I Have... What?

Inside the bounds of social media, many times we only see what's on the outside of someone's life. Our vision only reaches as far as others will let you; which usually is only the surface. And when somebody gets too honest or ugly (deep criticisms, fights on the comments section, discussions on breakups) it easily gets uncomfortable. However, our censorship is often misleading. Major moments of our lives become uncharted by others because they're taboo to share.

I've been struggling with this idea, because I want to discuss something that has been a large component of my life, but at the fear of being uncouth, I haven't. But today is the day I'll share with the world what's really going on in my life. I'll let you see what's going on underneath Richard Hall.

What's going on inside of me. 

Literally.

This is me. Well, this is a picture that looks a lot like me. I've been inexplicably sick. I've lost my appetite to eat, and when I do eat, I get stomach pain. I get fatigued easily. I've lost 20 pounds in a month's span. More than half of the day I am nauseous ("Life in Nausea" is a great band name, by the way).

A few weeks ago I went into the doctor for a diagnosis. After he poked and prodded me, did all of the doctor things, the first thing he says is that we're going to run some tests for cancer. He gave me some medication for- 

Wait, did Dr. Brown just say cancer? Why didn't he say it could be something else? He could have at least added a different probable diagnosis. What the heck, Doc! Cancer sounds like the worst. Everyone has a similar reaction when they find out someone has cancer. In the most sentimental way possible, we think, "Wow, that person's life is hard." "Wow, they must be in a lot of pain." We think that because it's true! Cancer is hard, it's painful, it's something you never want. But here I am, 20, scheduling CT scans and giving stool samples (gross) for an unknown sickness.

There's a strange occurrence while waiting for test results and frequenting med clinics: life goes on. I put in my work hours, I go on a date or two, I attend church meetings. When people have cancer, they often say that they fight cancer, or they beat cancer. In fact, some people beat cancer even when they die. That's because it isn't the tumors and cells that kills you, it is the concept of cancer that is deadly. Just the idea of the illness is debilitating. Knowing that your life is being counted on a breaking clock, being able to inoculate yourself only so much, a day for one person is a marathon for yourself, that is disparaging. That is the lethal crush of cancer.

Between my Dr.'s appointment and the CT scan (which would reveal the existence of cancer) I had two weeks of this Schrodinger's Cat time frame where I maybe have cancer or I maybe had something that wasn't life-altering. On one hand my world was about to flip, on the other I was a prescription away from being normal. I don't want to say anything, because if it doesn't work out I'll be an overreacting drama queen, but you can't hide something that's a part of you. Well, on social media you can. But that's not real life.
This is what everyone with cancer has to deal with. They have to choose whether to let the illness define who they are, or they have to face it head on and forget themselves. In two weeks I had to learn how to fight cancer, with the possibility of not even having it. That's the darkness of cancer. You can't control it, you can only control yourself.

Last Wednesday I got the results from the CT scan. Negative of cancer. Thank the good Lord. But the pain is still there. The nausea has only gotten worse. the fatigue is more prominent.
But it's not cancer.
So what is it? They don't know. If you don't know what you have, you can't be treated yet. I still force myself to eat, I still feel awful afterwards. Knowing that I don't have cancer doesn't solve the problem.
But it's not cancer.
And life goes on. And my Facebook posts and comments stay consistently light-hearted. And I continue to work two jobs. And I just got a new calling in the church. And I'm still watching episodes of the West Wing ever night. And I am surrounding by amazing friends. And this is still one of the most difficult illnesses I've faced. And that's okay, because life goes on.

Listening to the radio one day I heard a quote that I'll keep for a while. "Courage isn't the lack of fear. Courage is facing your fears head on until you've conquered them." Because we all know fear doesn't go away until you defeat it. Fear is not only opposed to faith, it is overcome by faith. Hope smiles brightly before us, because it has chased out the darkness. Sickness, even unknown sickness that slips into every part of life, can be conquered.

Spoon, and the Beast Inside Richard Hall

I was sick today and had to take half a day off of work. I've been feeling unwell for the last week and a half or so, but today just sucked. Laying on my bed at 12:00 pm, I swath through my very modest and new Instagram account and saw Spoon's new post, knowing that in four days I'll be missing a major milestone of my personal life.

Spoon is an alternate rock band that has been around for decades (1994-now); who have always stuck to their unique, jangly, guitars and synths. Their critical acclaim is impressive, and their longevity in making quality music is hard to match.

The Austin, TX-based band which stole my heart years ago

They are having a concert next Tuesday in Boise, which I was on the cusp of going. I sort of owe it to Spoon and myself to go. Spoon was the first non-mainstream band I listened to. My brother walked away from the computer and left his music playing. It was Spoon's "Paper Tiger", and I stared at the track listings for their best album in confused awe. "This doesn't sound right, but it sounds amazing" I thought. Stark guitar, simple yet strange noises, pure lyrics. Mesmerizing. And from their I began my search for musical happiness.
I found out from one of their Instagram posts only a few days ago that Spoon, who started this trip (which if you know me has been a long and encompassing one), is performing in Boise, 100 miles away from my house. That would be sweet to go. Only problem- I needed a concert buddy. Someone to share the experience with, someone to keep me awake on the drive home, someone who'd appreciate the music. There are a lot of people who love going to concerts, but- for a band they've never heard of? On a Tuesday? for 43$? I only know of two people who were up for it. One just moved to Logan and the other can't get out of a commitment. And just like that, no concert buddy. No concert. Missed chance of paying homage to my musical journey.

