(This is a post I started a while ago an decided to finish instead of adding it to my last post of unfinished works)
I had a long conversation with a good friend of mine today, a guy I've been friends with for about 7 years. He has recently figured out what he wants to do with his life, and he is so sure. It all suddenly makes sense for him, the pieces just fell together. He said he didn't know why it had to take so long for him to figure out what he really wanted and his mom made a comment to him about how it will all just be another part of his story. It made me think. What is my story? And is it an interesting one? One that I would want to share with my grand kids someday?
I paused there for a while. Trying to answer that question. And I guess the answer is, I don't know. I don't think anyone goes through their life thinking "this will make a good story one day!" Except for those occasional comical moments that we can't wait to share, our lives are not stories for us. They are simply our lives. An unfortunate part about that is that we may not know the significance of them until it's too late, if at all. We should take a step back sometimes to look at the big picture, and maybe in that greater frame of mind we can take notice of the importance of everything we are going through. The good, the bad, the hurt, and the laughs will all add up to something much greater than any one moment alone.