A STORY WORTH TELLING
BY LEON ALDRIDGE
“The future belongs to those who believe in the beauty of their dreams.
— Eleanor Roosevelt
Looking back is part of the fun of writing a weekly column for decades. Something I’m trying to do more of at the beginning of every new year. Revisiting dreams. Laughing at resolutions. Reflecting on what was worthy of writing about at different times.
“What is a resolution?” she asked. She could barely see above the tabletop where I sat writing a column.
A young visiting family member, watching me work at the 1950s chrome dinette that occupies my breakfast room. A seat offering the most incredible view of the sunrise, my neighborhood and that stop sign across the street at which no one ever stops.
“It’s making life plans for a new year as the old one fades away,” I offered my young visitor as small talk. “So, have you made a plan for living the story of your life next year?”
She smiled politely.
But she didn’t have a clue. I could tell by the look on her face. It was the same look I often see in the mirror while finalizing plans that include little more flash than enjoying the fireworks.
New Year’s Day, for me, always come with the prospect of celebrating another birthday in January. If I’m blessed.
And, regardless of one’s personal reaction to birthdays, I’m still holding to the opinion that continuing to have them is the best plan.
I used to note specific birthdays as “landmarks.” You know, ones that end with a zero.
This is not one of those years. These days, however, every birthday is a landmark. Deserving of particular contemplation. And I’m still trying to look beyond the usual resolutions list.
Lose weight. Save more money. Learn something new. Be a nicer person.
Return all my overdue library books.
But in recent years, dominating my mind is something I fear most about aging. Not using my imagination. Failing to be creative. Forgetting to play more.
“Can I go out and play?” my young observer asked.
“Ask your mother,” I encouraged her.
“Personally, I think it’s a great idea. But I don’t want to create a family tiff while y’all are here visiting.”
We all played as children, using imagination to become cowboys rounding up the bad guys. Movie stars in the Hollywood spotlight.
Airplane pilots flying high above the earth.
But there’s just something about this adulting thing that makes us think growing up is mandatory. Quit acting like a kid. Take on more responsibility.
And what happens?
We forget how to play.
Playing is important.
Truthfully, a fine line exists between a child’s play and an adult’s imagination. Both require using the mind to discover what’s hidden in the heart. Spending life going, doing, looking, documenting and collecting is one thing. And to be sure, a modicum of that activity motivates us to figure out what our life story is about.
But it’s occurred to me in recent years that the real story of life lies in the journey. A curiosity about the world we’re passing through.
A daydream about the way we want the story to go. Scripting the life we desire instead of just existing another year.
We should, you know.
After all, it’s our life, and the best part is we get to write the story ourselves. Going confidently in the direction of our dreams, like we did as a child, without fearing mistakes. Perfection comes not by avoiding mistakes, but by learning from them. Playing as a child meant sometimes falling off our stick horse. But we wiped away the tears and got back on it. Because if we didn’t, the bad guys would have escaped.
The best thing about our life story is that it is never too late to start.
Best sellers are not written in chronological order. Look behind the scenes of any “overnight success,” and there is usually much hard work and failure.
“A resolution,” I told my inquisitive young visitor, “is a plan. And my plan for this year is one more time, a return to playing more. Using my imagination to live out the stories of life we all dream of as kids. So once again, I’m resolving to play during the journey. Dream every day.
Be the person I want the people around me to be.
And let that adulting stuff magically take care of itself.”
She looked at me with that same look. She smiled, but didn’t she have a clue. I could tell by the look on her face.
“Come on,” I said, taking her hand. “Let’s go outside and play. Maybe even set off some fireworks. Then we’ll both in trouble. But it will be lots of fun.”
Happy New Year!
Watch a sunrise. Dream more often. Ignore some of those stop signs that pretending to be an adult often creates. Go out and play in 2024.
