January 5: Writing Prompt #5-Call Me Ishmael

Take the first sentence from your favorite book and make it the first sentence of your post.

     It was in an old box in the basement of my sister’s house in northern Minnesota, wrapped in plastic, mouse-chewed at the edges, dusty gray and yellowing, fly-specked and dirty and tired and brittle. My life.*  I keep thinking that’s what I need to write about…my life- the raw, unvarnished, regrettable parts as well as the beautiful, undeserved blessings of it all, but I am afraid to do so. Writing about my short 39 years would require complete and utter honesty…well, if I truly want it to reach and touch anyone, I would have to stand utterly naked in front of you all, so to speak, and not hold back anything. That’s really freaking scary to me…I don’t want to tell everyone about my mistakes…I don’t want my parents or my church friends or my ex’s to know what I have found myself capable of doing and being outside of the good girl they all know, but I realize that’s what it would take and after all, “the truth will set you free,” at least that’s what my Biblical upbringing tells me.  The times I have felt most free and unburdened were those when I put everything out on the table, so I believe in this, but it’s SO MUCH EASIER to say than to actually do, especially for the whole world to see.  

     I am mostly an introvert when it comes to personal matters. I don’t like to go to parties with loads of people because I am not good at small talk, nor do I care to ever be.  J  It’s a waste of my time….I would rather sit with a close friend in a corner all night and talk about everything under the sun than have to “mingle.” Ugh….it’s excruciating!! So, I write, but up to this point, my writing has stayed introverted as well.  How can I overcome this fear of opening up my life to the world?  I am not sure….but it’s clearly something I need to work toward being more comfortable with.  And for now, this is my start…now you know I have skeletons in my closet just like everyone else…I have made mistakes, but believe they were all meant to be because of the lessons learned from them. I  feel “mouse-chewed, dusty gray, yellowing, dirty, tired, and brittle” at times, but I have found a way to shine again. I have been refined by fire, polished up and made new, and someday it will be time to share…I feel that firmly, but maybe I have a little more life to live first, to finish the story, so I know how best to begin it.  What’s your story and how would you begin it? 

*(First line of this post is an excerpt from the Foreward to Gary Paulsen’s Eastern Sun, Winter Moon-An Autobiographical Odyssey)