I have long been enamored by stories. I love stories from
the past. I soak up my family stories. These are the stories of immigrants and
housewives, divorces and births, stories that make up my family's history, the
roots that start deep and lead up to me. I love hearing a funny story, an adventure
story, a love story. My friend's and my family's stories are where I get to experience
their worlds; the world of traveling through Europe or being in the Navy or
becoming a new mother, through the eyes of the people I love the most. Lately,
I've even loved the sad stories. The stories that pour out of people who have
also buried someone they love or seen grief up close are becoming some of my
favorite kinds of stories. I love hearing a good story and I love telling a
good story. I've even decided recently that I'd rather call myself a
storyteller than a writer. Writing takes work and practice and discipline. But
storytelling? That comes as easy to me as breathing. Lately this love has been growing in me,
stirring into something that feels important.
I think there is power in sharing our stories. It's where we
meet and laugh and cry and heal and we are reassured that we are not alone in
thinking or feeling the way we do. It's where we get to experience awe and
wonder in a world where awe and wonder are sometimes hard to come by. It’s where
we connect in community, where we strip away some of the put-togetherness and
get down to some of the realness. And
somehow I can't seem to shake the notion that this is big. Telling the stories
is a big, important thing.
I'm working on a project, something that I'll keep under
wraps until it becomes a little clearer to me exactly what it is. But I'll give
you this clue: it has to do with telling stories. And while I work out what
this project will look like, I figured this might be a good place to practice telling
some stories. I suppose that's what I do already, I tell stories of homecomings
and home brewing and stories about a Chocolate Lab. But I think there are
bigger stories swirling around inside me; stories of grieving and family and marriage
and growing up, stories about the world around me. Don't worry, there will
still be stories of that Chocolate Lab, but
if I seem a little more nostalgic or a little more sentimental, it's because I
can't ignore the stories that keep swelling up inside me.
Thanks for reading along as I tell my story.
you sound inspired. I'm excited for you- and a little jealous- hook me up with some newfound inspiration ;) Can't wait to hear more
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