Hyperopia, or trying to see the end from the beginning

As part of my continuing efforts to choose a field for research, I’ve considered more topics than I care to count. Over the course of the last year or two, particularly in the last six months, I’ve become excited about several different topics, only to have that interest diminish after a short time.

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People keep saying I'm a flirt...

It seems like everyone I meet thinks I’m a huge flirt. I used to be a huge flirt, but I’ve toned it down since I was a freshman. Maybe that’s why I don’t understand it. I do talk with people a lot, but the fact that I’m talking with a girl doesn’t mean I’m trying to ingratiate myself with her. Whatever the reason, my reputation as a flirt has persisted for many years, even among different groups of friends and in different cities that I’ve lived.

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Busyness: the new drug

I've heard that a lot of people use their drug of choice to escape their painful life. Maybe their family isn't doing well or someone they love is in pain. They might feel lost, without a direction to follow. They could just be bored. Whatever the case, drugs provide a welcome escape from their problems, small or large.

I've noticed in the last few years that I have a similar habit, although mine is fairly subtle. Instead of ingesting or inhaling, I act.

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I still haven't found what I'm looking for

I didn't give a lot of serious thought to my career before my mission. I enjoyed the introductory digital systems class and decided to be an electrical engineer. A year or two after my mission, I realized that although I enjoyed electrical engineering, I didn't care enough about it to spend my life with it. After some considerable investigation and consideration, I decided to become a medical doctor. Because of some other experiences I've had, I also wanted to get a PhD so I could do research to improve the world.

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Why I no longer fear rejection

When I got home from my mission, I was so absorbed in just living a non-mission life, finding a job, and then working at a job, that it hardly occurred to me that I might go on a date for a while. I'd been home for about four months when I decided that I needed to make some time for dating and asked someone out.

Since it had been about two and a half years since my last date (maybe more), I was very out of practice. To say that it was awkward would be a gross understatement. I tried to be proper and polite and ended up being so formal that our conversation was almost nonexistent. I don't remember who won the game of bowling, but I do remember that some girl in the next lane kept bowling in our lane.

The next day, my date went on a date with a guy in our ward. They began dating shortly thereafter.

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Seeking the good

I remember resenting the fact that I wasn’t allowed to watch certain movies as a kid. The other kids watched them, and they seemed to be doing just fine! I wondered what I was missing out on, being as insatiably curious then as I am now. My parents were also involved in decisions about the TV shows I watched, the video games I played, the music I listened to, and the books I read.

As I matured, I gained an increased appreciation for the effect that media have on our thoughts. I began to avoid unsavory themes, messages, and visuals of my own volition. As I did so, however, I frequently found myself waging internal battles. I’d ask myself if a movie, book, etc. was okay. Not having seen it, I couldn’t know. I had to weigh my desire to never miss anything against my desire to avoid things that would harm my mind and spirit and the likelihood that a particular piece would actually be harmful.

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Immodesty in ballroom dance as a symptom of a larger societal epidemic

Author's note:
Please don’t take this as a criticism of ballroom dance as a whole. I love ballroom dance and have seen many fantastic dancers, beautiful and handsome costumes, etc. This is a criticism of a movement in today’s culture that is exemplified by a movement within ballroom dance.

A few years ago, I attended the BYU DanceSport nationals to fulfill a requirement for my social dance class and to compete in the smaller class competition. I arrived at the Marriott Center to an ordinary dance scene. People were practicing in the hallways, looking for teammates, and relaxing. As I went downstairs to get my number, I saw a teenage boy with his dark hair clicked back and a thick rubber mask. I looked again and realized that he wasn’t wearing a rubber mask; it was just a thick slab of makeup that completely covered his face.

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