Everyone has a story. Some parts of our story are mundane, littered with insignificant events, people and places that render no special meaning; they just are. But if we dig deep enough, we will find moments in our story, maybe entire chapters, that shape us into who and how we are today.
Somewhere in my mid-thirties I started to explore my story. I’d take little peeks here and there, and if I didn’t like what I saw, I’d slam that cover shut so quickly you’d lose a finger in the binding if you were close enough. Little by little, I began to uncover glimpses of truth that, for years I had chosen not to see. It was hard. Some of it was sad. Most of it scared the hell out of me. And so I ran from those truths, straight into a bottle of wine a few times a week. Sometimes two bottles and sometimes nightly. Then margaritas. Soon it was tequila with barely a few splashes of lime.
I knew I needed to quit but my want to wasn’t on board with that. And then all of a sudden my story took a plot turn. I got sober. I discovered my truths. It changed me and it’s still changing me. And so I’m sharing it, in hopes that a snippet or two might change you.
It all started with two drunks, a heroin addict and a tiny baby.
And tiny matters.