Back to 12:00 today, I'd like to post something about it. But what do I post? Because I'd also like to post about some of my shirts, and a picture on processing nostalgia through generations, and a post on officiating my second cousin's soccer game, and another on the horrible construction on the freeway. After filtering my mind of potential post ideas, I realized- none of this is entertaining to other people. I'm fascinated by all of these things, which all deserve some attention, but not that much attention.
A small window of recognition begins to expand- I'm not normal. I like things other people don't. What's the first book I read when I got home from my mission? The Screwtape Letters. I didn't totally enjoy Rogue One. I'm an American who follows English Premiere soccer. I listened to a 1988 interview NPR had with the Ramones on my way to work. I spent last Saturday night buying socks- and I loved it.

Rolling down my Instagram, I find the newest post from my girlfriend.

My girlfriend, who, strangely like Spoon, stole my heart years ago

Look at her. She's beautiful. She's contemporary. You could look at this forever. I will tell you this got more likes than I could ever dream of getting. And she posts something like this twice a week. This is the girl that usually matches up with this guy.

This guy, who you wish stole your heart years ago

So where do I fit in? The guy whose nickname is "Buckets" and used to keep his pencils in his socks?
I guess I don't. And I like it like that. It's so hard for me to connect naturally with people. I'm fascinated by outskirts, driven by the unknown. This makes it feel hard to be deeply involved with other people's lives and for other people to be deeply involved in me- which is a pain in the butt sometimes.
Don't get me wrong, I have tons of friends, plenty of loved ones; but sometimes you just want to slip in and not press the edges of social acceptance. It's the Beast Inside of Me. It's the one that you find silent at the party and rambling on stage. It's the one that can't morally understand Snapchat because he's been reading too much Dostoyevsky. It's the one that insists the Muppets are always funny. It's the one that flinches at The Office and watches ESPN Classic. It's the guy that carved his Drama Teacher's head into a pumpkin. It's this guy.

Me, who will not steal your heart in a few years

Usually, I'm okay with swimming upstream, but this scroll through Instagram has made me feel strangely aware of my strokes. I think a little more about what picture I should post. One of my favorites come to mind. I'm on Dillon Beach in California, staring away from the Ocean and into a sprawl of condos. My jeans are rolled up to Capri's, my dark brown skin contrasts against the sky. And there's no one around me. It's obvious that I'm stuck in neutral, and enjoying every second. I'm looking to belong somewhere. I could pick any one of the houses before me, but I choose the beach. And when I get to the beach, I don't pay attention to the ocean, and I don't play in the sand. Am I really looking to belong?
Not then. Not two weeks ago. But I'm starting to. And the beast inside of me is curious.

Me, wondering where my heart is

The Release

I am not in Texas.
I am home.
I am no longer a full-time missionary.
I am Elder Richard Wesley Hall
Things have changed.
This is happening

Me shortly after being released as a missionary

Growing up as a male member of the church, the thoughts of the mission are inevitable. You don't have to go, however. You can run away from the obligation, you can struggle with the stresses and skills that come with the calling, you can even fail to keep the commandments, which are much needed to serve. But when you do go on a mission, there's one thing that you can't avoid, and that's the release.

The process of registering the 2 years of fantastic lifestyle into what most people claim to be "reality" has always intrigued me. I have plenty of friends who have served missions, they're easy to observe. You can often spot a recent return missionary. They're the ones who go on walks in the evening just to talk to people on the street. They nervously wade through clothing stores constantly checking if their friend is within sight. The release and subsequent transition is one of the greatest sociological experiments known to the modern world! No one changed, but everyone changed! Everything is happening, but nothing happened! These young adults in the crux of their lives went 180 to 180 without a buzzfeed article to explain it to them.

You'd be surprised the amount of people who have two cents on the adjustment that takes place. some say it's easy. Many say it is hard. As a young observer, I didn't understand what either of those meant. Actually, as a missionary I didn't understand what they meant. It only came when I was responding to the easiness, or the hardness, of the transition.

I've been off of the mission for about two and a half weeks now. From my experience, would I say it has been easy or hard? I'll give the cop-out truth. Yes. 

I know! I can't give you that genuine, well theorized answer that we all want! The "it depends" answer often rubs me the wrong way, but when things become personal, nuance kicks in. However, those experiences that don't line up or don't give straight answers eventually lead to finding answers. And not just an answer, but the answer!

Some of you may know that my mother kept my long line of weekly reports in a blog while I was gone. When I came home, she thought I was going to write one last post; a send-off to my mission stories. A *ahem* magnum opus. It struck me, because I wanted to start a new blog and declare a mission-statement, a call-to-arms. a *a-hem!* Manifesto. This post is a kick-off to a string of stories of what happened to a recent return missionary. They are experiences you can relate to, laugh at, and overall enjoy the perspective of a naturally self-conscious 20-year old Mormon. Eventually the blog will ease into anyone else's ramblings and takes, but the first few are part of the social experiment of "the transition."

But I don't want the mission to end! and I don't dare think of having a fresh start. I don't want a magnum opus or a manifesto, but both sort-of have to happen. I want my life to have both. Before I even left on my mission, I wrote in my guide to missionary service "The mission is not the end." It isn't, and I also knew that post-mission release was not the beginning. I want my life to begin with the end in mind. Just as much as I want a grand-finale and a grand opening, I want it to be grand. It's the vision that carries our plans, and gives us an identity.

This blog is to help you track me, and help me track myself, during the life that lays ahead of me. I hope that many people read it, and more importantly, it is worth reading. Here's to the beginning of the end, the end of the beginning. and the middle of everywhere.