My blog turns two this week.
In a few days, if I can count correctly, I will have brought it well beyond its birth and led it wobbling into toddler-hood.
As I said two years ago, I’ve hoped here to document my encounters on the edge– living in underdeveloped countries, like Haiti, where luxuries were lacking, living with the challenges of bipolar disorder, an illness I was diagnosed with more than 20 years ago, and having lived, as a child with a father in organized crime and a mother whose religious beliefs sometimes seemed extreme.
As much as I might like to blame the mafia for my later developing a chronic mental illness—having the FBI repeatedly knock down the door of our house, having my father indicted by a number of grand juries—that in and of itself was nothing compared to the crazy-making impact of my parents’ bizarrely, hardly compatible world views.
Yet (and this is so important) my parent’s differences also taught me a lot about embracing the otherness inherent in both disagreement and compromise.
As our reelected president reminded us this week, “We are greater than the sum of our individual ambitions.”
Both of my parents, despite their individual and foolish failings, taught me a lesson that blogging has surely reinforced—that only in taking the negative and redeeming it through the grace of grand and often agonizing defeat—do we learn of love and healing, hope and wholeness.
Organized crime taught me much about both the smallness of ambition and the largeness that is loyalty, while what seemed the spiritual extremism of my mother mirrored for me so much more than the minus of hypocrisy. It taught me the lesson of grace and gave me the gift of God or love or whatever you want to call it.
It taught me that life is good and the world is a wonderful, crazy place where we CAN find, not only healing and wholeness, but also the intangible magic inherent in each of these.
Somehow it all adds up and amounts to more than itself in the end.
Just like we can’t measure blogging’s success or failure in the math of stats, we can’t measure love with arithmetic or accounting.
This is who we are as both Americans and human beings. We count, but we also care. We lack but we also love.
We are more than we seem, my friends. We’re doers and dreamers.
So thanks to my readers for daring to dream with me these past two years. Because you care, we all amount to more.
It’s our exchange of kindness and good will—these posts and comments—that make WordPress the healing haven it’s been for me. May the blogging to come be blessed with more of the same—the same love, the same light, the same crazy, redemptive story—the living, breathing myth that ‘s more than the fiction it might seem.
We are story—but by the accounting that is narrative, we keep more than score. We manage, in fact, to soar.
So story on, my friends, and, in doing that, amount to more.
Thank you so much. May we continue to soar and sail, believe and blog together.
How has telling stories in any form added to your life? What might it mean to story on? Why do we do it?