We all know my personal mantra:
Live Your Life
I have it tattooed on my ribs.
It’s just three words.
On the surface it’s pretty benign.
Live Your Life
What the hell does that even mean? Whom else’s life would you live? Why would someone tell me to live my life, you pompous ass?
But I choose to look at it more deeply.
Live Your Life
It’s just three words.
But what do they mean?
I live my life to live experiences. Not other people’s expectations of what my life should be. Not what other people think I should experience.
But my own life.
My own experiences.
You are the representation of your life decisions.
And right now, my life decision is to live it as though it will someday be a story. A story for my children or grandchildren or just some random stranger reading a book.
But those decisions come with consequences.
I’m not single entirely by choice.
It’s hard to fall for someone that wants to live a story. Of living all the stories this world has to offer. That lives by unconventional means.
It’s hard to find someone that is willing to put up with my decisions. To support me even if their life path isn’t the same as mine. And still wholly be there for me.
It’s even harder to find someone that is already on this path and can join along for the ride. Not that it’s a requirement.
My life is the representation of the decisions I’ve made.
At some point, I will have to ask myself, if I can’t find someone to share this life with, who will actually read my stories?
Who will I tell?
Are my stories worth it?
Ultimately I love living my life this way. Right now.
As I continue to get older, the desire to share my life with someone is growing stronger and stronger.
I think everyone reaches this point, but we may not reach it at the same time.
But I am currently struggling with the question:
Is a life filled with stories a life lived well without anyone to share them with?
