Saturday, April 4, 2015

Stories You Don't Know You Have


The Teenager comes back today from Paris, and I can't wait to see her. I imagine she is brimming with stories that she doesn't even realize she has.

It's like that, sometimes, that you have things to say that you didn't even know until you sit down with another human and start talking. Maybe the conversation is lubricated with booze, perhaps not, but you suddenly realize that there are things to discuss that were humming in the background for awhile.

I have friends that help me do that, and I am just now realizing it. I feel like the winter sort of threw me off a little; the lessons of Dane's death faded, and I let things slide back into the way they were. As a recap, the way they were was taking things for granted and making excuses.

Yoga philosophy talks about the stories we have about ourselves, the things that we say that hold us back: "I am not a traveler," or "I hate crowds," or "I am never going to be able to ____." I have been thinking a lot about these stories lately, the ones I have about myself (and other people) and thinking about where the truth lies. Usually not in the story. Usually somewhere hidden. And then the rest of life hides away behind the story, and we get into the rhythm of That's Just How Things Are, and then we pay our taxes and die after our requisite average life span.

But I am looking at my stories, and I have sunshine and friends, new and old, to thank for that. This week I have been left to my own devices, and rather than being a quiet, sad time (minus the first Sunday, which started with an argument with a neighbor and just went downhill from there), I have managed to spend some time out in the world with strangers I didn't immediately want to kill, and I got to step back and re-evaluate a bit.

This is awfully vague, I know. It's still early, and I am still on my first cup of coffee, and I may or may not have just cleaned the bathroom with a chemical so noxious that I am a little dizzy. It's okay. I feel like I am slowly wending my way through the labyrinth into the next stage. I am ready to look forward to something (or someone).

For now, though, I will finish this blog, drink another cup of coffee, and clean the house for The Teenager's return.

Do you feel a similar unfolding in the spring? 

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