Thanks for sharing your work with us - so grateful. I’m going to sit with this incredible line … “That’s how it goes. We’re the unreliable narrators of our own lives.”
I had a boyfriend that I broke up with very unceremoniously . I just ghosted him and made my roommates tell him I wasn’t home if he called or showed up at my apartment . I was a coward and I seldom think about that event even though it was all for the best. We were so incompatible but he couldn’t see it. It was over 50 years ago and I do wonder how he remembers it . Hopefully he’s forgotten it. A year later he sent a wedding announcement to my mother.
Man, being able to use words like notes played on a well-practiced instrument is such a beautiful and inspiring thing. I am still practicing myself, but there are a lot of missed notes in my quest for mastery. Your lines, "We saw each other and paused for just a moment. Then she looked away. I looked away. And we left each other’s lives again." were just excellent and I reread them several times. Just four tight sentences stripped down to their essence that nonetheless painted a vivid scene. Excellent writing! I learn a lot by reading other people's stuff on here, so thank you for sharing yours so generously!
Your chicken story reminded me of when my daughters were little & we were walking to our coop. I stopped when we didn’t hear chickens. My 3 year old yelled, “ what the heck happened to their heads!!?” A cunning animal had lured each chicken to the fence & their bodies hung in the fence. A lesson on having chickens in the mountains ensued, as well as an early talk about impermanence. We planted a garden there & the food that grew was supersized. Our daughters decided that the chickens knew they couldn’t live so they became giant cabbages.
Loved your story…the impermanence of relationships & our sense of safety.
Wow. I was stunned when several girl friends in high school and college asked me what
My priorities in life were. I mumbled something about doing my art in sculpture and owning art gallery mixed with coffe shop on the Oregon coast. No it wasn’t doctor lawyer or accountant. Or business major. I’m still a poet, artist. House husband to a great gal of over fourty years in my life.
Your essay brought back a lot of high school romantic and painful memories. However, I read all the way to the end. Truth or fiction, the ending still made me smile.
We lost five chickens one Sunday afternoon. We were quite sad. The loner rooster survived because he was a loner. What a beautifully written story. Thank you.
Thanks for sharing your work with us - so grateful. I’m going to sit with this incredible line … “That’s how it goes. We’re the unreliable narrators of our own lives.”
I had a boyfriend that I broke up with very unceremoniously . I just ghosted him and made my roommates tell him I wasn’t home if he called or showed up at my apartment . I was a coward and I seldom think about that event even though it was all for the best. We were so incompatible but he couldn’t see it. It was over 50 years ago and I do wonder how he remembers it . Hopefully he’s forgotten it. A year later he sent a wedding announcement to my mother.
You're still here? You should be ashamed of your behavior and in ceremony contemplating your actions.
Unreliable narrators indeed!
Food for thought. Either way it’s a beautiful thought.
Man, being able to use words like notes played on a well-practiced instrument is such a beautiful and inspiring thing. I am still practicing myself, but there are a lot of missed notes in my quest for mastery. Your lines, "We saw each other and paused for just a moment. Then she looked away. I looked away. And we left each other’s lives again." were just excellent and I reread them several times. Just four tight sentences stripped down to their essence that nonetheless painted a vivid scene. Excellent writing! I learn a lot by reading other people's stuff on here, so thank you for sharing yours so generously!
Your chicken story reminded me of when my daughters were little & we were walking to our coop. I stopped when we didn’t hear chickens. My 3 year old yelled, “ what the heck happened to their heads!!?” A cunning animal had lured each chicken to the fence & their bodies hung in the fence. A lesson on having chickens in the mountains ensued, as well as an early talk about impermanence. We planted a garden there & the food that grew was supersized. Our daughters decided that the chickens knew they couldn’t live so they became giant cabbages.
Loved your story…the impermanence of relationships & our sense of safety.
Wow. I was stunned when several girl friends in high school and college asked me what
My priorities in life were. I mumbled something about doing my art in sculpture and owning art gallery mixed with coffe shop on the Oregon coast. No it wasn’t doctor lawyer or accountant. Or business major. I’m still a poet, artist. House husband to a great gal of over fourty years in my life.
Unreliable narrators-so very true
Your essay brought back a lot of high school romantic and painful memories. However, I read all the way to the end. Truth or fiction, the ending still made me smile.
" We’re the unreliable narrators of our own lives." This. Ouch and yes and ahhhhhhh and haha!
thank you for working here on substack. Thank you
I love the ending.
We lost five chickens one Sunday afternoon. We were quite sad. The loner rooster survived because he was a loner. What a beautifully written story. Thank you.
So good to read this...visualizing the scenes as you clearly described them..had me thinking of my own post college break-up and life decisions.
Yes thanks Sherman for opening the flood gates of memory. Funny. Sad. Hilarious. You got this.
And that you weave, of the threads of your reality, a carpet on which you invite us to fly?
I enjoy your hungry answers and your questions about all the ingedients.