I am a collector of stories. There are the stories of my heart. These are my feelings, the things I dig deep down and find. These are the stories that are me. Then there are the stories of my past. These are the experiences that have shaped my life and made me into the person that I am at this moment in time. The stories of my future are my dreams. These are the stories that might or might not come to fruition.
I am a genealogy enthusiast. I record names, dates, and events. I listen carefully to family stories. First I write them in my heart, and then I pen them. Sometimes, I have to recheck with sources many times over as not to let the stories of my heart reinvent the truth. I have found myself rewriting the stories in my mind in the way I wish they had occurred, but I know that’s not accurate history. I have to make a conscious choice of whether I want to hand down family lore based on my heart or whether I want to pass on knowledge based on truth. Factual is not always the way I wish to remember things, but I’d prefer to live in truth rather than dreams. In working this out my own way, I have discovered that sometimes facts alone are a bit boring but when I mix in emotion, the story resides in the heart. So, what I do is I start with facts and I let myself feel those facts deeply. I then take those facts and feelings and I weave them into words. Sometimes, the story turns out much prettier than the reality, and other times not.
I am not speaking of perception. Perceptions and reactions to certain events vary greatly among people of different personalities. I am speaking of truth. Of facts. Those do not change. We can wish and wish away. We can rewrite them in our hearts and minds. No matter how hard we try, facts remain constant. With perception, we can choose to see the positive or the negative. We can use perception to write our own histories. The light in which others recall it will depend on how we relay it. However we choose, facts remain constant.
There are times that the things we choose to believe are not even things told to us by other people. They are own versions of the way we wish things had been. Just because we choose to believe them that way does not make them truth. Nor does it have to make something seem less important. There is much beauty in truth. One only needs to look to see it.
I could choose to relay my life as a fairytale. Or I could victimize myself. I could give you two totally different stories both based on truth. Which would be accurate? The truth would be the one based on facts that is told from my heart. I come from simple means. As in all lives, there were adversities and triumphs. These experiences were mine. These are who I am. I live a simple life. In order for me to live a full life I must live in a reality based on acceptance. I choose to accept truth. I choose to accept myself.