Word Games

Posted by Justine | December 6, 2007 | 19 Comments

We gals here at Segullah fancy ourselves and our readers as the literary type — well, at least as the type of women who want desperately to believe that there are excellent LDS writers out there, or even just excellent writers in general. So here’s the challenge (and I’ll be the first to take it up) — I’ll pick a word, a random, mean-nothing word, and we want to see how beautifully, artfully, skillfully you can come up with a short essay (just a paragraph or two) about that word. It could be descriptive, allegorical, informative, humorous, whatever!

Drop your piece into the comments, and together we’ll see how creative we can be! (come on, you know you want to…)

Today’s word is endurance.

I saw the end right from the start. It was up there, past the High School, past the park, at the top of the hill. Three miles. Three miles of upward motion. It wasn’t the idea of three miles that deflated me, three miles was an easy run — it was the hill. I had faced this hill before. I’d always lost. For two years I’d battled with this hill. I’d brought out all the resources available to me. I had tried better shoes, better shirts, music, a partner, fancy socks, expensive running watches. I’d spent a fortune on this dumb hill. None of it ever helped me. The hill had always responded by brandishing its own resources — wind, ice, heat, rain, and gravity. Always gravity.

But today, I was determined to win. Today had to be different, because today was an arbitrary Tuesday in August. It was a random day in a random month, with no particular angst or anguish to drive me up the hill. But this day had to be the day I conquered the hill. No longer could I let disappointment reign. No longer could I accept the idea that I wasn’t capable, I wasn’t an efficient enough runner, I wasn’t strong enough, I wasn’t equipped with the stamina. I already knew I was, so my head would just have to catch up with my body somewhere along this road.

And it did.

The view from the top was pretty nice.

okay ladies. Share! Mine was just as off the cuff as yours might be. Let’s have it!

Category: Daily Special

Comments

19 Responses to “Word Games”

Maralise
December 6th, 2007 @ 7:01 am

“I’d spent a fortune on this dumb hill.” My favorite line. For a “free” sport, running sure manages to cost its participants. ANYWAY–Here’s mine… (frankly I was hoping for a word like banana or something EASY. Endurance! AUGH!)

Under normal circumstances, fish sticks are disgusting. I’d much rather eat fried calamari, fried potatoes, fried sausages, fried sandwiches (ever had a Monte Carlo? Nummy), fried ANYTHING rather than fish. I am cooking them lovingly in sunflower oil, the process burning the top of my hands and staining my clothes. These frozen pieces of flesh are the first “fast food” that I’ve found for my gluten-intolerant son since The Move. Today, fish sticks might as well be something as cool as McDonald’s Chicken McNuggets or a T-Bone steak or seafood boillabase. Today, we eat fish. That looks like a stick. That tastes like oil and feels fantastic.
Suzy
December 6th, 2007 @ 11:10 am

Our 7th anniversary marked something significant for me. I was officially 100 pounds heavier than my wedding day. I was reminded daily. The wedding photos of that special day were proof of it. Every time I could bring myself to look at them our young, skinny faces would smile giddily, humiliatingly at me. Now after two babies, grad school, full and part-time jobs, no jobs, lapses of poverty, illness, and marital turbulence I was wearing my emotions on my sleeve, and hips, thighs and chin. I wasnâ€™t the happy bride in those wedding photos and I barely even recognized her in the woman I had become. I knew that I needed to mark this anniversary as a new start, for both of us before I â€œwastedâ€ any more feeling fat and unhappy.

I started in January. I half expected myself to be really good for about a month or so and then gradually fall off the bandwagon (as I so often would do in times past). I was really surprised that I didnâ€™t. I kept going. I followed up one good choice, with another and eventually I started to see results. I dragged myself to the gym for the first time in forever, and found how easy it could be (the gym had a free daycare!). I was hooked on how happy I was feeling and began to see the giddy bride in me re-emerge as the pounds melted away. Now almost two years later, Iâ€™m still not as skinny as I was on my wedding day, but my feelings are much the same. Iâ€™m more confident, and feel like the spark is back. I feel in loveâ€¦with him, and myself and am glad I stuck it out!
Susan M
December 6th, 2007 @ 11:37 am

Endurance is a word I don’t much care for. Even the sound of it is so…bleak. Endurance.

I picked up a cheap paperback once that had an incredible opening paragraph. I wrote it down and saved it:

The world is full of people gritting on with life. I became like that. You get up of a morning, do what you have to do to stay alive. You take pleasure where you can find it: in a sunrise that burns the earth red, in a sky lathered thick with clouds about to rain; in rich black dirt yielding up its bounty. Anything more that comes your way is gravy. And dreams are for sleeping.

Unfortunately, the rest of the book didn’t live up to it’s opening. I don’t think I even made it through the first chapter. But I could relate to that opening paragraph.

Sometimes simply enduring is all you can do. And it takes all you have. Sometimes just enduring is a triumph.

But I don’t want to just endure to the end. I want to live, love and laugh to the end.
Justine
December 6th, 2007 @ 2:17 pm

Sorry, Maralise, banana would have actually been harder than endurance for me. But you made good with it anyway!

And Suzy, you rock. I remember starting a very similar goal after one of my kids, always assuming I would just quit or give up after a month or so. That was almost 5 years ago, and I’ve fallen in love with running. Thanks for taking up the challenge! I felt your struggle, for sure!

Susan, where on earth is that great paragraph from? And what a serious bummer that the writer couldn’t keep it going. You should write a lengthier essay springboarded from that paragraph!
Kel
December 6th, 2007 @ 4:51 pm

I’ve bared my teeth often in a “isn’t this pleasant and amazing” way through other people’s children’s recitals, waiting for the real talent to start (“Hello son!”). I’ve cemented my lips into a sympathetic line, while listening to yet another list of grievances from people who like to moan. My face has personal experience with enduring through difficult times, waiting for the chance to celebrate and laugh and enjoy.

I heard advice to “enjoy to the end”, and now everytime I hear endurance my ears filter and my mind hears “dance!” So I shimmy in my seat waiting for my heart’s joys to perform their piece on the stage, my face flows through a waltz while listening to others concerns, and I dance through my life to the music I choose to hear. Enjoy the dance!
Adri
December 6th, 2007 @ 5:44 pm

I’ve been at it for nearly two years, with two ‘trainees.’ Although I haven’t kept track, I’m sure this venture has involved hundreds of extra-large loads of laundry, thousands of pull-ups, piles of toilet paper and at least a case of anti-bacterial hand soap. When, exactly, does potty-training end? I mean REALLY end. The kind of end that involves no more reminders to ‘take a break,’ no more helping with the wiping, no more cleaning up of mishaps, and no more dragging around extra undies ‘just in case.’ Seriously, potty training must be the epitome of endurance!
Adri
December 6th, 2007 @ 5:53 pm

Oh, wait….make that almost THREE years. No wonder it seems like so long!!!
Dalene
December 6th, 2007 @ 6:23 pm

I’m new to this game and wasn’t sure if I needed to restate the word or just imply it. (I found a way to sneak it in anyway–can you tell?)

In honor of my grandpa, who taught me “growing old ain’t for sissie!”

Even at ninety-eight Grandpa still managed to retain his sense of humor. Nevertheless, no one had prepared me to witness the toll an aging body took on one’s soul. Dementia is worse than you can imagine, but he was lucky enough to only have it bad during his last few weeks. Unfortunately my last memory of him is of his disconnect. Regardless of his confusion, however, the last words I heard him say were an expression of love for my dear grandmother. And eventually he was blessed with release from his mortal toil. Not everyone understood why I was so happy, but I knew. Celebration was in order. Eternity must be even better after a life on earth well lived.
Justine
December 7th, 2007 @ 6:25 pm

These are all so wonderful! Thank you everyone for sharing.

Dalene, did you hide the word endurance in the text? I can’t find it! Where is it!?
Dalene
December 8th, 2007 @ 12:30 am

Look at the first letter of every sentence in the main paragraph.

(And just because I’m not above laughing at my own expense I’ll admit that I had to rewrite one of the sentences because I misspelled endurance the first time.)
Geo
December 8th, 2007 @ 3:08 pm

“Are you coming to bed now?”

“In a few minutes. I just have to brush my teeth and turn off the computer.”

