Stories With No Words

We're into week seven of self-isolation in our home, perhaps you are too. I'm shaking my head now when I realize that I was borderline 'excited' to go do groceries this morning. To see someone else's face that didn't come across a screen.

As a bona fide Introvert, this being at home time, hasn't been too bad. But what I noticed today as I gloved up for my shopping excursion is how challenging it's been to share my stories from the side streets of life with you. Mainly because, I haven't been on too many side streets.

When we are in our own spaces which often means in our own heads, where do you find the other stories?

The stories wherever I go now are mostly silent, they play out only by the actions I see. Words only carry so far. (Tweet This)






 
My week has been written by these quiet stories:

as I was leaving for my weekly visit to the grocery story: my elderly neighbour knocking on an even more elderly neighbour's door to see if she needed anything

the tall husband and short wife who walk the neighbourhood daily, sometimes twice a day, hand-in-hand

the people walking by on our main street, who consciously stop and move off the path, to allow someone else to go by safely

the family riding bicycles of varying sizes, with the littlest one pedalling as fast as she can to keep up

the freckled face tyke who said he 'had to stay far away' but  asked me if my watch counted my steps

and the outdoor worker carrying a ladder on my street who paused and waved to let me drive by

The stories continue, we might not know what they are, because for the most part we are not close enough to hear the words. But in this moment, We can believe that not all things are easy, that we are each wrestling with our own worries, and that it's not always easy to be kind. (Tweet This)

Stories With No Words

The sound of voices will return in full force one day. But the actions we use today can change the words we will hear then.

Our stories don't need words, they need actions. (Tweet This)

Stay safe, stay kind.

Trading in my Parking Spot for my Future (some call it Retirement)

Trading in my Parking Spot

Some months ago I arrived one day at work and found this bicycle hitched to my parking spot.

Ah, I thought, perfect for my goodbye. Oh, don't get me wrong. I have absolutely no inclination to trade in my 4 wheels for something with no protection going down hills. But somehow this bicycle sent me images of a wicker basket filled with flowers, a baguette, a bottle of wine. A winding country lane even maybe.

This bicycle spoke to me about my future.

It filled me with a sense of awe. It reminded me of how the years have flown by, how certain things have broken down, how some scenery has been fantastic and of the surprising potholes that have shown up. 

You know, those deep ruts that make you lean and hold on to the handlebars tightly. The ones that form (it seems) almost overnight. The bad habits along with the better ones. The unexpected turns in your career, in your health, the dead halt in your ambition as you take care of the necessities. How you kiss your creativity farewell and put it in your back pocket hoping that it will stay put safely...until later. (Tweet This)

The Things We Think We Know

Now, when you are looking around for characters, ones you know or those in your periphery, there is never a shortage of whom to draw from. We get used to the people around us. We overlook their oddities, their frailties, we don’t see their weirdness as time goes on.

The Things We Think We  Know - what do you see?

Have you ever introduced a friend to someone you have worked with for years.Then your friend says, “wow, what a big nose” or “good grief, is she ever insecure”. And you are surprised, shocked even maybe. Because you have gotten used to seeing this person as a flattened version of whom they are. You’ve picked which parts of them you need to or can deal with and ignored the rest. 


But someone new is meeting them for the first time, they are picking up an energy and an "introduction" that you’ve forgotten. So let your unconnected people meet and then listen for their reactions. It is such a good way to create a character whom you have forgotten. And I will leave it up to you, if you make them a hero or kill them off at the end of the page.

The man I am marrying next week was telling me about a time in his life about 30 years ago when the boys spent a great deal of time trying to meet girls. It seems they played a game of “guess what she does for a living”. An appalling excuse to scrutinize women, I say! But again valuable if you need to write a new character.

Now, of course, we’ve all made up stories of the people who cross our path. We love to think that the prim, pearl-wearing- necklace-person has a stripper pole in her bedroom, or that the big, mean-looking football player is counting down the days until the Christmas movies start on the women’s network.

We make up stories, all the time. We need them to make sense of our world. We need them to understand others, even if the things we think we know are totally wrong.  

We make up stories to make sense of our world. (Tweet This)

The things we think we know can be totally wrong, and they still make sense to us. (Tweet This)