The Movie Version

If I were to live the movie version of my life, I would walk up to the lectern to tell the truth of the prison writing workshops. That truth would be unvarnished and would lift and terrify those who listen. They would enter the world of the dimly lit rooms where men consider the stories of their lives, where walls rise and fall, where opportunity to capture that elusive word comes dancing into the room only to vanish before she is caught. I would weave a spell of language so compelling that listeners would weep with the beautiful cruelty of it. Yes, that is what I would do if I could live the movie version of my life.

But it's hard to live the movie version of your life when the messy real world knocks you upside your head sending the reasons you were born scattering along the floor like lost marbles. You forget and scratch your head wondering what it was you were thinking, what that dream was right before you woke up.

Then there are the classes to teach, the papers to grade, the taxes to prepare,the room to rent out, the car to fix, the doctor's and vet appointments for you, the kids, and the cat.

The movie version forgets that you are limited in time, energy, and talent.

So you just stumble along, visited by clips of the life that might be, the one where you tell the story you were born to tell.