The story that I have told myself is this: one day I will find a story or a story will find me and we’ll sit to together this story and me, get a feel for each other, see if we can work together, work each other out, be together for a while.
I believed that story.
Like all belief, it was challenged a few times. It even got lost for a period of time. While it was lost I discovered that I wasn’t looking to find a story and I wasn’t waiting for a story to find me. In time, I realized that I no longer believed in that story I’d been telling myself.
It was quite an adjustment to lose belief in something, even if was just a story I told myself over and over as part of my writering process. And yet, it’s a painfully good loss: losing that one story opened me to all the stories out there, just waiting to have a conversation, to be listened to.
Now, I am no longer that story that I told myself. Not held by it, not held to it. Another painfully good loss. Instead, there’s an empty space inside where once there was something that helped me to define aspects of me to me. It’s an uneasy feeling, this painful good loss, but I’m okay with having an empty space. It’ll be space for something when I’m ready for it to not be empty any longer. Or maybe I’ll just be completely modernist and let it stay empty, no longer take in or be contained within any single story I might tell myself.
Speaking of single stories — I had thought that I’d close this site down. Upon reflection, I think that I’ll keep it for a bit and see what comes out of all those conversations that are about to happen with all those stories; see how the space fills.
You might not notice a huge difference. But then again, you might. Whatever it is that you notice, I hope to hear from you along the way.