Pardon Our Dust.

“Live a good story.”

I’ve heard that expression a lot the last few months. I’ve seen it posted on facebook and recently, I even saw it tagged on a billboard. (Told you the streets of L.A. are mean.)

The thing is, every time I see this trendy  “Live a good story” catch-phrase, I can’t help but cringe a little bit. I’m afraid that in our efforts to live a good story it’s becoming really, really easy lose sight of living a life we love, for one that’s a great anecdote. And this ideology seems to fit snugly into the digital world in which we’re living- encouraging us to curate a good story for people- which is not at all the same as enjoying your life humbly and authentically…even if others aren’t gawking in admiration or worse, envy.

Oh, in case you missed it, I am talking about myself here. Guilty. As. Charged.

As a writer, occasional speaker, and advocate, this can get muddy and weird. Not to mention, hard to navigate- so much so that I often balk, whine, and want to quit altogether. I’m constantly trying to figure out what needs to be written, what stories need to be shared, and which of life’s moments should be safeguarded as sacred and personal. I’ve made a lot of mistakes.

That said, a lot’s been happening as of late. In short, I’ve made myself virtually homeless, living out of boxes in my car, moving around between Younglife camp and different people’s homes while I try to figure out where my next one should be. It’s hard to recall the last time I woke up and immediately, in my sleep-fogged mind, knew exactly where I was. It’s strange, uncomfortable, kinda awesome and quite honestly, makes a fairly decent story– which is perhaps why I’ve been finding it so hard to write about. I’m currently in the process of sifting through which parts should be offered for public consumption, which are meant to be lived out loud and which belong to me and those who are woven into them.

The answers will come, I’m sure of it. And so will the words. But until they do, here is my offering; all of my favorite interwebbing things that have nothing to do with my life or advocating for folks without homes, but have been hoarded in my phone for times when I need to pee my pants a little:

I am afraid I will never love any future children of my own as much as I love this kid: