Your life is a story trying to be told. You are trying to tell it.
Every day you come home and tell the day’s story to a mate or a friend. On your way home, on the bus or subway, or stopping at a neighborhood bar, you will hear others telling their story, too. Day after day, many life stories are being told, piece meal.
At night, you dream the day into another kind of story, some of the pieces mixed up randomly with others, always so crazy.
But your life just has to make its way into a story. What’s inside you has to get outside, for some reason, as a story.
So it is that we have so many invitations to put the pieces together in a more complete way–classes on journaling, on writing a novel, on writing a memoir. We are invited to an evening at MOTH. We are invited to try our hand at conveying our story in a Six-Word Memoir.
Even if we do not ever intend to write, we still think of our story every day in its as yet unfinished completion, the history of me.
Whenever we go to a movie, a play, or attend worship, we get to put our story next to a bigger story, the story of a super heroine, a man-god, some paragon whose light throws our story into meaningful perspective. And we are moved and understand ourselves anew.
We have to go to public space for such experience. Public space exists to put ourselves in a larger perspective. Do you create such public space for your charges?