Pizza Mountains

A personal essay by Rebecca Workman

"Be patient toward all that is unsolved in your heart and try to love the questions."
--Rainer Maria Rilke

It was 2019 and the warm summer air was a rebirth after the eternally cold and dark Lithuanian winter—like breathing existence back into my lungs. Fascinated by the movement, every car and every person, I did a panoramic intake of the life around me. New York City—a sacred place for me.

The variety was life-giving, the energy was uplifting, the smells, colors, and tastes were uniquely inspiring, and the people passing by were raw and unfiltered. On 92nd Street and Lexington, I walked alone. On my way to Central Park to sit under the Alexander Hamilton statue and stare at the sun, I realized something.

The Heroes of Our Society

A personal essay by Kayla Larsen

"Let's join the fight to bring peace back to America. Let's stand up for what is right, even if it's hard."

Racism
As a young adult, I went on a date with a man who we will call Matt. Matt came and picked me up at my apartment, waiting outside for me to come them opening the door for me like a perfect gentleman. His car was freshly cleaned, but a long deep crack ran through the windshield, like the long deep void in my life at the time. A void which would not be filled for years by “finding myself”. We went to Cabela’s, a hunting and fishing store, walking around and talking the entire time. His stories mirrored some in my own life and it would be remiss to say I wasn’t thinking about a second date. After sitting in the parking lot eating our dinner, he brought up politics, the worst idea possible. He acknowledged a Black Lives Matter silent protest down the street from our apartments, saying “It makes me want to put on the KKK uniform and burn a cross in their yard.” 

Love and Magic

A personal essay by Mattie Jackson

What constitutes an education? That's too big a question to answer here, but I'm finding that an education is a lifetime pursuit, in and out of classrooms.

I’ve had some lousy boyfriends. A few years back, I had a serious one. He’s incredibly (book) smart and overly ambitious; in fact, he now works for one of the top strategy consulting companies in the country. We talked about marriage a year deep into our relationship. Was it the right thing for us? I thought so. I’ll never forget one conversation we had when he probed into what I was currently learning. My answer provided loose details from my classes. He stopped me and said, “I mean what are you learning besides all that?” I was puzzled, and responded, “I’m taking 15 credit hours, working 20+ hours a week right now, and figuring out the proper care for you and other important humans in my life—what do you think I should be doing in addition to that?” 

Fantastic!—Why Latter-day Saints Love Speculative Fiction

Research paper by Erika Stauffer

It would be a marvel if Latter-day Saints did not love speculative fiction.

It may be the culture. It may be religion or the landscape. Maybe it’s something in the water. Whatever the reason, Utah has some of the nation’s most prolific producers and ravenous readers of science fiction and fantasy, known in the book world as “speculative fiction.” (Religion News Blog)

In his book People of Paradox: A History of Mormon Culture, Terryl L. Givens accepts this statement by an internet news article with hardly a statistic, attributing this fact to the prominence of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints in the state of Utah (p. 320). Apparently, it is so obvious that Latter-day Saints love speculative fiction that no evidence is needed.

Many sources—scholarly and not-so-scholarly alike—have proposed answers to why this passion exists. With the aid of reason and research, I would outline three explanations that overarchingly capture why Latter-day Saints love speculative fiction.

Self-Defining Family

A personal essay by Hannah Tran 

You don't choose your family. They are God's gift to you, as you are to them.

— Desmond Tutu

    My family is not a typical one, to say the least. There are numerous reasons for this, a list that couldn’t be counted on one hand, or two for that matter. Many of these stem from one fact, however: my father is Vietnamese, born and raised in the Mekong River Delta area of South Vietnam, and my mother is from Salt Lake City, Utah, though her family moved to San Diego, California when she was only three years old. I did not know many people growing up that were part of a mixed race family, and next to none of those were of Asian and European background. As I have gotten older, it has become apparent to me just how different my family circumstance was, and how unique everyone’s family can be. 

Breathe Easy

 A personal essay by Sam Schulthies

"We all have different reasons for forgetting to breathe" -Andrea Gibson

Down the hall, on your left there is a space to clear your head. A room of relief really. I found my dad here often reading books of all different colors. I never understood what was in them I must have been too young to care. One book, three shelves up on the right, forest green was a small book. The pages were wrinkled, some torn. This was the book that I stood on my tiptoes for. The one I read while my dad was reading his. I crinkle my forehead, trying to remember what the title was called. Vision blurred, inside is what is what becomes crystal clear. Ralph Waldo Emerson’s words brought curiosity when I was young and comfort as I got older. I remembered this after one of those reflective days:

Reconciling Orientation and Faith

 A personal essay by Barry Donakey. 

It was impossible for me to understand how quickly my life could change, and how happy I could be sitting in the tension between two essential parts of my identity. 

“I’m gay.” 

I was shocked to actually hear the words come out of my mouth. They were new and felt so unfamiliar. We were sitting in my car, waiting for the traffic light at the intersection of Cougar and Freedom Blvd next to where we had just finished lunch. After what felt like an eternity, but was actually somewhere around two seconds, my best friend of 20 years reached over the middle console and bear-hugged me. “My man, thank you for telling me!”