes, right? People give up values of family and friendship and work themselves until they are bitter and coldhearted—and for what? Aren’t there more important things than financial stability? Money is a necessity but it is not everything. Life should be much simpler than what everyone has made it out to be; do you really have to scream and stomp your foot if the barista accidentally messed up your order? Do you really have to complain about what that girl is wearing behind her back or how it’s not snowing as much as you’d like it to be? Humanity has grown to be hard and mean and we need to stop pretending like we’re going to live forever. 

Maybe I opened up your horizons a bit. If not, that’s alright. Maybe you are perfectly content with your life, and if that’s so, then good for you; I aspire to reach that point someday. All I hope, for my sake, is that someday I will be able to accomplish that dusted-over list imprinted in the back of my mind and begin to live the way I know I deserve to.