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This is a double edged sword. I mean it literally, and I mean it satirically.

On the one hand is the painting of a picture so vivid and wild that it makes your heart fly to the clouds and whip amongst the birds. Stories that shape your life and manifest into your reality everything you could ask for. The vivid stuff of dreams come to life.

Go on that adventure.
Build that business.
Become that person.
Discover that lover.

These stories define what it means to be a human and you’ll tell them until the day you die. Some of them will be retold even after. The mythos of your legend.

Yet on the other hand are the stories you tell about imagined forces of discord. The fears of a person striving to be in a world of chaos. These are the stories you tell from doubt and worry. From paranoia and insecurity.

Perceived slights.
Assumed lacking.
Fearful resistance.
Lonesome longing.

When you tell these stories within yourself they seem to come alive. They pull at your heart strings and tug you off center. They convince you your partner is feeling other than they are, or that you are worse off than is true.

Within you is the power to move anything.
Mountains. Hearts. Minds. Moods. Life.

I’ve had a run in with bad story telling lately. I let myself tell stories that wound my soul, and sting my loved ones. Tiny seeds of truth expanded into shadows that creep. Ultimately they’re minor, but as I tell a sad story, it’s easy for others to tell them back. We circle in a weird dance of uncertainty. We dance around dark flames that take light instead of give. And ultimately, they’re just stories.

But it’s difficult at times. 
My story compounds theirs.
Theirs pushes mine.

An awkward dance of puppets on too few strings pulled by the hands of an entity that doesn’t want to see joy and ease.

Sometimes the exit is clouded. Which way to the good mythos, please and thank you? And it always seems easier to get into the bad story than out of it, doesn’t it?

In the end it’s little steps.

I double down on the rituals that align me with myself.
I practice being more of what they need me to be.
I expand my capacity to witness the shadows,

And walk away from it without the wounds. 
It is not always easy, but it is always necessary.

I put time into communication, 
And patience into clarity.

It isn’t always instant. Often it takes a few tries. 
But love doesn’t give up, so neither do I.

We live our best lives when we strive to tell better stories that can expand into epic sagas. We become our best selves when we listen to what is real and alive, mend the wounds, and re-stretch our wings.


If you’re swimming through some dark tales,
And you aren’t sure how you got there,
Or what direction leads to green pastures,
Don’t fret.

You aren’t alone. 
And they’re only stories. 
And, it’s *all* about stories.

So write something new.🙏

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