Missing Pages

This is hard. Writing words. Making one letter touch the other to create an idea, thought, or vision, the pulling together of memories. Crochet one phrase on top of the other. Typically, writing is easy. Life has not been easy. And, while writing is healing, it’s also exhausting. I don’t know if I have it in me. But I want to try, so here I am. I’m here for you and me. Together, we will find our way. We only need to find our feet and figure out if the path we are on is the one we need to take.

A loved one has died. I didn’t realize how much I think about them until I do, and then I remind myself that they aren’t here. Confusion hits until I remember what happened. They are gone. I won’t hear their voice. I can’t send them a text, a song, or a book. They aren’t here. And, the texts, the songs, or the books go unsent. The “what I could have done’s” are piling up quickly.

While they lived, they often spoke of an idea that affected their life. They lived believing that someone was acting in a way that prevented them from doing other things. I know because I have listened to this story often. They “knew” that this person was affecting them. They based all their actions on their perception of this story. They became absorbed by it. They lived and breathed this particular version of this story and shared it with everyone they knew.

Except the story was incomplete.

Because I’m close enough, I was finally able to hear a different version of the story. Another person with a shared experience told me their part of the story. It was completely different from the one that I’d heard for so long. So much was unsaid and misunderstood. If only my loved one had known, maybe they would have made a different choice. But the more complete version might have been far more painful to hear. Life-changing and also very hard.

The stories we tell ourselves matter. We wake up telling ourselves stories.

I’m not enough

This person is acting this way because of ___

I’m alone

I don’t have what I need

If I could do ___, then they would love me

I can’t do this because I’m ___

We walk around with our stories believing they are true. They provide a compass, orientation, and a path for what we should do next. What if our story is incomplete or even manipulated by someone else? Like a magnet set too close to a compass, the information we receive (or information we convince ourselves of) can break our navigation systems. We think we’re going the right way, but instead, we end up going in a different direction entirely.

When I was little, the phrase “curiosity killed the cat” was normal. Curiosity was not encouraged in my environment. Boxes were. The people in my life operated by putting people in boxes. This person is “bad”, “good”, “intelligent”, “dumb”, “right”, “wrong”, “holy”, or “unholy”. A world of binaries. We lived by the labeled boxes, and then we no longer had to be curious about the people living inside them. We knew how to act around people based on the box that we gave them. And, the people around me put me in a box too. They never learned who I was. Some still don’t. Curiosity didn’t kill the cat. A lack of it did. We abandon each other when we box each other in, and we lose the curiosity of who they are and what they are experiencing.

My loved one lived their life believing that what they knew was true. And, they missed it. They didn’t know about the love they could have had if they had been brave enough to hear the other side of the story. They worked for the approval of those who didn’t deserve it, and in some ways, never found the resolution they were hoping for in life.

I sit with my stories with more reverence now. What I believe about myself and about others affects everything I do. The only way to know if the path I’m taking is worthwhile is to check my stories.

A compass is a tool, and a compass exposed to elements that are damaging can break its directional power. We have to acknowledge that our tools might have been influenced and, in turn, have influenced our direction. We have to check our tools against other directional sources. In nature, that’s the sun and the stars. We need to check our tools against the sources that remain static regardless of circumstances. In life, we need to check our stories based on what is true, not only what we think is true.

And, yeah, I hear you. What is as reliable as the sun and the stars? What is true north when every form of media, audio, video, text, can be manipulated by the intention of the person creating it? I’ll be honest. I don’t know. That’s why I’m writing. I need to figure this out, too.

We can check our stories with other people. We can get curious about ourselves and what we believe and ask other people what they see. But, even then, be wary. Their compass could be off. You can’t walk blindly based on what everyone around you is doing.

There is one thing that I know we can rely on. Our body. This is one place where I do believe God works. If you start going in a direction and don’t feel good about it, pay attention to the signals your body gives you. My body has told me many times when I was going the wrong way. What paid off was when I listened to it, believed it, and decided to either stop or go in a different way. Learn to listen to your body. It can be influenced, but rarely is the compass ever broken.

Share your stories and get curious about them. Be willing to hear the hard truths. Be willing to edit them as you learn new information. Listen to the people around you. Work to build more complete stories about your understanding of yourself and the people around you.

Walking around with missing pages is a painful way to live.

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