At a time when I was under a lot of stress and life was a little messy, a friend suggested to me to take myself out of the story and become an outside observer. It worked.
I seem to be in a place where I'm telling new stories about myself. Maybe one day these new stories will be old stories, no longer useful or true. But for right now, these new stories are helping me to start to understand myself in ways I never could before. It's somewhat akin to how I didn't know I was gay for so many years—until I did. And then everything in hindsight made a whole lot more sense. I'm in my early 50s, and while there are physical things I would love to be able to change with a magic wand, I wouldn't change anything about my inner journey. I'm so much happier and healthier and just BETTER than I've been before. That's not to say that I'm happy, or healthy, or great—but I'm happier and healthier and better. And that is a great place to be, for me. Hopefully I have many years left to continue this journey.
oh another good one. As I read this blog I realized for most of my life I was telling "fake" stories of myself. When young to protect myself, when I reached my young 20s to make myself sound more interesting and worldly. Now that I have finally reached my late 50s I am finally telling the true story of my own bio. I don't write but come from a literary family that had some pedigree and so I have always been surrounded by story tellers. I love to write but I lack a lot of the formal writing education that I think someone should have in order to call oneself a writer. My career was in technology and the closest I got to writing was technical write-ups. I kept a journal for decades and sadly had to destroy many when I moved to Portugal. I had always thought I would sit in old age reading the many volumes of my past journals. I have wanted to start a blog about my life in Portugal but as I am still finding my new life here that's taken a lower priority. For now, I really enjoy yours and the many deep and interesting topics that resonate with me very much.
Ah, I love all of this. I write a little newsletter to family and friends, and my latest just happened to be about seeing through another’s eyes… related, and also led me to ruminate (like the 4-stomached beast) about the story I have about myself. Like Ken commented, I’ve heard about telling a story about yourself from the third person pov, and I find that to be a refreshing, cathartic, creative, interesting perspective. It changes monthly, though. Maybe even weekly. Daily? I spend way too much time worrying about others’ version of me, but as I get older that has faded a bit. Thanks for your words, LaDonna.
I have reached an age where I know just as a matter of fact that most of my life in this plane has been lived already, and most of the people who first defined me to myself are no longer living. Yet, the definitions they gave me still stick: the little girl, the daughter, the wife, the mother, all still live in my psyche. What has been most liberating for me to understand, as I live into old age and through all the loss that brings, is that: I AM STILL HERE. That core of me, she has never really changed. The earth is still amazing, every day, and I am still a solitary eye, witnessing. And I am no longer answerable to another living soul. This is a hard beauty, but beautiful still. This is the view from 67, currently classed as "young old age." I still strive, but only with myself, now.
At a time when I was under a lot of stress and life was a little messy, a friend suggested to me to take myself out of the story and become an outside observer. It worked.
I seem to be in a place where I'm telling new stories about myself. Maybe one day these new stories will be old stories, no longer useful or true. But for right now, these new stories are helping me to start to understand myself in ways I never could before. It's somewhat akin to how I didn't know I was gay for so many years—until I did. And then everything in hindsight made a whole lot more sense. I'm in my early 50s, and while there are physical things I would love to be able to change with a magic wand, I wouldn't change anything about my inner journey. I'm so much happier and healthier and just BETTER than I've been before. That's not to say that I'm happy, or healthy, or great—but I'm happier and healthier and better. And that is a great place to be, for me. Hopefully I have many years left to continue this journey.
oh another good one. As I read this blog I realized for most of my life I was telling "fake" stories of myself. When young to protect myself, when I reached my young 20s to make myself sound more interesting and worldly. Now that I have finally reached my late 50s I am finally telling the true story of my own bio. I don't write but come from a literary family that had some pedigree and so I have always been surrounded by story tellers. I love to write but I lack a lot of the formal writing education that I think someone should have in order to call oneself a writer. My career was in technology and the closest I got to writing was technical write-ups. I kept a journal for decades and sadly had to destroy many when I moved to Portugal. I had always thought I would sit in old age reading the many volumes of my past journals. I have wanted to start a blog about my life in Portugal but as I am still finding my new life here that's taken a lower priority. For now, I really enjoy yours and the many deep and interesting topics that resonate with me very much.
Ah, I love all of this. I write a little newsletter to family and friends, and my latest just happened to be about seeing through another’s eyes… related, and also led me to ruminate (like the 4-stomached beast) about the story I have about myself. Like Ken commented, I’ve heard about telling a story about yourself from the third person pov, and I find that to be a refreshing, cathartic, creative, interesting perspective. It changes monthly, though. Maybe even weekly. Daily? I spend way too much time worrying about others’ version of me, but as I get older that has faded a bit. Thanks for your words, LaDonna.
My stories are always tainted by what's going on in my life at that moment...so, none of them can be trusted. ;-)
I have reached an age where I know just as a matter of fact that most of my life in this plane has been lived already, and most of the people who first defined me to myself are no longer living. Yet, the definitions they gave me still stick: the little girl, the daughter, the wife, the mother, all still live in my psyche. What has been most liberating for me to understand, as I live into old age and through all the loss that brings, is that: I AM STILL HERE. That core of me, she has never really changed. The earth is still amazing, every day, and I am still a solitary eye, witnessing. And I am no longer answerable to another living soul. This is a hard beauty, but beautiful still. This is the view from 67, currently classed as "young old age." I still strive, but only with myself, now.