It’s been awhile and this unplanned blogcation (as my bff, Peggie, calls it) has produced LOTS of stories about… Suffice it to say that I am grateful that the Universe sent me not one, not two, but three blog posts to remind me to just effin’ write already! And a fourth one, just to call me on my shit. Special thanks to Laura at CottageCopy.com, Danielle at WhiteHotTruth.com, ElizabethPW at ElizabethPW.com and Megan at IdanceIwrite.com for your part in changing my story.)
Oh what a tangled web we weave, When first we practise to deceive!~ Sir Walter Scott
I went to bed last night pondering a post by my tweetie, Megan @ IdanceIwrite.com.
The stories we tell ourselves.
The stories I tell myself about me.
And the stories I tell about you.
See, I don’t know Megan (or Lori, LaVonne or Peggie or Pamela or Frank). Not IRL (in real life) anyway.
They are just some of my tweethearts. People I have connected with through this crazy thing called the internet. People I have laughed and cried with, either on the phone or while reading their blogs.
And I have a story about each and every one of them.
Not just the “one time s(he) did this…” type of story.
But a story about who I think they are.
And I’m sure that if when I meet them in person, my story about them will change.
As will their story about me.
We all have stories. About people in our lives. About things that have happened to us. About work. About money. About our country. About the world.
But they are just “stories.”
We think we know the “truth” about so many things.
And that “truth” is nothing more than the story we’ve concoted.
Because how can we know the truth about anything or anyone when we don’t even know the truth about ourselves?
Oh you think you know the truth about you.
You suck at math. You’re scared of heights. You love chocolate ice cream. You’ve never been to Sweden.
You have woven all those details into a beautiful story that “defines” who you are.
And it’s all bullshit.
That story filled with all sorts of facts, figures, names and places, is not a true reflection of who you really are.
It simply feeds the illusion.
The illusion that keeps you from your biggest, grandest dreams.
I fell asleep last night thinking about Megan’s post. And I dreamed that I was walking, covered in layers and layers of clothing.
It became apparent to me that at any time, I could take off all that extra clothing. That nothing was keeping me in those layers but me.
It wasn’t cold outside.
I wasn’t even uncomfortable in the layers.
But when I realized that nothing was keeping me in them, I began to understand the power of my stories.
See, I can dismantle them any time.
Layer by layer.
As I walked removing layer after layer of clothing, I began to discover new things. New perspectives.
The path seemed different somehow.
It was different because as I removed another layer, I began to feel differently. More purposeful.
More aware. More open.
Things on the path were not obstacles. Nor were they just things I was passing on the way to my destination.
They were reminders.
Reminders that at any time, I could choose a different story about where I was going and how I would get there.
It was all up to me.
I could decide any thing I wanted on this path. I could change my story any time.
I was the creator of my experience.
“Oh man! There is no planet, sun or star that could hold you, if you but knew what you are.” ~ Ralph Waldo Emerson
Do you know what you are?
What if by changing your current story, you could discover just how freakin’ amazing you really are?
What if you could trust yourself enough to actually start living from that place?
Will you join me?