That’s at 11:00, maybe closer to midnight. Sometimes earlier, say, 10:00-ish. It doesn’t matter. Whatever hour it starts it usually ends up an aching head and burning eyes roving for just one more good idea. One more distraction, really. One more piece of busywork to keep me from sleep. To keep me, rather, from being still and thinking.

Is there a bogeyman in my room? Sometimes.

But to be fair, there’s also a very nice man in my bed, waiting. Well, not waiting, exactly. Two minutes after his head touches down, his consciousness launches, destination: dreams. But even from orbit he knows, he knows what hour I come crawling into bed, never mind that our mattress is built for movement absorption. Never mind that I ease without breathing between the covers so slowly and carefully, only moving during his exhales, that even the bedroom air is undisturbed. Maybe he turns heavily, on instinct, to hold me, or maybe he continues to travel at light speed through the deep space of rest, but his control tower lets him know that It’s 2:13 now, it’s 1:37, it’s 3:01, it’s half past 12:00, and she’s just coming to bed. Roger that.

The next morning he asks me, “What time did you come to bed?” or “How late did you stay up last night?” But he already knows. Why does he ask?

As I lie there beside him in the dark, making my attempt at releasing consciousness, he snores. I wear plugs in my ears, bright orange foamy ones, with the highest dB rating available. They are all that stands between us and separate beds. That I will not endure.

Snore. Snoooore. Snore, snore, snore.

“Rob. Roll over.”

“Would you please turn on your side, sweetie?”

“I know you’re more comfortable on your back, but could you just try it?”

“Augh! Please, please, stop snoring! I have to sleep!”

How is it that I find my way to rest? When does it happen? Do I finally stop hearing? Does he ever grow quiet? Do I?

In the mornings, I can’t hear the alarm. Not enough dB. Even if he sets the clock right next to my head its sounding never penetrates my defenses. But him? Always. Is he so loud? No, he’s nobody’s grandpa, and he’s not even overweight. He’s not a growling terror. It’s me. I am just tuned into the sound of him. I always know. Why is that?

So he wakes me kindly, every morning, when it’s time to launch. My headache is still there, but it fades as I begin the day. I don’t look so great when I’m tired. I’m not at my best. Over and over again, here I am, but he is patient. He endures.
Barb
December 8th, 2007 @ 11:49 pm

This is a great idea! I would have liked a different word as I am forevering trying to escape the dramatic side of me. But it does help to share sometimes. So here goes.

I am not sure why I was asked to meet with a mental health professional while I was at the MTC. I guess the record of my mental problems prior to being LDS when I had doen a suicide gesture may have prompted the meeting. I thought I was doing fine at the MTC although it was a challenge to always try to follow my companion around as I felt like it annoyed her. My companion and room mates thought I was so serious. And I was in a super serious mode at that time. I did have a sense of humor, but I was obsessed with the rules. I guess that is a comment characteric of survivors. And what I survived was not anything in comaprison to a LifeTime movie. And I had early years of that were so Norman Rockwell. But times were really bad immediately before my mission. I think that was one of the periods of a lot of breaking of things. There was the insane rages. Not any physical violence to speak of at the time unless you count shoving. But it was worse than the minor physical abuse that I experienced at times. Far more scary. This was immediately before entering the MTC. And yet, I had felt so blessed while still living at home and felt myself being prepared by God to serve a mission. I felt Heaven so close at times. That is not to say that I was not sore afraid at times during rages. And then there was the opposition of nonmember parents not wanting me to go on a mission. And yet, it was not a rage from that parent as I feared as he always would break to what I wanted. Just a small request in a quiet way not to go. And some comments here and there about my being brainwashed, but not too bad. Maybe he knew that I was going his support or not. And they both came around in ways so amazing that I will not relate here.

There I sat in meeting with the Mental Health Professional wanting me to know that there were services if I needed them. Services. I told him that I would not be needing any services after surviving what I had in my home environment. I told him I did not need anybody. I did need to be friends with my companions. I just need my Heavenly Father. He gave me an article to read. “Is that on the reading list at the MTC?” I think he was distressed that I would ask and I believe he said, “Would I give you something that you were not aloud to read?” I don’t remember if I read it or what it was about.

