Thursday, March 7, 2024

Excerpt from Your Story Matters


Your Story Matters


Living Your Life in the Most Awesome Way Possible




Jo Davis

 “Find out who you are and live it on purpose.”




Your Story Matters


 Like you do. 

Once the individual sees who they really are—a divine, energetic entity full of potential and God-given ability to be greater than they ever imagined, they will be unstoppable. 

 That's you.

 It's May 1, 2023. I'm in my office looking out the window at a Pink Dogwood tree in full flower. When we moved here 6 years ago, that tree was cut down to its bare bones, a trunk, and five branches. I wondered why the previous owners had cut that tree so severely, and I had no inkling what sort of tree it was. For the last couple of years, it has branched, leafed, and revealed itself as a pink dogwood, one of my favorite trees. 

 It's an old tree; the truck is large, and its blossoms are smaller than the young trees I see about town. But it is gorgeous, alive, and flourishing. I love it. 

That tree tells me something about age and how living creatures can bounce back and thrive again. It doesn't worry. It just keeps growing and going through its cycles.

 I curtained off an area for an office in the outbuilding beside the dogwood tree. The building was once a dance studio and still has mirrors on one wall and around a corner. We used it for storage until my daughter placed a desk there for herself and used it for a time. Now, in my curtained area, I have a comfortable little office. The heater under my desk keeps my feet warm, and my little dog, Sweetpea, sleeps in front of it. My computer is in front of a window, and my view is of the pink dogwood and the main house's backyard.

I have decided to write while the blossoms are on the tree. I'm aiming for 50,000 words It will be a race between the flowers and me.

 When I told a friend that Natalie Goldberg (in Old Friend from Far Away) said that a memoir doesn't have to be an old person's story; it can be for those moments that take our breath away, my friend asked what such a moment that would be for me.

 "My first kiss," I said. 

 I was a tall girl and felt self-conscious about it in high school when all the cute little girls were making out with their boyfriends in the hallways, but I had a boyfriend who took me out of all that and wrote sonnets about me being five feet nine with eyes that shine. He gave me my first kiss. 

 His sister, about ten years older than him, bet he would kiss a girl before he was sixteen. He held out as long as he could, kissed me, and said, "There goes five bucks."