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Life Stories

I met two former co-workers for dinner last night. We know quite a bit about each other's personal lives and yet there is always so much new to discover. R is adopted and has been trying to contact her biological parents. The mother refuses to talk to her, the father is in denial of her existence. She - the product of a secret affair has shown up like an unwelcome ghost from the past.

L is looking a home by the sea and has found an old outhouse the size of a closet that faces the ocean in Maine. She paints vivid word pictures of how that house will one day become home with a little work, abundance of imagination and love. A room of her very own. L comes from an impoverished family with many younger siblings and an alcoholic father. Peace and quiet have been the persistently absent themes of her life.

The more I get to know people, drawn into the stories of their lives I think of the number of epics that will go unwritten and unread. Both L and R have stories that enthrall the listener as do those of many other people. The whole body of fiction in the world weighs lighter in comparison. I realize that my life is wholly unremarkable in comparison.

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