I’ve got some amazing friends.

The kinds who are authentic and loyal to the core, aren’t afraid to ask those hard questions, value honesty and kindness more than societal acceptance, and see beyond surface distractions to those deeper things which compose the strands that our lives, our souls, and our entire existence are woven together with.

A couple of months ago, I was having a catch-up phone chat (due to the 5,000 miles separating us) with one of these friends, and she said something in passing along the way from one subject to the next that burrowed its way into my heart and has been there ever since.

She said, “I want to support people who are writing beautiful stories with their life.” And then she started talking about something else. But that simple phrase took root in my consciousness and I keep going back to it, turning it over, feeling its weight and substance, and pulling it apart at the seams.

This thought steeping has brought me here, standing in front of three questions:

  1. What does it mean to write beautiful stories with a life?
  2. Am I writing beautiful stories with my life?
  3. How can I support the people around me who are writing beautiful stories with their lives?

It’s what I’m pondering this frozen, snow-blanketed evening. Join me?

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