Stories protect me. They create meaning. They keep me safe and also limited. They can be very hard to recognise, harder still to let go. Without them I am not safe and nothing is certain. Without them the sense of pattern and dependable identity is lost. Without them I am not safe, but I am free. Free to respond to each new choice without expectation or need to conform. Free to change my mind, to contradict myself, to explore, create, become. Free to be predictable, free to embrace routine or reject it. Free to not know and free to fail. Free even to let go of the hardest story of all: that I am a weaver of stories.
I am a weaver of stories. I weave them in an attempt to understand the world and to feel safe within it. I spin them to understand others, in order that pain and rejection might feel less personal. And most of all, I craft stories about myself. I seek ideal selves who offer the prospect of fulfillment, purpose, happiness and love. I look for the narrative that will convince me that I am interesting and worthwhile, despite whatever evidence or doubts I might have to the contrary.
Stories protect me. They create meaning. They keep me safe and also limited. They can be very hard to recognise, harder still to let go. Without them I am not safe and nothing is certain. Without them the sense of pattern and dependable identity is lost. Without them I am not safe, but I am free. Free to respond to each new choice without expectation or need to conform. Free to change my mind, to contradict myself, to explore, create, become. Free to be predictable, free to embrace routine or reject it. Free to not know and free to fail. Free even to let go of the hardest story of all: that I am a weaver of stories.
2 Comments
Emilie Bourdet
9/3/2018 03:08:21
In magazines a often told subject is why French kids are becoming basically stupid monsters?
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11/3/2018 11:04:12
I am trying to imagine life without questions. It is a depressing thought. I had never really thought about the possibility of living with tall the answers and all the possibilities. Perhaps it must be a little like being immortal; without limits there is no urgency, nothing that matters, nothing to strive for.
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Introduction
"Only that day dawns to which we are awake," wrote Thoreau. This blog, in words and pictures, is my attempt to be awake: to be alive to the mystery of life. It is an exercise in gratitude and wonder, and an open invitation to beauty. Archives
May 2019
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