March 29, 2018 in Dag

If we all have a story inside us, why do I have so many?

You’ve heard the old cliche before – we all have a story within us.

I suppose it’s more of a metaphor than anything else. The idea that everybody’s life journey is like a story. And like any story, it’s definitely worth telling.

I’m not even sure my life’s journey has been all that exciting. I grew up in a middle class suburb in a wealthy city in a well-off country. I went to school and then university. I got a job and married and had a family. Pretty basic stuff really. Sure I’ve had some pretty cool experiences – I’ve travelled the world and lived and worked overseas. But on the whole, there’s nothing that marks my life as particularly outstanding. Of all the stories embedded within every person’s life, mine definitely doesn’t sound the most amazing.

And yet, this basic story of my life, this simple narrative that takes me from the moment of my birth to where I am now (sitting here writing this blog), is the least of the stories that reside inside me.

My mind is absolutely choc-full of stories. They swirl around like a manic broth of story soup. They percolate inside me like steaming cups of coffee. They swell and grow until they invade every moment of my consciousness. When I’m driving my car or going for a walk, I can’t stop thinking about stories. When I’m sitting at my desk at work, the stories keep competing for my attention. They keep me awake at night, and even when I manage to finally fall asleep, they invade my dreams.

Why is this happening? Why is my head so full of stories? Why can’t I just be like your average person, with just the one story within me?

Am I greedy? Am I trying to steal stories from other people? Am I somehow denying others their rights to a story? I try not to think so. I like to believe every one of my stories is unique to me – a special kind of tale that only I could come up with. One thing I do know for sure is that without this multitude of stories within me, I just wouldn’t be me.

So maybe that’s the truth of it. Maybe the one true singular story I have within me – the one story that defines my life from beginning to end (however that turns out) – is the fact that this life is filled with an innumerable number of stories.

Now that would be a story worth telling.

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