February 13, 2017, Monday

I started this blog today. Which may seem odd to anyone reading it after the fact. It took me three weeks to have the idea to blog. I did not have the notion or the energy to blog as it was happening. But I wanted it to read real time.

So, today is a lesson in time travel, where my blog meets itself…

Today’s realization is this, “Life is a collection of stories we tell ourselves. Stories, btw, that we make up.”

Looking back now I am sure that it was born from yesterday’s thoughts, even though I didn’t know it at the time. That’s what led to this blog inception.

Our lives consist of a series of events linked together by our imagination and we interpret them. We interpret them in the moments. We interpret them in the days afterward. We interpret them in the weeks afterward. We interpret them in the months, years and decades afterward.

We get new information and we reinterpret them. We have information corrected and we reinterpret them. We gain spiritual insight and understanding and we reinterpret them yet again.

The events themselves have only the value of our interpretation. At any given point as we look back on something we can change its value. We look at it as harmful or helpful; eye-opening or heart-closing; bad or good.

Think of all the things you thought were ‘bad’ for a long time, and then one day realized that something really great came out of it. Wouldn’t that then change the value? Wouldn’t that make the ‘bad’ thing really a ‘good’ thing? So what if we didn’t actually assign values at all?

What of the things we allow to hurt us because we perceive them with a child’s mind? With adult insight needn’t we go back to look at those events and the experience they lent us and reassess them?

As a child, my favorite fairytale was The Ugly Duckling. I didn’t feel like I quite fit in anywhere and had terrible self-esteem issues. Around the age of ten, I found my parents’ marriage certificate and saw that they married two years before I was born. I was devastated. How could they wait TWO years before having me? I interpreted this to mean that they hadn’t really wanted me. This only added ‘proof’ to my Ugly Duckling image. I never told anyone these thoughts and they became a foundational part of my belief about myself.

That belief lay there, under a thousand others, unheeded, until sometime in adulthood when I recognized the child’s logic. The child did not know it takes a minimum of 9 months to create a child…and blissfully unaware of mitigating circumstances that could affect that creation. That child didn’t know a myriad of things that factor into the decision in having a baby.

Yet, still those thoughts directly affected my life growing up and needed to be re-evaluated, reassessed and revalued when I knew better. It was devastating to that ten year old girl, but the woman who reassessed that situation didn’t see it that way at all.

So, you see, our lives are full of stories we tell ourselves. We think them to be true because they are factual, but truth and facts are not synonymous. (Its a fact that my parents were married two years before I was born, but that fact did not make it true that I was unwanted.)

Our lives are collections of stories we tell ourselves, therefore we have the right to rewrite them.

This stroke will one day be a story we tell ourselves, as well.

We are both writing the first draft as well as we can. One day it might get rewritten, but we aim to do it right the first time around. Or maybe its just one that won’t ever be done being written, just inspire sequels.

What I absolutely KNOW is that based on past experience something this huge always affects the hero in a powerful way.

 

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