How do We tell Our story?
A question for each, and to each, their own.
When I learned to talk about what my dad was like to me, to my brother, to my sister, I didn’t have much to say. I’d been spared the details, but the feeling remains to this day.
Something changes for a child when their parent dies. Something happens to every person alive when a loved one passes away. Pain and struggle, grief and destruction, series upon series of unfortunate events, these are worthy of the pen, and so are stories of heroics, accomplishment and peace.
We each need to have the space to speak our piece. It’s not a wish or a comment. It’s a fact, and I notice it more every day. In small towns, it’s a smile or a wave. In cities, it’s the same. It’s a compliment of generosity, not envy. A kind word, a gesture of faith.
Our story begins in 7.9 billion different ways, but how do we tell it?
Materials:
Laptop, cell phone, pen and paper, charcoal,
or,
one stick, one beach.
Method:
Breathe.
Listen, and reach
with your ears,
with your fingers,
