Sophie’s November: When She Realized That Some Callings Really Are Better Than Others

Dear Family,

There are so many mundane things that become more exciting when done alongside people you care about. One of those things is, it turns out, flying on a tiny little airplane across the country to a place that people in Utah call “Washington,” even though the most sensible thing to call it is “D.C.” It’s been a while since I flew home with anyone, and I’ve never flown anywhere with Luke. But the day I flew home for Thanksgiving was one of those days when I realized that I’m excited to have a partner to do all of the mundane things with for the rest of my life, and I’m glad that the partner is Luke.

We flew out to Maryland early Wednesday morning, made it to the Wonnacotts’ by 4 pm, and then to my house by 7 pm. The trip from the airport to the Wonnacotts’ took a little longer than expected because Luke’s father took us on a little tour of the fast food deals in Germantown. A local expert in how to feed three people full meals with only nine dollars, my future father-in-law is a really fun guy to drive home from the airport with. He also ended up buying me a new pair of shoes and wood-gluing the sole of my old shoe back to the body. All in all, it was probably the most productive two hours following a plane ride I’ve ever been a part of. I loved it.

After a quick hello and some small contributions to the pie process at the Wonnacotts’, Luke and I spent quite a bit of time with my family. I sometimes I forget how much I enjoy falling asleep watching movies with Grace, singing around the piano with Ari, chatting with my family in the living room, and eating lunch with my parents. We really don’t do much, but I love it.

While I ended up spending most of the rest of my break with my own family, the Wonnacotts continued to make frequent appearances in my Thanksgiving weekend. They joined the White Oak Ward’s annual game of ultimate frisbee, during which event we learned from them that there actually are rules besides “don’t run with the frisbee.”

Then, we got to have them join our extended Willis Thanksgiving dinner. My future mother-in-law brought five pies, six dozen rolls, and a salad, possibly making herself the greatest single contributor to the event.

I’m really beginning to love the Wonnacott parents. In some ways, they are so like my parents, while in others they are so completely the opposite. It’s not an impression that I know how to put into words yet, but anyone who reminds me in any way of my parents tends to make me happy, so I think it’s a good sign.

Once we got back to Utah after Thanksgiving, another one of those mundane things I mentioned earlier came back in full force: working on the assignments that I procrastinate zeroing in on until there is absolutely no other option because it is due in three hours and should probably have already employed five hours of my time. Sometimes I tell Luke he should probably just go home because I know I’m going to be paying little to no attention to him until 11:59 PM, at which point I plan to immediately expire anyway. He rarely listens to me when I say that and usually stays with me anyway, taking the opportunity to sit on my apartment’s wonderfully comfy couch and occasionally making me food or going out to buy me snacks. On one particularly long night at the very beginning of this month, I was on the verge of a mental breakdown and having trouble even looking at my screen for any longer when we excused himself to go to the store and buy tea, peanut butter m&ms, and some cheez-its for me.

One of the joys of these late-night homework sessions this month has been the burgeoning friendship between Luke and my roommate Savvy. The two haven’t always gotten along very well, but the three of us are probably the most frequent dwellers of my apartment’s living room, and we’ve all spent many evenings by the Christmas tree distracting one another from things that should probably take up a little more of our attention.

On one of these stressful nights, Savvy took a break to practice her filibustering by reading us the entire IHOP menu. She was feeling sad and craving IHOP. To entice us, she didn’t just read the gluten free menu from which she would order had she the chance to go to IHOP with us that night, but every single possible food that we could have if we agreed to go with her. (Savvy doesn’t have a car.)

And that’s how we ended up going to IHOP at 11PM on a school night.

Even on that night, the stuff got done, as it always does. With these people I get to feel more loved than I often do after dazedly and tentatively submitting massive and likely underdeveloped projects for my writing pedagogy class.

It’s easy to feel a little resentment towards my writing pedagogy professor when her class is probably my most harshly graded and least cleanly organized. Granted, I would probably also have a hard time organizing the labyrinthine curriculum and learning opportunities she has conjured for us, but it’s still frustrating to navigate on my end.

My frustration with her can only last so long though, since every few weeks she exposes the most loving and likely insecure professor soul that I’ve ever been given the opportunity to peek into. She is frequently reminding us of the importance of failure, revision, and self-compassion. She obviously cares about her students and has already gone through a long journey battling her own perfectionism.

And then one day, she walks into class while we’re in the middle of a game of hangman (a pre-class ritual I started this month) and just stands there for a moment. After the moment that it takes for everyone to notice her, erase the word on the board, and direct our attention, she whispers, “I just had the most awkward interaction,” as if she’s scared someone has their ear pressed up against the door. We all lower our voices too, asking whether she’s okay, what happened, and I think we all giggle a little too because, yeah, we totally get that feeling.

