Working on my Nano story this morning, actually struggling with the words like many others it seems, and it occurs to me that it’s all story. Life, that is. Life is just story made manifest. Like the tale I pen, it begins with an idea that is brought into being in a real concrete world. It skips the novel or biography stage of words on paper, but I am still the writer of my life story. I am the narrator, the protagonist, and I develop the plot structure. I may not have immediate control of the environment, the locale my story is presently occurring in, but I do have control over how I interact with my surroundings. But in the long haul, if I want the next chapter to occur in the mountains, I can make a plan to move. Whether it actually happens or not largely depends on how much I actually want the mountain scene. And if I want to be a teacher in my next chapter, then it’s possible to arrange the circumstances to make that happen. I might run out of time, but then that’s just a part of the story as well. At my age, I suppose planning a trip to Mars will have to remain fiction. But otherwise, I really think my life is a story made real. So, it only makes sense for me to visualize the most wonderful, most beautiful, gentlest, kindly, all embracing, all encompassing story possible. If I hold that vision firm, if I smile behind my mask, if I send warm thoughts to all I encounter, then my story will be of a world I truly want to live in. I think I’ll make that happen!
Categories: observation, Writing
Leave a Reply