I remember the first time I used storytelling to cope with something hard. I was eight years old and my parents told me we were moving from the only home I could remember in suburbs of Utah to Orange County, CA. My best friend across the street, our church, my piano teacher, the giant sandbox in the back yard… we would be leaving it all. I still have the piece of paper I wrote this story on - about a little girl who moved away from her friends, but everything turned out okay.
Recording and sharing stories weaves meaning and connection into my life.
Daily journaling. Morning walks with friends. Reminiscing with my siblings about our childhood. Writing music at two a.m. when I can’t sleep. Nightly story time before bed. Entertaining my little buddy in the car as we sing about the wheels on the bus.
I have been sharing my stories with my journal and a small circle of friends for a long time. Now I want to share my stories with you. And I want to hear yours. I’m finding that it is in the sharing of our stories - the reverent and the ridiculous - that we remember. Remember who we are. That we are all connected. We are all loved. We are kind. We are strong. We are never alone.
And if we can dance to it… even better.
