If I were a poet, I would rummage in the tiny pockets of my memory for the best words to tell my story. I would seek north and south, east and west for the right words because this thing that I wanted to tell deserve not just any words, but the right words. And once I did, I would take these handful and weave them--one by one--to form a zipper, that would stretched from one end of deep memories to another of silent combustion of wordless sentiments; so that when a stranger read my story, that zipper could tear open and he or she could taste it--that animal that stretched from deep memories to wordless emotions--pristine and untainted. Alas, these words in my hands, they are not the best, nor are they right. But these few words are the only ones I have; and for now, I pray that these are enough to tell this thing I want to tell and to tell it in a manner that I can tell--a story only I can tell.
Story lets us carve our initials in the wet cement of this moment. And it does it so well because not only does it celebrate vulnerability, but it embodies vulnerability. The act of telling a story is a vulnerable act on and by itself.
-- Phil Kaye
Just to be able to stop and instead of catastrophizing what might happen, just say: I'm just so grateful. Because to feel this vulnerable means I'm alive.
-- Brene Brown
But I see the impossible everyday. Impossible is trying to connect in this world, trying to hold on to others while things are blowing up around you, knowing that while you're speaking, they aren't just waiting for their turn to talk: they hear you, they feel exactly what you feel at the same time that you feel it. It's what I strive for every time I open my mouth: that impossible connection. ...
When I meet you, in that moment, I am not longer a part of your future, I start quickly becoming part of your past, but in that instant, I get to share your present, and you, you get to share mine, and that is the greatest present of all. So if you tell me I can do the impossible, I probably laugh at you. I don't know whether I can change the world--yet--because I don't know much about it. And I don't know much about reincarnation either, but if you make me laugh hard enough sometimes, I forget what century I'm in. This isn't my first time here. This isn't my last time here. These aren't the last words I share--but just in case I'm trying my hardest to get it right this time around.
-- Hiroshima, Sarah Kay
