Living Your Story

I'm a big fan of story telling.  Use humor.  Be truthful.  Be bold.  Never let your story be at the expense of someone else.

For so many, their story is told after they are gone.  It's as if death were the finish line, indicating that its time to spill the beans and share all the secrets of what made you special.  What made you love.  What made you screaming mad.  And, what truths you exhibited in your everyday activities.

When really, if we are careful, we can clearly see that the most prolific among us are living our story in every moment.  Not waiting for the culmination at the finish line to sum it all up and draw a conclusion.

Those are the stories that won't find their way to the Best Seller list -- but will infuse light and joy and comfort and sometimes passion or anger into the world.  Those are the stories that are being lived out among us every minute.  They are pretty amazing.

Five years ago on November 8 my brother, Steve, lost his life.  It was a gut wrenching ending to a life that was crammed with fantastic stories.  Steve was 41.  I always recognized that he had a creative soul tucked into his common-man appearance.  We often talked about what kind of story he would tell some day, whether with the written word or through cinematography.  I couldn't wait to read it or view it.

When his sudden death robbed us all of this promise, I was angry.  Not only had I lost my brother, but the world had lost his voice.  What was the story that had not yet been told?  I was heartbroken that we would never know.

Over the past five years I have realized that Steve told us his story in his own way.  He shared himself with humor and with passion.  He never turned down the opportunity to coerce me with his political viewpoints (we agreed often and yet disagreed more often!).  He was busy telling his story each and every day.  I was so wrapped up in searching for his grand opus that I failed to truly enjoy every moment along the journey.

Since then, I've experienced joys that felt like I was flying through the night sky igniting the stars with my fire and passion, leaving a reflection of my soul in my wake.  I've also been awash in grief and sadness that circled me like a pack of rabid dogs.  Those moments are clearly a part of my story and the very fabric of who I have become.  I've become a story teller, not waiting for the big whopper at the end, rather sharing the little stories as they occur along the way.

Heck, if we wait we may never learn about someone's experience dancing at the USO while the world was at war or about the secret to making the perfect spaghetti sauce (depending on the life story of the person in question!).  No more waiting.  No more finish lines.  We've all got interesting stories to tell and we shouldn't hesitate.  Live it. Then spill it, people.

Thanks for the lesson, bro.  I miss you.  But, I often sift through the moments we've shared and the stories you told and then I can't help but smile.  You are on my Best Seller list and the Oscar goes to you.  Story well told.

PS -- The photo I've included here has a great story, too.  We were in front of the hospital in Jackson where my mom was recovering from a serious car accident.  We'd just left my father's funeral, a result of that same car accident, and everyone had been filtering up to the hospital to spend time with mom.  Rick, Connor and I ran into Steve, my sister-in-law, Kris, and niece, Jessica, outside and they surprised us with a first birthday gift for Connor (he turned one the next day).  It was a coincidence that I had my camera handy and snapped off a few photos as Steve gave Limbo Elmo to Connor.  Simple destiny that Steve was wearing one of his favorite tropical shirts at that moment, just like the Elmo he selected for his nephew.  It was the last time I saw Steve.  He died about six weeks later.