Yesterday and the day before, I asked my students to write
their story. I’m wildly intrigued about where they come from, their families,
the situations and passions that have propelled them to the point they are
currently at. As I rapidly read each
story, I felt more connected to my kiddos, as if our very different
backgrounds still has a place in each other’s presents. One student ended his
story with this
Ms. I really wish you would write down your story, I think
that’d be the greatest gift any of us could ask for.
I thought, my story? A gift? Oh, sweet Sebastian must think
I’m far cooler than I actually am. And then, a thought again.
Stories, regardless of the teller, carry so much value.
Such a request and the consequential thinking it induced inspired
me to consider my story, which forced rememberance of the initial day of the
“love blog.” My story has been crafted by so many who have come before me, so
many who have offered their pens of advice or their paper of guidance. Sure,
I’ve ultimately been responsible for deciding what to publish and what to
discard, but my story is founded in
the lives of so many others.
And, for today, such thoughts have prompted me to really
re-center on what I believe to be my life’s purpose: Connections, with
humanity, with the physical world, with the element of unseen. On this 90th
day, I feel connected, connected to the story, my story.
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