What am I without my story? I am no one I don’t have a name. How each person got their name, is part of their story. From the one given to me at birth to the one I choose to be called now and all the names for me in between comes the story of who I was and who I am. Without my story I have nothing to call myself. I am nameless.
What am I without my story? Experiences build on themselves. Without the tales of what I’ve done or where I’ve been I can’t tell where to go. Without my story of my first steps I cannot walk. I am adrift.
What am I without my story? Without my tales of school days I cannot read or write. Without my first word I am unable to speak. I am mute and unreachable
What am I without my story? Take away the tale of how I met my husband and married him. I am aimless without my rock in life. I don’t know the love and deep friendship of the one person closest to me. I am alone, unloved.
What am I without my story? Take away tales of my growing up and my supportive loving parents are gone my security in life is ripped from me. I have no foundation
What am I without my story? Take away tales of the furry ones that warmed my heart and I haven’t learned to give, care, understand those who don’t have words. I am compassionless.
Without my story I am pointless. Not just because I am writer but because my personal story makes me who I am. I know when I people watch each person has a story to tell. Each person is a rich wealth of inspiration to fill many blank pages. Take away those stories, and we are merely reams of blank paper waiting for the story to begin.
When the blank page seems terrifying I try to imagine a world without stories. That is more terrifying than starting a story that will later need revision. A world without stories scares me more than the flashing black curser on the white background waiting, just waiting for life to begin.