I went on an adventure today, I took the bicycle out from the city today and went back to the area where I grew up and spent most of my childhood. I felt strange going back after so many years. I met some people from back then, chatted a little. Going back also brought back names and things I had forgotten, in a way it felt as if though I could hear memories echoing from the past, like they were somehow anchored to the very rock, trees and lake there.
I don’t usually think about my past, there are chapters there I wouldn’t touch again with a ten-foot pole. It makes me wonder, if I’ve forgotten some of the many good chapters as well? Have I in my desire to escape gone so far as to burn the book completely in order to reinvent myself? Sometimes I think I might have tried and that I tossed the book onto the pyre but changed my mind half-way through and pulled it back out of the flames.
Stories, I love stories, they have always been my escape and my salvation. Perhaps it isn’t strange that I talk about my past in terms of chapters and books and when I think about it, what good story wouldn’t have conflict and turmoil? There are times I would much rather forget than be reminded, but the price is too high. That’s what I feel I’ve come to see after today. I may not always like the person I have been or the person I think I am – I say think because honestly, I don’t really know – doesn’t match the person I want to be.
So I continue to write these chapters, filling the book that is my own life with words. Some of these words are fact and others more like fiction. But stories, even a true story would be nothing without dreams woven into the words that compose it, painting a dreamscape between the lines. Not all in life is true, but a life filled with nothing but truth isn’t truly living.
Sometimes it is enough just to dream ~