Telling Stories
I’ve been in another world. A world where I could do whatever I wanted, at whatever hour. A world where I went to sleep without one ear and one eye open and without one foot on the ground, ready to soothe the one crying child who might wake the three others. A world where I was a wife and my husband, simply my husband, the one I chose among all of of mankind to share my life, my bed, my dreams. It was an overcast, loud, slightly rainy, muddy, beautiful world, and I lived out loud every moment I got.
I did a lot of thinking there, in between frosty drinks and live performances and running jokes, about how we–and by we, I mean we humans and our people–commentate the days of our lives. We are, we do, we say. We keep a running verbal record of our time together, of our days on this earth. We give one another’s actions and words meaning, we make one another’s lives matter.
My blessing and my burden as a writer is that I am constantly telling stories. My brain is wired in such a way that I often imagine telling stories of my moments as they happen. It is not exhausting, as one might think, but automatic, enriching, and even beneficial in that I am constantly honing my skills, challenging myself to find just the right word to convey just the right emotion.
We humans are all equal. All of us are just one person on a big planet in a big, old galaxy among galaxies. Each of us writes our own story, tells it in our own way, lives it as it happens and remembers every word. But, sometimes, our friends and our families, or maybe just that fellow human who shared that perfect spark of knowing with you on the subway, at the party, in the line for the restroom, sometimes they tell it for us. They fill in the blanks we can’t seem to explain, they support us with adjectives far more favorable than the ones we might have used, they help us matter.
I’m so glad for the humans in my life who help tell my story. For the siblings God gave me, the husband I am lucky to love, the best girl I’ll never give up, the mother who made me.
It’s my story, after all, but these souls help tell it. These loves make my life matter.
I am so glad.
Great times with you and all the rest! Hoping for a restful night of sleep for you tonight!
Family and friends are “the thread that makes up the fabric of our lives.” {Mr. Holland’s Opus}. You are right in saying that the people we love and are close to help tell our stories. Of course, you say it so much more eliquently. Deep thoughts come out when we have time to unwind and we all need that time. Love you and all of your family, so happy we are all part of the same “fabric”.
Very well put Erin. You have been blessed. Your have a great knack for putting sentiments we all share into words.
You are making your mark, Girl. Awesome words, laced together beuatifully. So glad you made it to your special world… sometimes all we need is a few days away. Thanks for sharing your blessings in a way that reminds your readers to slow down and take stock of our own.
Love it Erin! So glad to call you friend! You are beautiful inside and out. I love your “old soul.” I’m so glad you made it to Jambo, to get reconnected and recharged.
Oh! Jambo is about 40 minutes from me! (But we were out of town then. Always are.)
Lovely post!