I love a great story. Stories capture our senses. We see pictures painted that we’ve never experienced in person. We hear sounds that may have only passed our ears years ago. We smell a lingering memory of growing up. A great story excites the soul.
But not all stories capture our attention. It’s hard to relate to a story that we can’t picture ourselves somehow inserted into the scenery. I love the thought of my family dashing through the snow in a one horse open sleigh. It makes the story come to life. It’s why Disney scored with tales of princesses and sword battles. We all have a little Walter Mitty in us.
It’s also why the senseless death of 20 children and 6 adults in Newtown this month reverberates louder than the loss of 15,000 in a Bangladesh storm in 2007. Many of us hugged our kids extra hard the night of December 14th because we, but for a fleeting moment, dared to imagine ourselves in that situation. There but for the grace of God go I.
Panic started to sit in as Thanksgiving weekend passed without single idea of what our kids wanted for Christmas. Being college freshman, I would think their list would be endless. I remember the expressions on their faces when we sat down to try and figure out their lists. You would have thought that they were having that dream where they show up to class realizing that there’s a Physics final and they forgot to study.
It’s Thanksgiving week here in the States.Thanksgiving is one of the safe holidays. No religious affiliation required like Easter, no need to celebrate the dark arts like Halloween, and no need to reveal your pro-rodent support like Groundhog Day. Just gorge out and put up with Uncle Harold for a little while.
I’ve been struggling for the past few weeks; struggling to write a new column.
Life is messy. We try to add order to it by giving it labels and categories as if we all were handed a Dymo label maker at birth. You are probably either a Baby Boomer, Gen Xer, or Gen Yer. At one time I was a DINK (Dual Income, No Kids). Labels help give us control over the millions of variables that seep into our being.
