The older I get, the more stories I have to tell that are my own, not someone else's that I heard, not my parents' stories, but mine. I can take part in other's stories, but no one else has the same story I do. This is something that is so obvious that I just recently realized it. I could go on the same exact trip as someone else and do the same exact things, but their perspective will never be mine. My story is one of the very few things I can totally call my very own. That is so exciting to me. And it makes me want to make it a bestseller and the best it can be. I want my story to be a thriller. I want it to be a riveting romantic comedy. And I can already tell you, this semester in Gaming, Austria, will be one for the records. Some of the stories we create in this magical snow globe of a place will be told and retold to my children and grandchildren. But many will remain here, right where they happened, hidden with the centuries of untold stories floating in between the walls of this ancient building. Our stories whispered in late night conversations of adventures in obscure countries, and hilarious escapades to places where no one knows my name will forever live with those of students before me and join the silence of the Carthusian monks before them.
However some of these stories will be preserved in this abstract place that is the blogosphere. I honestly don't understand where these posts go when I write them or how you can see what I'm writing because the internet is beyond my comprehension. But it seems to me that this is basically you reading my open journal. You're welcome and I'm sorry. Through prayer and the grace of God Almighty alone will I be able to persevere and actually keep this updated throughout my semester.
But I need to try. Why? Because why bother doing something for the story when you aren't planning on telling the story for all to hear?!
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