I have had my mind on the end lately.
The end of us and who we are.
The end of our personal stories in the book with no conclusion.
My thoughts are on the ending of our story and how few people will ever hear it.
Few will hear our triumphs and our failures.
Few will know how deeply we loved and how much we feared.
They will never see the small victories or crushing defeats and how we went on after both.
Perhaps our lives are not for the masses, no matter how famous or infamous you are.
Our lives are private showings, exclusive concerts meant for the few while our greatest hits are played for the stadiums. Our social media, our outward presence to the masses that shows (we hope) our best sides, our grand achievements, and our sweet victories.
The light always clear, our triumphs loudly trumpeted, and our parades mighty.
We curate our stories in case ‘they’ are looking, whoever they ever are, wanting to be beautiful, mysterious, and deep.
It is in those cramped settings though, the lights low, the heat heavy, and the crowd close, where we play our most intimate shows with our deep cuts.
Where we reveal ourselves as we do to few.
None ever seeing the ugly face we see in the mirror late at night, but seeing a little less beauty and a little more ugly and hopefully piecing together a better picture of who we are and not just who we want people to think we are or who we think we are.
And some nights we think we are the ugliest creatures to have ever walked the earth, the vilest and most unlovable, but there are days, some days, when we think we are living a blessed life but the truth is somewhere in the shadows of both.
We are both the villains and heroes of our own stories, and those close few, that small little club show, sees more of that than anyone else.
And they love us still.
We spend so much time curating our lives, filtering ourselves and our content that who we are, the flawed, beautiful humans that we are, are often lost and we cheat the world from knowing us.
We shouldn’t air out our bedsheets for the cheap seats but we don’t need to pretend that every night is a home cooked meal done to perfection and every weekend a trip to the coast.
We are human and should honor that.
We are not always happy – nor are we always sad!
We are not always perfect.
We are not the greatest parents, partners, or lovers.
We are us, the perfectly imperfect, and that’s fine.
When we go, and when we are gone, I hope that someone has the guts to tell our story to the world. To take who we were and to use that clay to create something that reminds the world of the light that was lost.
No, it shouldn’t be a laundry list of achievements of failings but a record of the beautiful creature that we were.
We all will go one day, and our light will go out, but it doesn’t mean we need to be forgotten the day after.
We deserve to be remembered, and the world deserves to know who we were, if but for a moment.
We lived a life, lived a story, and it should be passed on.
While time may forget everyone some day, our stories were still part of the tapestry of this world and our colors part of the rainbow that made it up.
It’s my hope that our light, as bright or dim as it may be, can yet shine for those in the cheap seats before it finally goes out for good.
Tell your stories, and let others tell your stories when you are gone.
This is what makes us human, and beautiful.
Shine on friend, shine on.