Work, life and things in between – Day 87 – People’s stories!
We were leaving Ottawa the next day, but that night the plans were to have dinner with my new friend. She and I were on the same team at University.
It is always exciting to walk into someone’s life for the first time. I love the stories, the background, how it all came together. I am curious about the paintings, the pictures, the glassware, the books, the rugs…they all have a story….I love people’s stories…always fascinating to me.
I wonder how people would interpret my life if they walked into my apartment today. How would they know all there is to know? The years in Europe, the trips to Asia, the summers at the lake, the heart breaks, the joy, the sleepless nights, the burnt toasts? all these little things that make life.
As you know it is not so much someone’s home, cottage (or lack thereof), or the extent of one’s earthly belongings that tell the story so much as the people themselves. How much pleasure you have in their company tells the story more than anything else. Perhaps, the more belongings mean the more stories, but in the end, even multiple stories can bore you to tears when the story teller has no soul.
It was not their case. We had a great time with her husband and her.
Come to think of it, maybe, just maybe, this is where the urge to write comes from. Wanting people to know, understand and love my story and wondering if my outward self tell it like it is or not. I feel I need to say it in a way that people would really know its insides.
Maybe my outward life does not show the me who is real on the inside? Did I say this backwards? I sense a headache coming on…
At twenty I thought that by the time I reached 55 I would have children, perhaps grandchildren, a mortgage free house and a cottage where the children, my husband and I would gather regularly. Summers would be on the golf course, and winters mostly on my skis, cross country I was thinking. Invariably, week-ends would be for family gathering where I would cook a big meal and have all my loved ones around the dinner table.
Turns out reality did not quite match the dream.
Instead, I live 3000 miles away from my kids, no grand kids (thank goodness for that), a mortgage that will last me a lifetime and last time I moved I dumped all the dishes and furniture that were intended for the cottage. There wasn’t gonna be any cottage. Don’t have time or the money to play golf, have not put cross country skis on in years (why would I? I live an hour away from Whistler) and I hate cooking.
Don’t get me wrong, I like my life. I just did not see it coming, that’s all. To day 88.