Story time

I have recently become fascinated with NPR. I don't know what possessed me to switch it on, one evening while I was working on my now-finished-oddly-colored crochet wrap/sweater thing. Perhaps it was a longing to be only slightly more involved in my world, or more likely, it was a need to have other voices in the same space as mine.

Either way, I have fallen in love, or rather utter fascination, with the programs. I especially love "The Story," a program where normal everyday people tell their interesting stories that have been their life. Some are sad, like the woman from Iraq who is living in Sweden working to reunite with her son. Some infuriate me, like the teacher put on indefinite administrative leave for teaching the book "The Freedom Writers Diary." And some are akin to the stories told in coffeeshops, churches, parks and workplaces across the country.

It makes me think about my own story. Do I have one? If I do, how would I tell it? And would anyone listen?

I call myself a horrible storyteller. My own stories generally have no point but simply to relate a moment in time, or a feeling, neither of which is done justice by my limited proficiency in the language of stories.

This post started out as something entirely different. I had been brainstorming all sorts of things to rant and rave about. However, as I'm sitting in "My" coffee shop, I ran into a little boy no more than three who has come to my Music and Movement (dancing and singing) class at work. His family went to the church I was a part of, and his mother was exceptionally friendly and surprising me, as I left the church on not great terms (at least in my mind) and have seen few people since then. But as this little boy rattled on and on, telling me about his little brother, his elephant boots, and numerous other things, I realized somethings. Sometimes a story, a conversation, doesn't need a point, a goal, an ending. It just needs to be shared. And i realized just how much I love people. I should have no ill-will towards this woman and her family, but I am still wary that they will hurt me. Did they persoanlly hurt me, no. But they are part of the collective body that hurt me, and I have held the grudge for well over a year. And my heart has been battered more by my own actions than any action another has ever taken against me.