I watched from a distance as you stood a few yards away from your young son. Holding a football in your hands, you called out to him, “I’ll try.” In that moment, I felt an instant connection to you, so I kept watching and listening. You pulled your arm back, aimed (or maybe you didn’t), and let that football fly towards your son. Only, the ball flew toward your three o’clock, not your twelve o’clock where your son stood, waiting expectantly with arms outstretched….
An Instagram post by Holly Glenn Whitaker of @hipsobriety grabbed my attention a while back. She made a list of things she doesn’t do anymore, as opposed to the oft’-oppressive and always forever-replenishing to-do lists we compose for our lives and then fret over. I adored her concept and followed suit.
I have an incredibly hard time getting through self-help books or articles, no matter how great the content or how badly I need to absorb its particular wisdom and use it to try to ease on down, ease on down the road of life. Stories are what grab my attention and won’t let go. Stories are how I relate with the world and back to it. The only kind of self-help I can offer you is my special brand of don’t-try-this-at-home type anecdotes. My stories. Or, if you refuse to listen and do indeed try it at home, I can also then offer up how you might try to fix it.