There are the stories you hear, the stories you tell and then the stories you tell yourself….
I remember as a child getting ready for bed and hearing a story. Being tucked into my cozy blankets and snuggled up with my favorite doll for a good nights sleep. I had an oversized Shirley Temple story book and my mother would read some of one of the stories until I drifted off to dreamland. As I got older we would take out the slide projector and look at photos from when we were little or before my parents got married and they would tell us stories of how they met and things we did as babies before we could remember. Growing up there were the stories we told about the other girls so we could try to fit in with the “cool” crowd and stories we made up to impress someone. Through my teen age years there were the stories I would tell myself when I did not feel like I measured up to the other girls. As an adult getting sober there was the story of my past life. I find sharing stories is a way to connect to others, to cherish the good times and put the hard times into perspective. To let someone know they are not alone and to comfort someone when they are hurting.
As I became an adult, stories, started to mean something else to me. They were the ones that would light up the faces of my nieces while we blew fairy dust into the night air. The ones that would bring my mother back for a few seconds while she was lost in her world of dementia and the ones I would listen to from the elders at the senior center. They keep the memory alive of someone you who you had to say goodbye to, and they allow you to meet a person that has left this earth too soon. Everyone has a story, children with their dreams and fantasies, teens with their challenges and accomplishments, young adults with their visions for their futures and the elders with the experiences and wisdom. They are gifts we give to one another, sometimes without even knowing how priceless they can be to receive.
What is your story?