Not Quite There

I believe we are a story that’s never quite finished. I believe many of our earliest chapters are written by others. Imprints left by our parents. Perhaps even the sentences encoded into our DNA are tales from ancestors who lived, or perhaps more accurately, merely survived generations before us.

As we mature, we find that format no longer suits us or our preferred environment. We begin reworking our patterns and questioning the rules others use when writing their stories. A structure that may have worked for them no longer reads quite right to the modern reader. At least not to the audience we hope will welcome our work.

So the edits and rewrites begin.

Did being different from my family in appearance, personality, or interests make me wrong? Were the words my first love spoke while breaking my heart in adolescence a reflection of some lacking in me, worthy of the self-doubt I’ve carried for decades since? Are there healthier ways to cope with life’s ever-changing circumstances than what was presented to me through the lottery and logistics of my birth?

As new chapters are written, old chapters need revision. Are the roadways that make up my story intentional paths, or have they become ingrained ruts leading nowhere I wish to be?

I believe being inquisitive keeps someone truly “living” a life rather than merely possessing one. I think a curious, childlike nature, combined with the humility to change what isn’t working, makes for the best story possible.

My story is never fully told until it is finished once and for all.

But that is what makes it my life’s work.