Human stories

"There are only two or three human stories, 

and they go on repeating themselves as fiercely 

as if they had never happened before."

O Pioneers!

We're born. We grow up. We have disappointments and triumphs. We fall in love and out of love. We struggle and cry, flourish and laugh. We grow older, fatter, wiser. We age. We die.

When I consider my life, I am reconciled to the fact that it is a brief hiccup in the human symphony, a quarter note of song quickly over. Death is unwelcome, certainly, but it is no stranger.

That is, for myself.

But when I consider the lives of my daughters, I refuse to accept that their existence is anything but ordinary.

How can it be, when their arrivals into the world changed my life forever?

It's true, their lives will follow a similar path to mine, to every other human person who draws breath. Their stories, though the details may vary somewhat, will be in essence sequels of mine. And my story is merely a sequel to those of who came before me.

It doesn't mean, however, that a familiar story is not worth hearing again.

My life has been full of tremendous joy. I do not know how much of it I have left, but if my 27 years are all I'm allotted ... I can't say I've wasted them.

If my daughters' stories, their lives, have purpose and are full of love, then those are human stories worth repeating.

"You remember what you once said ... 

the old story writing itself over? 

Only it is we who write it, with the best we have."

O Pioneers!