Imagine

Our lives are gifts of imagination. When we tell our stories, we release fresh imagination into ourselves and the world around us.  We all need to tell our own stories. Someone – Mark Twain possibly? – said “write what you know.” And we desperately need to know our own stories. And while we’re trying to learn them, we may as well share them.
The posts in this category are part of an ongoing journey to tell my own story, in a creative and imaginative way. Each of the posts is grounded in memory, but stylized in order to explore the deeper things of my own life. But I also want to hear your stories, as well.

Have you thought about your own story?
If you could tell it any way you’d like to, what would you say?
Are there any regrets that you need to redeem?

It is my deepest belief that all the things that we experience are building blocks for our identity and character. So, there are no regrets here, simply choices made and brought to deeper meaning by their exploration and understanding.

Feel free to enter into my story as the pieces of my life (and hopefully others) are posted…

You can read more about the process, read more of the memory posts, or jump straight into the fiction that’s been emerging from the process.

Fading

Posted by on 18 Jun 2010 in Imagine | 0 comments

Someone I care about is dying. Slowly. Painfully. And I simply don’t want to imagine a world without him. In life, we sometimes gain extra ‘family’ members along the way. Bob was this kind of a man to me. He was a spiritual and intellectual ‘father’ who helped me navigate my way to completion of my degree. He is compassionate, highly ethical, funny, gregarious, wise, challenging, and joyful. Really one of those rare gems who make the world a more wonderful place simply by existing. I was never a true ‘academic.’ I made solid grades through...

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The Greatest Love of All

Posted by on 18 Feb 2009 in Breathe, Imagine | 0 comments

The Greatest Love of All

The year was 1985. The album? Whitney Houston – Whitney Houston. I was pretty young in 1985, only about 7 years old. I was precocious and wildly unpopular. I remember public school as an exercise in frustration and anger management. I would speak out in class, so they would place me at the Spanish-speaking table. Thus, I learned to swear in Spanish. Well, I must admit that the swearing wasn’t my intent, but I really liked to chat, and I really believed that I was learning normal conversation. I read a great deal at that point in my...

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