STORY OF MY LIFE

My book is a life-long work in progress as is that of every person. I hope it will be long. Some are so short. I know that the last chapter will only be finished at my last breath whenever that takes place. Because my book is still being written, I do not know where it will take me or who I will meet along the way. I do however, know where it has been, though I may not understand why the plot has often twisted so much, why some of the characters have been removed from the plot or why some of them have been villains rather than heroes. I suppose that without a few villains a story would be boring, so I can easily say that my story is and will continue to be a very fascinating tale.

There many places in my story I would love to go back to; carefree days as a child, riding my pony, Casper or picking mulberries bigger than my thumb and fishing for catfish while throwing back the carp at Champion Millpond, decorating home-cut Christmas trees with popcorn and cranberries, trying not to eat too many so that we would have enough for the tree and sledding down snowy hills with my father in his brown cover-alls. There are days that stand out in adulthood as well, namely the births of my two wonderful boys.

There are also some places in my book that though I cannot forget them, I would not want to re-read the sad and terrifying passages. They bring too many heart-breaking memories with them and reading them again would only serve to tear open old wounds and create more scars on my heart. I close the chapters on the deaths of my parents and the marriage that ended with more hurt than I would want to read about.

Instead, I find that in this current part of my book, my own character is being rewritten. Past mistakes and old ideas that I have long held about myself are being edited out to be replaced by new loves, wonderful pictures, exciting opportunities and beautiful music. There are still and always will be trying times and scenes where I have to reach down and bring up that inner strength as any well-written protagonist would.

How could I have known while writing my first, tenth or even thirtieth chapter that I would soon pick up the violin and be playing in a community orchestra? Who could have guessed? The plot thickens!

The point is this, everyone, everywhere carries within them a book like mine. Some of them are long and written in few locations and with few climactic scenes, while others are shorter and filled to the brim with wild adventure. Some conclude peacefully, some with explosive violence. There are so many “books” walking around in our world; so many amazing tales just waiting to be told. My own story is a great example as it has, thus far been very unique. It is one I might tell to an old friend in church or a perfect stranger on the city bus. I am like that. I love to tell an interesting story and watch the listener’s expression change as I relate it. And I love to hear their stories as well.

So don’t ever be afraid to tell your story. I know you have one! And there are so many ways to tell it. If your talent is painting or drawing, create pictures of it. Photography? Take photos of it. Writing, like myself? Write it down. Or act it out, or sing about it . . . Or simply sit down with a friend, new or old and tell each other the stories of your lives.