I just realized that when people scrapbook, they are voluntarily calling these little pieces of their lives 'scraps.'
Anyhow, I got this great idea when I was in high school, before scrapbooks were cool, to start saving pieces of important events, and not just photos. I tried to piece them together and trust me, there's nothing crafty about my first run. But, it also got me saving things.
Now the more you move, the less you appreciate all your stuff. You live without it for awhile and it's not such a big deal. You have to haul it across the country, and its value decreases drastically. So, over the years, this collection of tidbits has been scoured over and weeded again and again and again until all the extra junk has been expelled, and only the gold remains. Of course, I weeded it again just before writing this and there were a few things I looked and and thought "what is this?" If I don't remember its significance, it must not have been that earth shattering to begin with. Just seemed that way at the time, I guess.
It's been a long time since I'd seen any of this stuff. And sifting through the scraps of my life, I started to see the past in a surprising light. It's hard not to think I've wasted it, that I've spent it on the wrong things, focused on the wrong people, hung my hopes in the wrong places. And honestly, I often have. But the pieces that are left are nothing to do with those. They picture the life I have in spite of me. Cards from friends, ticket stubs, Playbill covers, passes, pressed flowers and beautiful reminders of how my life looks from the outside.
I have a story, and that surprises me. I'm a private person, not because I don't like sharing, but because sharing is more in supply than demand. I learned a long time ago that it's rare to meet someone who really wants to hear what you have to say. So I focused on becoming a really good listener. And it's been great. I've gained friendships I don't think ever would have found their way, learned a great deal about people and been able to comfort people when I had no idea what to say. I'd encourage more people to listen, because so much is gained from it, for yourself and for other people. But I would remind you, and myself, not to lose your own voice. Looking over my own story, there are hue chunks, important chunks, that even close friends know nothing about. But the, I don't know what saving your voice looks like. Maybe finding one or two people who love to listen, I don't know. Just don't forget your own story is worth hearing.
And now that I realize I have a story, I don't even know how to put it into words! It has to be photos, and pieces, and scraps. Hmm, other peoples' words. I'm excited about this project.
Anyhow, I got this great idea when I was in high school, before scrapbooks were cool, to start saving pieces of important events, and not just photos. I tried to piece them together and trust me, there's nothing crafty about my first run. But, it also got me saving things.
Now the more you move, the less you appreciate all your stuff. You live without it for awhile and it's not such a big deal. You have to haul it across the country, and its value decreases drastically. So, over the years, this collection of tidbits has been scoured over and weeded again and again and again until all the extra junk has been expelled, and only the gold remains. Of course, I weeded it again just before writing this and there were a few things I looked and and thought "what is this?" If I don't remember its significance, it must not have been that earth shattering to begin with. Just seemed that way at the time, I guess.
It's been a long time since I'd seen any of this stuff. And sifting through the scraps of my life, I started to see the past in a surprising light. It's hard not to think I've wasted it, that I've spent it on the wrong things, focused on the wrong people, hung my hopes in the wrong places. And honestly, I often have. But the pieces that are left are nothing to do with those. They picture the life I have in spite of me. Cards from friends, ticket stubs, Playbill covers, passes, pressed flowers and beautiful reminders of how my life looks from the outside.
I have a story, and that surprises me. I'm a private person, not because I don't like sharing, but because sharing is more in supply than demand. I learned a long time ago that it's rare to meet someone who really wants to hear what you have to say. So I focused on becoming a really good listener. And it's been great. I've gained friendships I don't think ever would have found their way, learned a great deal about people and been able to comfort people when I had no idea what to say. I'd encourage more people to listen, because so much is gained from it, for yourself and for other people. But I would remind you, and myself, not to lose your own voice. Looking over my own story, there are hue chunks, important chunks, that even close friends know nothing about. But the, I don't know what saving your voice looks like. Maybe finding one or two people who love to listen, I don't know. Just don't forget your own story is worth hearing.
And now that I realize I have a story, I don't even know how to put it into words! It has to be photos, and pieces, and scraps. Hmm, other peoples' words. I'm excited about this project.
I loved your observations about listening and sharing and how one is in much greater demand than the other. I was pleased to see concerns about losing your own voice. I am a listener like you and it has brought great joy and insight, but oftentimes frustration because sometimes I want to be the one that is heard. Another great listener was Granny. What an extraordinary listener she was. She would have been 93 tomorrow.
ReplyDeleteLove,
Aunt Nan