Words are incredibly powerful. I have often found much solace in the use of the written word. I always dreamed of being an author. I would write books and change people’s lives. Someday. Someday I will tell my story; today my story is being written.
I always thought you had to know the meaning before you could tell the story. If that were true most stories would never get told.
I have always been terrible at keeping a journal. I get obsessed with how I am going to “do it right this time” and how I am “really committed” to it. I have the perfect journal, the perfect pen, the perfect plan. I write a glorious first entry. If I am lucky, a few more will follow. Sometimes they start back up years later; some journals just sit holding the smallest sliver of my story.
Today it hit me. Life is not about completing the story; it’s about how we fill the pages. Which are the moments we choose to pay close enough attention to the details that we can repaint them on a page?
I think the biggest road block for me in focusing on my story is that I lack the self confidence to believe I have the ability to matter. But today, I am going to try things a little differently. Today is an opportunity; today is a gift.
Today I choose to accept that I am the only me that will ever live. That if I don’t share the words inside of me, they may as well have never existed. But the truth is, they do exist. I am choosing to believe that they exist for a reason I may never know, and in sharing them, I open the possibility to actually altering the course of another life for the betterment of mankind.