Tell Me a Story

"Tell me a story." Did you ask that a lot when you were little? I know I did. I loved to hear my dad tell the same stories over and over. And if no one was around to tell me a story I would make up my own or read my favorites...My life was full of stories about Dorrie the Good Witch, Amelia Bedelia, Petunia-- she was a goose-- and, of course the usual suspects (Sleeping Beauty, Snow White, etc.). One of my favorites was about a group of children on vacation with their parents. They discover a magical fairyland behind a waterfall...sort of like Narnia, but different. To this day, there is a space in me hoping for something else beyond a waterfall. I've been thinking a lot about stories lately.

I think that we like to hear stories as children because the world is so full of possibilities. I wondered if I would find a magical place....if I would be in peril and someone would rescue me...if I could save someone else from danger...if I had a story…..and if I did, how did these stories relate to it. Did they? I wanted to be part of something bigger.

So what happens? When do we stop asking someone to tell us a story? Perhaps more importantly, why do we stop asking? Are we too busy? Have we decided that these tales have no place in our "real" world of adulthood? Are we so concerned with our own story that we have no room for anyone else's? Maybe it's hard for us to hear the stories of others because we can't get away from either comparing our lives to theirs (and wishing they were more similar than different) or judging the way their lives should go. And if I'm spending my energy on that, I'm losing myself.

Frankly, that's what I've been doing lately. Spending time thinking about how other people could act to make my life better or easier. However, the past few days have brought some meaningful conversations that have helped my focus. See...this whole culinary school, cooking experience has been crazy. And, when I'm really stressed, I think "maybe I should go back to a job that uses my graduate degrees, and pays me well, and lets me consume more things...." For some reason, that seems like the responsible thing to do. As I write this, I realize that "consuming more things" is rarely responsible. However, before I've made any rash decisions, I am quieted. For the past few years, I have been pulled along, following a path because my heart told me I had to. It almost felt like I didn't have a choice. I had to go to school, I had to go to Switzerland. There were relationships to start, and a heart to be broken and healed. There were realizations about true family and friends….and how thankful I am to have both. This invisible tether keeps pulling me along a path. It doesn't feel out of control like a ship on rough water....though I don't feel in control either. I feel propelled and pulled in this direction. Paying attention to your heart doesn't always feel good. Opening ourselves up to realizing our deepest need and then going in that direction in a positive way doesn't always feel great or even make sense on paper. But I want to live the story that I'm meant to live. Even though I don't know how it's going to look or what it all means. When I'm old, I want to be able to say that--even though it took me a minute, I said yes to my story. The “yes” is sometimes tired and sometimes bold. But I want to always say “yes.”

We all have a story-- one that belongs to just us. And I think that we deeply want someone to listen to it. Sharing our stories and our lives with each other allows us to realize that we share a larger connection with humanity. The more I become aware of the larger story of humanity, the more I am in touch with my own. So....tell me a story.