There are things we think we know. And things we think we don’t. Ironically, what we do we don’t, and what we don’t, well, often we do. It is the do’s and the don’ts that tell us what are…who we are. But then, what if we are not what we thought we were. What if our singular existence is the greatest mystery of all? It is this one truth that we all silently bear. We are our own greatest mysteries, full of hidden treasures buried within us, waiting to be unearthed. There is nothing in the world more worth finding than the secrets within ourselves.
If this rings of truth, then by all means read on…
This is not a biography, you see. Who wants another one of those? Facts tell nothing of one’s true self, other than to suggest that there is something more. Facts are the resting truths, flowing from the raging river of our uncertainties. My story, the one you think you know, is not my story at all. For all the monuments that pave the stepping stones of my tale, tell nothing of the in-betweens. And so it only goes to follow that you know nothing of me. For I cannot be written in a book. Carved out in a few paragraphs. Understood in a few simple lines.
If you seek more of who and what I am, than you must come on this journey with me. Join me on the in-betweens. Lay down the milestones, more, the gravestones that tell us what we’ve left behind, as together we bury our yesterdays and seize our tomorrows. All stories are connected. Mine is as much yours as yours is mine. So I formally invite you into my story. All the treasures of my soul are yours to find and keep, that is, if you dare to look.