I did great about my first nine months as a missionary. And there were no external experiences to justify the turmoil experienced starting around my nineth month. I don’t know if it is the “wall” that my Mission President Spoke of or if it was worse. I just know that I used the discipline I gained in high school when I studied constantly to get good greads while I was constantly contemplating suicide. I also went about my sports practices and worked hard there too.

And after I had been home about six months, I had a nervous breakdown.

And I have had a lot of good times since. I am still very limited and avoid going a lot of places. I wish that I never had to leave home. I wish that I was one of the people shot at the Mall in my city recently or that I never had to leave home. Both are viable options to me provided my not having to leave home would also allow me to have my own space while living where I feel safe so that I would not contaminate others. And I love life in so much details and so many ways. I am not depressed. I just worry every day of my life that something that I do could harm another so death would be such a relief. But you would be surprised how I am able to do as well as I am with my limited sphere and if it is below a certain threshold can be happy. It used to hurt so much more. I have learned a lot. But I don’t think I will ever be well. But if God will have mercy on me, in the end, that is what matters. And I hope that I am on the right path though it is hard to feel as such when I am not able to go to Church due to my condition. But I am so thankful for what I can do. And I know this is rather dramatic. Well, it is honest. I used to not know if I could hope to hope. And I have had hope. And I prefer to concentrate on choosing to be happy rather than enduring to the end as that is much easier for me to say after the doom and gloom that I have experience. I always say that if I were to ever write something to publication that I would not write about my condition or about my families’ situations. But this is for leisure.
Justine
December 9th, 2007 @ 5:15 pm

Geo, I’ve got a snorer in my bed, too. I’ve gotten so I can kick him in the small of the back without waking up.

And Barb, that was really lovely, thank you for sharing. Your gratitude shines through the writing, and I feel grateful for your honesty. Choosing to be happy is something I think we all have to figure out, because happiness definitely does not just come like in fairy tales. Thank you.

Dalene! YOU are so sneaky!
Barb
December 10th, 2007 @ 12:36 pm

Thank you, Justine. As it may be evident from all my typos, I wrote that as I went along. But alas, it did not have the effect that I wanted. The words of that mental health professional came back to me when I was in my third area and training a sister with a learning disability who wanted to go home from her mission. When I was in training, I studied during breakfast, while taking a shower, in the car until it was told that we were not supposed to do so etc, etc. We got along in a lot of ways, but that was a wedge as I compared her efforts to my own though I may not have voiced it. Plus, I had other struggles in that area and thought back to how I so longed to go on a mission. I hope it did not sound like I did not want to be friends with my companions. I certainly was friends with all my companiions. I meant that I was strong in my mind at the MTC to withstand bad relationships with companions should they arise.

What I meant by chosing happiness is not that a person can always feel happy. There are periods of profound sadness. And when I said I had a nervous breakdown. I am not sure if that is true as I went to school that semester and received all A’s in my nine credit hours if memory serves and also made a friend who I socialized outside of school with who was in two of my classes. That was rare as far as my College experience as it was without dorms. But I was in despair and also it was when my disorder manifest itself in a way to impair my ability to discern things and I saw everything as a risk. I still see so many things as a risk, but I am able to rehearse a lot of things that people tell me such as saying things are in my head. It really has been the kindness of others and the strength from God that has helped me. I would feel unworthy to go anywhere were people not so kind. All the same, I prefer to never go anywhere again. Yet, there is one other alternative that is romantic in nature, but so far in three years has not materialized in that direction so I have to live my life as it is unless the man I like decides that he not only likes me, but loves me enough to put up with me. And I seem to hope that I would overcome my disorder or at least have the tools to cope better.

