All life is a story.
There are a thousand ways to tell the story of a life.
The facts of a story can’t be changed: I was born, I breathe, I will die.
The meaning of the facts, however, can be changed. Facts can be interpreted to mean whatever the story teller wants to tell.
Everyone tells stories. We tell our own story. We tell the story of others. We tell the story of events: of catastrophes and miracles.
How we tell these stories can change everything.
I could tell you that my life has been plagued with troubles since the beginning. That sickness has followed me, that my hopes are often disapointed. I could tell you that I’m a dreamer who has fallen into the pit of a mediocre and stark life.
If you look at the facts of my life, you could say that this story is true, if not a little over dramatic. Sometimes this has been my story. At least this has been the story that I would tell myself when sorrow and disapointment knocked at my door.
But I say that this story isn’t true. I am refusing to tell that story to myself and to others any more.
In that story I was ‘the girl who had no luck’. In that depressing tale I was destined to be crushed by the harsh realities of life.
To heck with that.
I’m choosing a different story. I am choosing to be ‘the girl who chased a wild horse’.
My life has been charmed. The presence of sickness has tought me the value of health. Disapointment has tought me the value of dreaming. Boredom, apathy and depression have tought me the value of joy.
To tell my story otherwise, to say that I have no luck, is to say to myself that I have no control, no choice in how the story of my life unfolds. I would be opting out of life and coasting along until I hit the final fact of life: death.
I don’t want to go quietly into the dark. In my metaphorical mind I want to chase a wild horse; dance in the waves of oceans; and be a girl who broke out of sadness and ran towards hope.
I am the girl who chased a wild horse. Will you join the chase?