Fleshing out the stories we tell each day: worry, guilt, delight, appreciation, curiosity...

When you hear "this is the story of your life" what images come to mind? What is disctinctive about the story you're living? There is a theory that our lives are stories, and we get to tell the one we want. Sure, these stories risk redundancy when our daily rhythms mandate repetition.  Laundry must be laundered. Bills must be paid. Clients must be satisfied. Teeth must be brushed. And on it goes.

But what about the carved-out fringes between the routines? Of course the routine can't be eliminated from the story, but perhaps it's from these in between spaces where the freshness of our stories is made distinctive.

In spite of my own ruts, some days begin with a simple challenge: to make the day different than the day before. And the one before that. Today there's been some nice success to that morning challenge. During a reflective point earlier, looking for a couple of specific photos in my files, I regarded my story. With the music of David Gray providing my soundtrack for that space, I considered these elements:

Today: My Story In Pictures

1. After waking up and feeding my friend's dog, I went back to sleep. Unheard of, glorious decadence. I justified it with reminders that it is, in fact, Saturday and I am allowed to indulge if I like. (Although I also know that had it been Tuesday, there are ways to justify a nap then, too!)
2. When I awoke, I spoke on the phone with a friend who updated me about the hospital stay of her brother who is also my friend. Last spring while waiting under some trees one day when I took him to a doctor's appointment, I photographed some dogwood blossoms. Interesting find, in context of today's concern.
3. I once bought an enormous bundle of copper wires, intending to do many artistic things with the copper. I did one thing, not too long later, then promptly lost the treasure entirely. An out-of-focus photo of that bundle seems all that remains. Unless it's still in storage where I last saw it. This image triggered a firm talk with myself, especially on the heels of having read - in a langourous after-brunch bath - a chapter in The Happiness Project, by Gretchen Rubin. This is a book I was thrilled to find by my friend's tub. I've never read it before, but have read a number of Rubin's blog posts over the last year or so. Back to the tough talk, though. A week or so before heading down here to Atlanta, the subject of my storage unit came up while I was hanging out with a friend. I said something about needing to get rid of much of what I've been storing. He said, "Do you know how many times I've heard you say that over the past three years?" His direct, sobering honesty came to mind again today. When I get back to Greensboro, it's time to return to this oft-postponed task. Seriously. (Okay. I said, "Yea right," too. Which is why I added an reminder to my calendar in early June. It's a step, right?)
4. Before they left for Hungary, my friend and her son went outside and draped mesh over the blueberry bushes in the garden. "If you have enough sunny days, these will be ripe for you in a week or so!" she declared. What an incredibly thoughtful thing to do while trying to remember all the things one must remember before heading out of the country on a weeks-long, international family trip! Every time I see the bushes, I feel gratitude for that gesture. Photographing the bushes reminded me of other blueberries from a different chapter in my story.
5. I have a really bad habit of telling people I like - during enthusiastic, well-meaning moments of affinity - that I would like to tell parts of their stories in my blog. Sometimes I do take the time to write these posts. More often than I wish were true, however, I get busy with other things and forget my promise. As I did with Susie months ago. Susan Mullally taught me 90% of everything I know about photography. After I went to see her show, What I Keep, which was based on her book by the same title and then on exhibit at the Guilford College Art Gallery, I was so moved that I told her I wanted to write about her work and my reactions to it in my blog. I still haven't written this piece. I have a lot of guilt about this not-yet-honored promise.
6. For as long as I can remember, I've had a thing about old trucks. I know this all started with my Granddaddy and his trucks, when I was a tiny girl. A year or so ago, I started looking for a truck to buy. I came very close one rainy day. When someone else got to it first, I postponed the search and headed off for a 6 week trip to the west coast, instead. I have yet to recapture the enthusiasm for my search. I saw an awesome truck the other day and wondered about this idea again.
7. The song "Nobody Walks in LA" was playing in a passing car yesterday while I carried purchases through a parking lot. I shot this photo of Eleanor on an LA sidewalk last September. I've known few people who walked more than this girl and her family. Sometimes the songs? They lie to us. Also? More nostalgia paired with wishes it were easier to get to distant people whose company you enjoy.
8. After leaving LA, I headed to Seattle from where friends and I took a few days jaunt to Oregon. While in Portland, one of these friends and I made a new friend during an unplanned stop at the Bagdad Theater and Pub. I've been thinking of this friend for days. Which requires a different back story. See, while shooting photos of my friend's hydrangeas here in Atlanta, (seen here,) I kept thinking of those Portland ones. I've since learned that minerals and other elements in a region's soil has an impact on the colors of these flowers. These Portland hydrangeas were gorgeous... some of the prettiest I've ever seen. While thinking once more of that trip and the flowers I discovered while there, I decided to call my Portland friend today; it's been a while. Of course this also brought additional guilt, because it's also been a while since I've talked with my other friend, whose idea it was in the first place that we stop at the Bagdad. Soon...
9. It's been a while since I've mentioned my nephew here. This boy is the reason I spend as much time in Greensboro as I do. He knows this. He told his dad one day while we talked on the phone, "Mimi comes home because she misses me so much." I haven't talked to him today, but hope springs eternal.
10. Now I have returned from a walk, which is a regular part of this Atlanta story of mine. Bel must walk. And since I'm told it's great for me as well, I imagine myself to be reaping the benefits.