She takes a few moments to put her stuff down and recollect herself and then tells us that she had just come from an interaction with her ex-boyfriend from Virginia, during which she had essentially said, “Oh…hi!” and then dashed away. The next five minutes consisted of her short description of how uncomfortable she was with this guy and a class discussion about what we do to unwind and relieve stress. Answers ranged from coloring books, to hot chocolate, to the Murdle (a murder-solving activity book?). It was incredibly wholesome and beneficial to me, especially since that class is usually my most stressful two and a half hours of my week.

So, I can’t be angry at my teachers. Even when I kind of want to be. I still just love them for all of their little quirks.

But that’s enough of school. It’s time for me to reflect on the new love of my life: the ward choir. Sometime last month, I approached my bishop in order to intimidate him into calling a ward choir director. Yes, I did know how that endeavor was almost sure to turn out.

Since that conversation, I’ve been, for all intents and purposes, the ward choir director. My choir has performed three times and I find myself so curiously proud of them every time I hear them sing. Part of that is probably a desire to feel proud of myself for having gathered and directed them, but I’m honestly not sure whether I can take credit for them. My ward just has an unfair portion of the cross-section of people who sing quite well and willingly come to ward choir every week after two hours of church.

Below are voice recordings of our songs, the first two of which were uploaded to YouTube by Tommy Eskelsen, from whom I stole the choir director calling. He wanted it because, “holding that calling keeps me from getting a real calling for the few months I’m here.”

I love them all so much.

If nothing else, being choir director for three months gave me something to be sad to leave behind when I get married after this semester.

I’m going to miss being choir director, but I’m sure I’ll be happy as primary teacher (or whatever. But probably a primary teacher) in my first non-YSA ward as a newly married individual.

While church and Sundays acted as a safe haven this month, I at some point this semester decided that Tuesdays are the worst day of the week. That’s probably partially thanks to my writing pedagogy class, but whatever the reason, I just hated Tuesdays and often broke down a little bit on that day of the week. Luke noticed that I was struggling and suggested that I consider reducing the hours that I work in a week. So I went from 19 to 16 and did not even have to think before deciding that Tuesday would be the day to go.

Thus began our weekly Tuesday dates with Hannah and Emma.

I have loved seeing them every week and watching Luke get to know both of them a little better. Sometimes I have to take a step back and wonder why I love being with my family so much. I call my parents at least once a week. I tend to talk to everyone else on the phone a few times throughout the week. We certainly weren’t all that close when I was in middle school and younger, but I now cannot imagine a life in which I am not thoroughly in love with the idea of talking to and being with each of my siblings and my parents.

And so I am grateful that Hannah is so close by and that she is always happy to see me.

I also recently rediscovered some of my extended family out here in Utah. Of course, I always knew they were here, but my Utah bridal shower actually opened up the opportunity to reach out and really get to know many of my wonderful Willis relatives for the first time without my parents being present. My dear Aunt Rebecca and Uncle Gary invited me and Luke over for dinner one Sunday, and there we got to meet my cousins Grant and Brittany, along with their children.

At my bridal shower, I got to see many of my wonderful cousins for the first time in years. For the sake of brevity, I will continue referring to them as my cousins, although they are more specifically my first cousins once removed, or my dad’s cousins. My dad has always encouraged me to reach out to my Utah family more often because they are, “the kindest people there are.” He always says this with a tone that implies, “I know you wouldn’t think that anyone related to me could be so benevolent and loving.” Or maybe he actually just says that part out loud. I can’t remember.

But it turns out he’s right. My Willis relatives are kind of the nicest people I’ve ever met. They drove out in numbers that surprised me to celebrate with me at the bridal shower that Luke’s aunts, mother, grandmothers, and sister-in-law so graciously planned for me. My cousins and my great aunt Judy took such a sincere interest in me and in my wedding that I couldn’t help but feel that they sincerely care about me and my happiness despite hardly knowing me.

And though some of my cousins traveled for an hour to get there, no one traveled as far as many of Luke’s relatives did to not only attend but throw this party for me. I can’t express how loved and excitable this wedding is coming to make me feel. I don’t often think of myself as a cause for excitement, but the enthusiasm of everyone around me, including the people I now just barely know, forces me to consider the idea that people are excited to see me join their family.

It makes me happy.

A few of my closest friends were also able to come to the shower, and the three girls whom I met on my mission and who have since become some of my closest friends won the “see who knows the bride best” game. This really should not have been all that surprising, given that the rest of the attendees were largely people who, while wonderful, really didn’t know me that well at all.

I’m sending out this letter a little later than I initially anticipated, but I hope you believe me when I say that I have been a little overwhelmed by final projects and assignments over the last few weeks. I’ve learned this week that I need hard deadlines to motivate me to complete work in a timely manner, as is evidenced by my turning each of my final projects somewhere between 2 minutes and an hour before they were due each night of the last three days of classes.

But classes and projects are finished now and I am looking forward to flying home, celebrating Christmas, and just getting married.

I’ll get to see many of you then, and I am so excited.

Until then,

Sophie