Over a year ago, a friend handed me a booklet — truly, she gifted it to me. I love beautiful notebooks with blank pages, but if I’m being completely honest, I rarely use these beautiful notebooks. I used to journal, but now I don’t. Maybe someday I’ll write the story of why I don’t journal anymore, but first I need to tell that story to myself.
But this booklet. It was poetry to me.
And so I collected sentences, phrases, and words. Then I used those words, phrases, and sentences for a starting point for tiny fictions. I’d sit with those words, and I’d ask them, “What’s the story here?”
Maybe it’s because I felt a little shattered myself: once again, life had gone off-course. (Does this happen to everyone else too?) I needed those stories. I needed those words. I delighted in unlocking each tiny fiction. I was telling myself stories — stories of love, heartbreak, family, and more.
Thirty-One, What’s the Story Here?
Here I am, with this superfluous birthday post. Last year, I wrote this witty, ditzy post on 30 Regrets Before 30. It’s was the perfect mix of laughter, sobriety, vulnerability, and boundaries.
And now, here I am at the elegant prime of 31. And apparently, 31 is a self-prime number, meaning “a given number base {\displaystyle b} is a natural number that cannot be written as the sum of any other natural number {\displaystyle n} and the individual digits of {\displaystyle n}.” (Many thanks Wikipedia)
While I did know that 31 was a prime number, I didn’t know that the story of 31 included a “self prime.” And I kinda love it. Not all prime numbers are also self numbers. But, let’s get away from math because that’s not really my forte.
So, What’s the Story Here?
Rather than spending many more words talking about myself, and trying to pretend that I have anything figured out at this self-prime number of thirty-one, I thought I’d share with you some of my favorite tiny fictions.
After all, are not our lives threaded together by stories? The stories we tell ourselves? The stories we live together? The stories we share when we start to get to know someone? Which of our stories are all the way true? And which are nice fictions we write to gloss a painful memory?
She stuffed herself — full of life
While listening to Becoming by Michelle Obama, she told a striking story about a dear friend of hers who “stuffed herself full of life.” That phrase gripped me. I wanted to know what that would look like. Did I live my life like that? How does one “stuff herself full of life”?
When did I love you become a bandaid?
Have you ever used the words “I love you” to try to band-aid a moment, rather than working through a disagreement or whatever? I wonder how often we become lazy with our “I love yous.” And that wondering turned into the above story.
it’s not enough anymore.
Certain words feel lukewarm in my mouth though I use them in my regular vernacular. Words like “fine” and “nice.” They’re overused, and they kinda don’t feel good in my mouth. Every time I determine to not use one of these words I don’t love, it slips out.
I think, once upon a time, I believed in love.
Love is easy to romanticize. Is it possible that it’s only a formula? In story writing and in life? I’m not so sure, and many of my experiences of romantic love has not been great until my now relationship that feels equal parts romance and nitty-gritty communicative love.
Love is a 1000000 little promises kept – Nancy E. Turner
I wanted to know what a million little promises kept looked like, and Elliot and Anne showed me. It’s those little promises and consistencies that carry the bigger moments.
You were always allowed to touch me, but I could never reach you.
Have you ever been with someone, whether a romantic partner or even just a friend, where you could not find their heart? No matter how you sought to know them, they dodged you? It’s one of the worst kinds of pain as far as I’m concerned. One of the greatest gifts of humanity is being known — not everyone should know you deeply. But being known is the most vulnerable, real, daring thing one can do.
Happiness was her currency
Another phrase sifted from the pages of Becoming by Michelle Obama. That phrase captured my imagination because I wanted to know what it would be like to live life with a currency of happiness only. How would that change living?
a tangible memory of intimacy
While “I love you” is a gift of its own, what’s even more powerful than those words? I think it’s the belief that the speaker of those words honestly and absolutely means them. After all, I’m sure you’ve experienced people who have asked “how are you?” and you know they don’t actually care to know, but then there are others who when they ask those same words, you know in your gut that they want the honest truth.
When did you abandon yourself?
Have you ever woken up one day and realized that you lost yourself? Whether you lost yourself to your job, someone else’s pain, a relationship, or some other thing, it’s important to look back and know the moment that you abandoned your self. But maybe, there are moments where you need to abandon yourself?
Healing hurts more than the wound
Isn’t amazing how excruciating it is to heal? The wound hurts, but the healing…it’s a long-term struggle and pain of its own. Sometimes you recover; sometimes you never do.
I’m keeping a promise to myself
What does it take to keep a promise to yourself? Or are you like me and you never keep promises to yourself? I’m learning to keep promises to myself — especially to myself. If I can’t keep a promise to myself, how can I keep promises to others.
heart expanding
How is it that my heart has space for more loving? When I think I’ve reached the capacity of loving, my heart expands. And there’s more room. More heart for more loving.
So, what’s the story here? Life is a story, and mine is still going. The last year has had some of the best and worst moments in my life yet, and I marvel at the resilience of humans to experience so much good and so much pain… and keep going. My brain is a phenomenal organ, and it can’t wrap around this.
I wish I had a witty, ditzy post for you this year, but I just don’t. I wish I could have figured out 31 Reasons to Laugh (a blog idea i had), but honestly, I’ve been choked up on sadness since December (and that’s okay). At the same time, I love these stories that I’m sharing.
So happy birthday to me, and thank YOU for being here.
Did one of these tiny fictions make you feel something? Which one gave you pause? I’d love to know so tell me in the comments or pull me aside if you know me in real life. <3