I often wonder what people’s stories are; the woman in front of me at the checkout line with food stamps, the guy that just angrily honked his horn because I would not drive over the speed limit. And what about that overweight person who is at the local drugstore buying chips and soda? And then there is the guy with all the tattoos and piercings who I would not want to meet alone in a dark alley. What are their stories?
In my recent post ‘Easy to Label, Easy to Judge’ I started the post with the following –
I don’t know about you, but it is easy for me to label and judge people. I see a news story with an interview taking place about some controversy and I label the person and then I judge. It is easy to do, but much more difficult to not do!
I think I label and judge because of my opinions, beliefs and views on different aspects of life. I do not like to be labeled and I certainly do not like to be judged by others – so, I should not label and judge others, but it is so easy to do.
In today’s post I write the following –
The judgement of the woman in the checkout line or the driver who is angry with me or the overweight person buying chips or the guy with the tattoos all have stories. But I do not know their stories and I guess I will never know.
We all have a story; successes, misfortunes, missed opportunities, lack of love, love from the right person, a broken relationship, a job loss, a family/friend loss, a birth, an illness, the list goes on. The stories of our lives make us who we are and what we are. Whether a brief encounter or just people watching, I wonder what people’s stories are.
There is a good article ‘The Stories We Don’t Tell’ on the website psychologytoday.com and the author has an encounter with other people and writes the following –
“How come we don’t tell each other our stories?” one of the men mused.
It is a question that preoccupies me. Our lives are, in a sense, a series of stories. When we are gone, the stories will be gone. If we don’t tell them, no one will.
“I’ve always wanted to write my stories down,” one man said. “Maybe it’s time now, so they’re not lost.”
“Me too,” said a woman. “I have a lot of stories to tell.”
So I think and ask again –
I often wonder what people’s stories are; what are their stories?
I have a story – the woman in the checkout line, the driver, the person in the drugstore and the guy with the tattoos, they have stories too.
My story is being written in this blog – but I guess I will never know their stories.