my daddy was a bankrobber
but he never hurt nobody
he just loved to live that way
and he loved to steal your money
Everyone has their own narrative about their family. The story a person tells about their family really tells you very little about their family, but it opens the book on them. The idiosyncrasies one chooses to emphasize, to hide. The funny tales everyone can relate to that thinly veil the truths no one wants to admit they all understand.
Family is fraught.
Family is familiar.
Family is beautiful in dysfunction.
Family is tragically supportive.
Family is dynamic – though we tell the tales in stasis.
There is safety in a familiar narrative but it belies reality. And reality simply waits for you to show up so it can remind you of all that exists beyond your story. My narrative has always had a penchant for the dramatic, some might even say melodrama. My narrative has always had a tendency to over-emphasize the fragility of others and forget that the people from which I come are strong, in every way, even weakness. My narrative has created an anxiety that has no place in my reality. My reality has always been underscored by a complicated but beautiful fabric of love.
When you jump into your narrative you remember things like this.
Yesterday, I jumped.
It is never as hard as I think it will be.
❤ and sushi.
And very merry Christmas.