I believe in the beauty of stories more than I ever have.
This morning, we woke up to a chill in the air and steady rain falling. It felt like it should be a holiday. Even though there was school and work and other things to be done, the kids and I snuggled up on the sofa with a pile of books and read them all before we did anything else. It was magical.
Since mid-August, life has been hectic with moving and all the other chaos that comes with transition. Our reading rituals have been interrupted, and we’ve all missed it. I’ve been fighting for that time again this week, both reading to my kids and my own favorite winding down ritual of reading before bed.
Stories always move us beyond ourselves, even if they are also revealing our hearts. If I listen—truly listen to understand—I cannot help but be changed, shaped and softened by your story. If I find myself becoming cynical or discouraged or frustrated, I know I haven’t been listening to enough stories. Even the hard and unpleasant stories have the power to bring transformation, compassion, insight, righteous indignation, and so on.
The moment I narrowly focus on my own immediate story, I begin to lose connection and empathy with the world at large.
We need stories—good ones, bad ones, make-believe ones, challenging ones, hard ones, romantic ones, impossible ones—all of them. We need your story.
Goodness, I think if everyone resolved to make space to absorb even one story very different than their own, the world would be a much better place.