My Story is Not About Me

So I really tried to leave this place and only write on Mondays, but maybe I need to rethink my plans. Can't seem to get away from here for too long. Like my coffee, I need my daily dose of written words, and my journal can't seem cut it.

This past month or so, I've been quietly self-absorbed in my own troubles, quite oblivious to the world outside and the troubles of those around me. I won't apologise for that; I think everyone is entitled to a little self-pity here and there. Hey, I'm only human. What made me slowly wake up was the people around me. The people who were there, not so much in body but in heart and soul. Strangers who tell me I'll be okay, just because I looked sad. Readers who i.m. me to ask me how I was. Friends who listen quietly. You have no idea how much it meant to me.

And all this made me think. I know you've probably heard this hundreds of times, but your story really isn't about you. My story isn't about who I was, who I am, or who I'll be; it's not about my search to be the best I can be. My story isn't about my mistakes and my triumphs, not about my tears nor fears, not about my brokenness nor my faithlessness.

My story is not about me.

My story is about people. My story is about the hearts I touch. My story is about the change I've wrought in the lives I've met. My story is the joy I see in the eyes of friends, the laughter we share and the times we challenge each other to be more.

My story is the people who go out of their way to make me smile, people who have touched my life indelibly. People who leave little fingerprints on my heart. People who cry with me, people who give more than a listening ear. People who've held my hand as I walked blindly.

Your story is about the smile you share with a random stranger on the train on the way back home from a long day's work. It is about taking a burden that is not yours to carry, and then sharing your load with them as well. It is about sharing your joys with people, because we could all use a little more sunshine. It is about finding that one person, and knowing intuitively that the search is actually over. It is about making music in the rain, about unadulterated fulfillment, about nonsensical ramblings at 3 in the morning, about smiling through the tears. It is about believing in something greater than yourself.

My story is written when I hold out my hand and help write another's. My story is written when I hold out my hand and you reach out to hold mine. My story is written when you reach out and write mine. My story is not about me.

My story is all about you.

courtesy of thegingerbrain

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