Life Is Story

1984, I came into the world, yellow, jaundice skinned. I’m sure my mind was curious, but the tiredness of my new-born body was more powerful. The first days of my life were filled with sleep, but also lots of love. I was my parent’s first daughter, born while my father was away, training with the military. I would not meet him until five-months old.

1984, I came into the world, yellow, jaundice skinned. I’m sure my mind was curious, but the tiredness of my new-born body was more powerful. The first days of my life were filled with sleep, but also lots of love. I was my parent’s first daughter, born while my father was away, training with the military. I would not meet him until five-months old. . . .

“What are you doing?” I asked my brother as he got out a knife and an apple. He glanced my way for a second before responding, “Cutting this apple.” I watched with wide eyes as my older, wiser brother sliced through the apple and then his palm. . . .

“Hi, Sara. Welcome. We’re so happy to have you in our class.” My new kindergarten teacher smiled wide and gestured for me to find a seat. Finally, this day had come. Now I could learn more of the things my brother taught me about 2 + 2 and writing letters. . . .

Lindsay climbed the bathroom stall and waited for her cue. I gracefully walked toward the mirror, singing about my heroism before she jumped down and began her part, spouting words only an enemy would say. The rest of our play group waited patiently outside for us to finish our scene. . . .

“I can fly!” Lindsay and I leaped through the church parking lot, wishing for Tinkerbell to fly down, sprinkle a little fairy dust over our heads and lead us to Neverland. . . .

Eggs, little smokies, bacon, hash browns. It was an after school feast. Jenny and I took care in creating the easy-to-cook meal and then sat down to enjoy our “grown-up” meal. . . .

“Now it’s time for Fridgy the Freezer.” Jenny and I recorded ourselves delivering TV shows and newscasts to the laundry baskets in her basement. The video would go down in Jenny/Sara history as an epic event, mostly hilariously silly, of our video-recording days. . . .

I could go on with other stories—starting high school, going on my first date, working at Arby’s, serving a mission for the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day saints in South Korea, meeting my husband, marrying my husband, moving to Washington, and then back to Utah.

My point? Life is full of stories. Even the ones that seem insignificant to you, now, can be the most inspiring stories to someone else.

Why do we read books? Why do we watch movies? Maybe you have different reasons. But for me, it’s the stories that draw me in, that make me a part of the characters’ lives, that teach me things about experiences I personally have not had the opportunity to take part in. They teach me about reality, fantasy, hopes, dreams, life.

And for that same reason, life is wonderful, worth living, exciting, surprising, an adventure. We never know what is just around the next corner. Could be another adventure. Could be something unexpected. Could be something hard to get over.

And true, right now, things can seem so hard you’re not sure how you’ll ever look back on it as a good story. Maybe it’s not. Maybe it’s a tragedy, a sad tale. But it is your story. And it makes you you. And you are wonderful. You are extraordinary. Look at the rivers, bridges and mountains you have crossed. Look at your life,  your story.

Life is story.

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Writer. What more can be said. Actually, a lot. So, just read and find out.

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