“When you are in the middle of a story it isn’t a story at all, but only a confusion; a dark roaring, a blindness, a wreckage of shattered glass and splintered wood; like a house in a whirlwind, or else a boat crushed by the icebergs or swept over the rapids, and all aboard powerless to stop it. It’s only afterwards that it becomes anything like a story at all. When you are telling it, to yourself or to someone else.”
— Margaret Atwood
Sometimes it feels like life becomes a little too dramatic. Those closest to us act in ways that we find difficult to accept. Our jobs and family life are in turmoil and we can’t tell which way is up. One day it may make a good story but at the time it feels like the deepest torment. Those are the times when it becomes necessary to hold on tight and let it go and realize that I will make it through to tell the tale. I can’t see the story’s end all I can see is the next thing necessary to do. So I do that thing and then the next thing and a few steps down the line I have made it through the storm. That is the way I have made it through before and it will work that way into the future. When the path ahead is fogged up, I will focus on what is ahead of me and make it one step at a time. What a story I will have to tell when I have arrived.
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