Stories

Prompt: Write about what I'm passionate about. Passionate about something defined as, "something you can do for hours without feeling the time."

The other day, my roommate’s mother (who was visiting Mayfield 254 by the power of Skype) asked me, “Meredith, what idiosyncrasies does Kelsey have?”

I laughed. “She brushes her teeth longer than anyone I have ever known.”

Kelsey retorted, “Meredith reads Ernest Hemingway for fun.”

Disclaimer: reading Ernest Hemingway is hardly ever fun. It is an enriching experience, but I submit that mourning man’s helplessness while confronted by an unfeeling universe is not fun.

However, I can take courage, just like dear old Ernest taught me. I will endure anything for the sake of a good story.

It isn’t typically a question of endurance. I want to hear the story, or see the story, or read the story. I feel like a collector who will take tokens but is passionate about gems. Garbage, on the other hand, should be thrown out. I have, on a few occasions, been called a snob. If that’s what it takes to keep Horror movies and Harlequin novels away, then that’s just fine.

I’m too influenced by the lists: the Best Pictures, the Pulitzer Winners, and the 100 Greatest of All Time.  I have sought a story that others told me was good, only because I needed to impress them. Who are we to classify our stories? Our minds are more apt to enjoy them.

I love stories, maybe too much. I finished The Old Man and the Sea on Monday and woke up on Tuesday feeling heavy. “My big fish must be out there somewhere,” Santiago says.

I say it, too.

I want to tell my own stories, and I fear I never will. A gentle Hope reminds me that this life is not about the monuments I can build to myself. I wish I could say that it is always enough, but I am weak and have much to learn.