Today's story seems much more about reflection than action. Maybe that will lead to a different challenge tomorrow.

What about you? Is there anything about your story today that's different from yesterday? Perhaps making it different isn't that important. Maybe, instead, just the fact that it's yours is important! Tell me something about your own story?

Comments

[Cindi]

Unfortunately it's 12:56 our time and I can't sleep. Why, you ask?! Ah, well, thanks for asking. First, our Panzio doesn't deem climate control a necessary budget item. Second, opening the windows isn't altogether a logical option, even though it's a crispy 60 outside, which would most assuredly solve problem number one and I would be sleeping soundly, instead of typing this.

Nooo, the bar beneath our room is going strong with countless very loud, guttural Hungarian men smoking and toasting and laughing in one crazy-ass language. The symphony that is their various voices is occasionally accented by what can only be described as a shrill witch's laughter symbol (ding-ing-ing-ing!!!!) and a long drumroll of a baritone's chuckle.

My family? Are they sleeping? The littlest one is out. The husband slumbered peacefully for 2.5 hours because I heard his every earth-shattering inhale and exhalation. However, his sleep was slightly disturbed by my first offspring's trip from her bed to our's for a dry-tongue quenching drop of water.

WHEN HE PULLED HIS EARPLUGS OUT and inquired about this slight disturbance and why we had to be so loud as to awake him, I luckily didn't have to strain to much to reach my Billy club and knock him squarely on the crown of his head. (He's now sleeping much more quietly.)

So, to solve the problem of the temperature issue, my daughter and I decided to forgo any chance of less noise and open the window. While the smell of stale chain-smoking is swirling and settling in our room like icing on a cinnamon roll, the temp of said air is quite refreshing.

As for the Hungarian drunk symphony number 1, they must be at the wind section interlude because the bass section has taken a break.

It's almost 1:18, I'm hoping the entire program will be finished by 2, and that the hangovers they experience tomorrow will lead them unto the arms of a 12-step program...though so doubtful, since even the refreshment stands in the parks by the children's slides and swings sell liquor, beer and wine, and there's no such thing as an appropriate drinking age.

(The part about the Billy club and husband was enhanced for drama.)

[Joy]

I certainly can't top Cindi, but I'll tell you what I was doing when you called and I didn't answer. We had a very full and lovely day. It was hot, and friends came over rather spontaneously. (I had called about 2 to see if they wanted to meet at the park around 5 and then they said they were coming over then! That's Egyptians...) So Rami and three others were running through sprinklers and sliding on a water slide in the back yard and having a fabulous time. Actually, it was Rami and 2 others. A little four year old girl named Dorothy was feeling shy. She had to borrow some swimming clothes from Rami and was worried he would be mad and also was scared of the water. Who knows. As she hung back in the house, peering out the window at the boys running wild, I told her "Dorothy, there is a lot of fun going on out there, and you are only going to be 4 once. Before you know it, you will be a grown up and instead of running through sprinklers on a day like this, you'll be inside making food or something. So go out there and have fun!" She peered at me curiously. I don't think my pep talk did any good, but she finally got up the courage to go out and was soon running and squealing with the rest of them.