I love listening to stories. As far as I can remember, I have always either sat down to listen to stories from my father or on the radio; or made up my own.
About a year ago, I realized that even though I loved listening to people's stories, I had trouble telling mine. I do tell my story, but I realized recently that what I essentially do is give a stock answer/story when people ask me to tell me about myself. I usually end my story at a specific point in my life, (roughly about five years ago), when everything changed, seemingly for the better. Most people seem content to stop at that point, and I often change the subject to get them to talk about themselves again.
Last year on a trip back from Indiana while trapped in a car with new friends, I could tell something was up. They asked me to share my story with them, and I started with my stock answer, with a few more details, since we had quite a few hours to kill. After I was done, someone turned to me and said:
-"And then what happened?".
I must have looked puzzled, because he looked at me again and repeated his question...
I was in shock... I did not know what to say to him. After a long pause, I looked at him and said:
-"Hmmm.... I don't know. Life happened, I guess. I don't know..." .
How does one forget their own story? Does the daily grind take over? Does the need to meet basic materials things become more important than our need to make an impact in our world? Do the questions we ask in our young years become so irrelevant that we stop seeking answers?
I just stumbled on an old daily planner while spring cleaning. It was not a "dear diary" kind of journal, but I just noted one or two good/bad things that had happened that day. I may need to start doing this again.
A single line of history a day is better than fading away without a trace...
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| A day in the life |
eed
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