Chase The Story

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“but the universe lifts that weight...blessings on blessings etcetera”

It started to drizzle as we all sat on a rooftop bar. There were fire pits and people and wings on the late night menu. On my mind was the reality that somehow what we were all doing then, and had been doing for a while, was chasing the story that made the most sense for each of us. 

Anyone can be a bystander to their own story, in some ways that’s what I’d been for the last 15 years. The difference rests in the action. It takes a shift, a series of moments that remind you of your agency for you to start feeling the drizzle as the push for a healthier new beginning. It takes accepting that just because we exist in so many stories does not mean that those are the stories we are meant to chase. Or be permanently attached to. 

I stood up at some point that night and rested cheek to cheek with a mom who treats me like I am one of her own. I smiled in the direction of the person behind the camera, memorializing that moment. I walked a few steps back to my chair and looked to my right at the friend who’d pushed me to chase the story of belonging in a family that I was not born into, but that was mine all the same. 

I sunk into the chair.

Belonging is what makes it possible to start chasing stories. When we breathe into acceptance, we can chase stories that are seemingly outside of the linear plot line we were expected to live in. We can make sharp right turns and book last minute flights because no matter where we end up, we’ve found roots in people. We know how to get back home. 

Drinks littered the tables between us, the same way complicated layers of our relationships did. There sat lovers, siblings, soon to be in-laws. Ultimately, there sat hearts who one way or another just wanted to be known. 

The notion of chasing a story is an empowering reality for me because it also happens to be a different reality for me. My first quarter didn’t start the day I was born, it started the day my mom died and to chase a story that is anchored in an ending is to sometimes not know about beginnings. 

I consider my twenty fifth year my bridge year. I’m walking into a second quarter and the story I’m chasing is solely my own. 

The ability to walk into quarter two feeling lighter didn’t come from just deciding to be lighter. Nothing is that simple. Especially not when we’re talking about the relationship we have with our own minds and hearts. I decided instead to learn to forgive, to love alongside healing, to chase the stories that were going to lead to growth, fulfillment, and other beginnings. 

If you’ve ever lost someone you know that endings and beginnings inherently feel like impositions rather than choices. Their weight comes from them feeling like heavy responsibilities — I had to commit to learning how best to honor my definition of belonging so that the heaviness could become freedom to choose. To choose to start. To choose to end. To choose to chase.