What I really meant in chosing to be happy is that I substitute that for enduring to the end as I believe that will lead to ultimate happiness even if our present circumstances are difficult. This means living the commandments and being obedient. Yes, God can even bless us in the present. But in those dark hours when you do not feel blessed, you can hold onto the promise that God’s way is the right way. It is just easier for me to say “chosing to be happy” now than enduring to the end. Happiness was beyond me in my early days with my condition manifest as it is and I dont’ think I was capable of such a choice. Yet, I was obedient as best I was able although I was not doing it for blessings. I was pretty sure I was hellbound and that nothing I did mattered at that point. That is why I am glad that I have hope now and Priesthood leaders have helped restored that hope. Were I not met with kind Bishops and members of the Stake Presidency, I do not know what might have become to me for I could not filter out the madness on my own. Plus, I had some therapy and took medication for a time.
Sorry if this all seems too dramatic. Most days my life is very ordinary as my problems are at a threshold that are probably less stressful than a lot of people’s days. Staying home is the best option though. Well, thanks for commenting, Justine. It is hard to be so open and to be ignored as I have been at times online. And I hope I don’t seem like a person to be pitied. I am generally not too dramatic in my day to day life. I am sorry this comes across with so much drama. You have to become a little closed off to go on and all. I cried so much in the early days of my disorder that I may have closed that part of myself off as I seldom cry now. Or maybe it is the absence of depression that I had then. At any rate, my life is generally good. I feel bad writing so much as I do not want to assume that people are so interested. Yet, I opened the door and did not want to leave the wrong impression. Also, I thought Darlene was very clever too! I am impressed. If we do this activity in the future, I will try not to be so dramatic even if it is a trigger word for me such as “endurance.”
Liz
December 10th, 2007 @ 4:29 pm

I pull the covers over my head and attempt to will the world to slow on its axis, somehow giving me five more minutesâ€”just five, and I know it will make all the difference in my day. But, no, up at 5:30am to ready myself for work. Then plow through the next 10 hours trying to do what needs to be done, and knowing that even when I clock out, my work is not over.

Quick, on to school, studying with kids who could be my children (well, almost). Donâ€™t they know how lucky they are to have the time to dedicate to education and not have to cram it into a night already exhausted by a day? Donâ€™t they know how much harder it will be if they put it off until all they have is 17 hour days, and a mind stuffed to the point of confusion? Donâ€™t they know how important it is to endure, now, and how tough it will be to endure later, if they havenâ€™t learned this skill?

Life is about endurance. Always has been. Always will be.
Dalene
December 10th, 2007 @ 5:29 pm

Barb–I am grateful for your honesty. I believe it’s important we be honest about the hard things–so many people who endure them feel so alone simply because we don’t talk about them. I especially appreciated this statement:

“What I really meant in chosing to be happy is that I substitute that for enduring to the end as I believe that will lead to ultimate happiness even if our present circumstances are difficult. This means living the commandments and being obedient. Yes, God can even bless us in the present. But in those dark hours when you do not feel blessed, you can hold onto the promise that Godâ€™s way is the right way.”

Thank you for sharing part of your story.
Heather O.
December 10th, 2007 @ 11:20 pm

Endurance–hmmmm. Is there a time limit on this thing?

Here goes:

My friend tells me that when she gets tired during a race, she pretends her hands are pulling up her legs as she runs. I try the move, and wonder if I look as silly as I feel. I stop the imagery, feeling less like a runner and more like a spastic marionette. But my legs still feel like lead as I push them farther than they had ever gone. I put my head down, to pretend that I am a bull, charging, and again realize I must look ridiculous. Plus, it gets hard to run with my head down, so I pick it up, stare up in the sky, and for my efforts get only a headache and a reminder I should have worn sunglasses. There is nothing, I realize, nothing I can do to shorten the course. I just have to finish.

I did. And when I crossed the finish line, I was most surprised that there were no fireworks, no band playing, no falling down in a cheering husband’s arms. He’d finished a half an hour ago.

Nope, none of that. Just a box of water bottles and some bananas.

I guess we don’t run races for the food.
Dalene
December 11th, 2007 @ 8:20 am

I haven’t run for ages, but this line resonated with me on so many levels:

“There is nothing, I realize, nothing I can do to shorten the course. I just have to finish..”

Excellent!
Justine
December 11th, 2007 @ 8:47 am

All these have been so wonderful to read! I really didn’t think very many people would take up the challenge, so I am loving this!

Heather, I remember after my first road race, thinking, “this is it? I just did all that running and no one even noticed!?” Someone just stuffed a chunk of bread and a water bottle in my hand, and called it good.