Story Lines

All of these lines across my face
Tell you the story of who I am
So many stories of where I've been
And how I got to where I am

      ~ Phil Hanseroth (for Brandi Carlile)

I'm at that age where I'm shocked whenever I accidentally catch my reflection in the mirror. When I'm not looking in the mirror (which is 99.9% of the time), I think my face is the same as it was when I was thirty. Why wouldn't I think that? Hence, the surprise when the mirror tells me something else.

I turned 69 a week ago, and I've been struggling with it a bit. I know our culture makes a big deal about the "ties" (say "teez," as in fifties, sixties, etc.), and I'm still a year away from the seventies. (It is necessary for me at this point to quote the character Miles Dentrell of thirtysomething: "The decimalization of time is so arbitrary.") Perhaps I'm just getting my angst out of the way in order to make a smooth transition into my seventies? Okay, I'll buy that.

This morning I was listening to Brandi Carlile's 2007 hit, "The Story," and I settled on the opening lines (above) to contemplate. I thought about my stories. I like most of them, even the ones that involve getting stuck on a zip-line, getting kicked off a plane, or getting body-searched trying to enter Canada in 1973. I have hitch-hiking stories, drunken stupor stories, and a lot of rock 'n roll stories. It's amazing that I am still alive.

But I also have stories of giving birth to three spirited children, stories about all the dogs and cats I have loved, and stories of students, forever sixteen, who still live in my mind and heart. I have stories of untimely death, stories of loneliness and depression, and stories of grace and forgiveness. I have stories of family dysfunction, stories of forever friendships, and stories of spiritual messages.

And for every story I could share with you, you would have one to offer in response, right? Isn't that what we do? Tell each other stories? It is how we share our joy and our pain, our fear and our love. And it never hurts if there's a bottle of wine on the table when we share our stories.

So those lines on my face, the ones that tell my story, are okay with me. And there's room for more.

But these stories don't mean anything
When you've got no one to tell them to

Pull up a chair. I have a story to tell you.