The Moral Of My Story

It wasn’t long ago that I first experienced full acceptance of myself. At 34 years old, you may ask, “Why did it take you so long?” my answer is that it had to. And, well, stories. It had a lot to do with stories.

As humans, we enjoy stories. We communicate through stories; we like to tell them and want to listen to them. We read them in books and watch them on screens. Stories help us make sense of our world, both internal and external. They allow us to draw conclusions about others and ourselves. We learn lessons from stories; there is much to be learned from them, especially about history. Some stories are true, some are not. Another thing we like to do with stories is to commit ourselves to them both unconsciously and consciously.

I grew up committed to stories. One of them was that every good thing in my life came as a result of me being obedient to a particular set of rules, rules that were taught to me as a child. I committed to the stories — all of them. I dedicated my life to them even when my soul ached to go a different direction. I believed the stories would guarantee me certainty — certainty of specific outcomes. It didn’t matter how I truly felt; what mattered was that if I remained committed to them, it would ensure I would get to keep my family always, even after death. For those of you who really love your family like I love mine, why wouldn’t we base our entire life around a story that ensures that we stay linked to them for all eternity? Makes sense, right? Sure, kinda… but that’s a story for another day. I had become so wrapped up in the stories, all the doing, the daily checklist of obedience that I lost sight of the moral. In fact, I never even took the time to pause and think about the moral of the stories I had so vehemently committed my life to.

It wasn’t long before I realized my commitment to stories had kept me from the one thing I was most here to do: love. That included knowing, accepting, and loving myself. It’s rough to experience when you look in the mirror and don’t love the person looking back at you. I simply wasn’t taught how to, and I didn’t even know that I had unconsciously lived the majority of my life committed to stories about myself instead of loving myself. I had been keeping myself away from love without realizing it, and most of my decisions were to make people who were committed to those same stories proud of me. I believed that love had to be earned. It was a bitter pill to swallow, realizing that my commitment to earning love by attempting to be perfect was self-induced sabotage — I had been the cause of my own spiritual demise. Thankfully, the bitter pill later turned into sweet liberation when I realized it meant I could un-choose my way out of the stories I had somewhat chosen my way into (and so can you).

I made it my mission to identify the stories that were no longer serving me, and then I worked on letting them go. Some were easy, some were not. Some were ancestral, and some were my own. But there were many, many stories.

Now, I do my best to stay committed to the moral, which is love. It will always be love.

Love is unique in that it’s container is vast. It holds so much of the duality of our human experience and can even transcend life itself. Love is to surrender as well as to fight for. It’s to cry tears of sadness over loss and tears of joy from gain. It is both welcoming and boundaried; it is found in the silence of our aloneness and in the embrace of another. It powers the risk we take when trying something new; it’s the force behind daily disciplined routines that keep us healthy. Love is felt in the cool breeze on a hot day and in the warmth of a fire on a cold winter night. It’s pushing yourself out of a comfort zone surrounded by strangers; it’s behind the smile of a familiar face. Love is to forgive; love is to be forgiven. Love strengthens; love softens. It gives; it receives. Real love has no end.

We see the world through our own set of lenses, which is why it’s so important that we put in the time to get to know ourselves. To take inventory of the stories and let go of the things keeping us from the moral.

It’s an exciting feeling when you start to love who you are. It feels sure, grateful, peaceful, accepting, and resilient. You’re less focused on doing and more focused on being. I now know that what is meant for me cannot leave me, and what isn’t cannot stay. The irony in my dharma to love is that I had to learn to love myself first. Rumi said it best, “the wound is the place where the light enters you.”

This is true of us all. Our wounds that we so desperately try to hide in the shadows are here to be transformed into the wisdom of light. How beautiful is it that our wounds are what make us qualified to teach? We experience it all firsthand and then share it with the world. It’s a marvelous design, really. I feel there is a lot of peace to be found in that truth. I’m here as an example that the transformation, although difficult, can be both rapid and lasting.

I’m grateful for the many paths I have walked down and the wisdom they’ve afforded me. I’m thankful for my greatest example, Jesus Christ, who lived and died for me so He would have the experience to teach, comfort, and guide me. I know His love is readily available for all who seek it; all we need do is ask. I‘m grateful for the energy of love for changing my mind and heart. I’m thankful for my angels; specifically my boyfriend, Barrett and his Mom, Leslie. For giving me the courage to seek truth in new places. I’m grateful to each of you for choosing to be here and living life alongside me.

I’ll finish with a couple of questions that may be worth pondering — they certainly changed the course of my life.

What are your stories? What is the moral? Is your commitment to those stories keeping you from your commitment to the moral?

All my love,

Ari