Wymount

Laura Sparks recently asked how Kelly and I feel about leaving Wymount. I'll let Kelly speak for himself, but I'll let Bob Wiley speak for me:

"Dizzy spells, nausea, cold sweats, hot sweats, fever blisters, difficulty breathing, difficulty swallowing, blurred vision, involuntary trembling, dead hands, numb lips, fingernail sensitivity..."

If you picture me rubbing my temples and telling myself, "I feel good. I feel great. I feel wonderful," you're not too far off.

Okay, so some of this anxiety is the the happy kind. I love Seattle and am itching for fresh adventures there. It's just that if you had told me three and a half years ago my enthusiasm would be mixed with bittersweet nostalgia about leaving Wymount, I initially would have laughed in your face. Then I would have curled up in the fetal position in fear of impending brainwashing, as I thought only a complete loss of identity could lead me to actually like this place.

Yep. I had a great attitude. But I came by it honestly. I was a transplant from Arizona State University where I partied it up at the biggest party school in the nation...or not. Still, even as a good ASU Mormon girl, BYU came as quite a culture shock. Many refer to Provo, UT as "the bubble," a place protected from and oblivious to the rest of the world. If that is the case, there is a nesting dolls affect within the bubble: Provo is the outermost casing, BYU campus comes next, and Wymount is the bubble within all bubbles. I cannot entirely blame myself for not being able to breath easy at first.

All I knew about Wymount before I moved in was it's reputation as "the rabbit hutches." Upon arrival, it seemed like The Mormon Student Stepford Wives with picture-perfect newlyweds all roughly the same age, religion and life circumstance. My apartment is identical to my neighbors' apartments on the inside, and our apartment buildings, laundry facilities and chapel all look remarkably similar from the outside. They're all nestled on a hill next to the Provo Temple and the Missionary Training Center, which they also resemble. Some call it "paradise." I called it "the compound."

But thanks to time and a some priceless personal miracles, mostly in the form of friendships, the compound has entirely transformed for me. Now I call it home.

I'm not going to go into what I love about Wymount just yet. Surprisingly, it's quite a list, and since I'm usually the type to make long stories even longer, I'll spare you the whole thing all at once. Instead, I will periodically reflect on bits and pieces I will miss about Wymount, one at at time, in future posts.

Of course, Wymount has its quirks I do not mind leaving behind. I may throw those in the mix as well--you know, things I will love to miss. But in the end, it all adds up to a once-in-a-lifetime location I will never come close to experiencing again.

There's no place like my home.