The meandering musings of a part-time storyteller

Growing up, I had a strong love for reading fiction series, mostly surrounding mystery and adventure people my age faced. Like most others, I was drawn into the characters’ stories, their personalities, and their relationships. It was nice to feel a part of someone’s world that I could not have an influence in and escape the pressures of my own for a bit. Unlike most others, when the book got complicated, as almost all stories do, I would start to grow anxious, and my mind would go into a strange protective mode- I didn’t want to read this story if it wasn't going to end how I wanted it to. I would quickly skim chapters ahead- sometimes reading the last page of the book to quench the growing thirst for a guaranteed happy ending.

As most are aware, life outside of the pages of a book doesn’t work this way. You can’t quickly peak a few years ahead to ensure the fight you are fighting now is resolved or worth it. You can’t fast forward the next 45 minutes to get those test results or turn the clock's hands to get to the good part. Writing my own pieces taught me that so much beauty is mixed into all of the moments we are wishing we could binge-watch through instead of waiting a week, a month, or even years to get the next episode.

There are profound glimpses of inexplicable peace during tumultuous storms. There are personality shaping seconds in the tears of the unknown and lessons of gratitude in the frustrations of earth-shattering silence. 

Orson Wells said it best - “If you want a happy ending, that depends, of course, on where you stop your story.”