Remind Me to Tell You…
I found myself looking through old photos from this past year. Soon, I found myself deeper into the years, feeling a bit more nostalgic, and beginning to remember stories, times and memories once forgotten.
These stories of my own life, although trivial and surely not the most interesting among my friends and family are stories that I’m collecting, gathering and saving for a rainy day, campfire or still moment.
I’m not sure of the day I began to see life as narrative, but I can point to some moments when I was a kid sitting in my dad's pickup truck with my feet dangling because they didn't reach the floorboard yet. George Strait played on the radio and the air vents blew a familiar smell. I would ask him to tell the story again about his dog named flip that ran on three legs, the days when he was the fastest kid in town, or how he would spend his summers playing baseball until the sun went down.
Good stories ‘stick’ with us. We like to hear over and over again remembering them as if we were visiting an old friend. They have a certain visceral richness that makes them real and palpable. In some instances, all we have left of someone are their stories, photos and memories.
Stories, just like most of life is better when shared. When I tell a story, I share a part of me with you. Just like when you choose to share your life/story with me.
I hope we never let the stories die and forget the importance of story telling in our own culture. Often stories and ‘sharing’ of life consists of instagrams, twitter posts, or blogs.
I don’t fear the end of my own story, but I fear the end of spoken word and how it has shaped each generation, including my own. I hope we never lose the ability to tell stories like they did when our feet didn’t quite reach the ground and our finger-tips danced with the stars.
So, remind me to tell you a story sometime…
Don’t let me leave until you’ve heard them all.
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