Yep. The title. That’s the shit that took all this time to arrive at – months, years, my lifetime so far –
But here I am. I am a storyteller.
And here’s the story.
I forget what it was that happened in February, but something prompted me to send a letter to Dr. Iris Chapman. I probably wrote down in one of my journals what sparked it, but for now and for the purpose of this short post, the prompt does not matter.
I’ve always maintained a collection of stationery, cards, and address labels. Writing a letter or card with one of my favorite pens, sticking a stamp on the envelope, then dropping it the mail has brought me joy ever since my mom introduced me to writing to my cousins in the Philippines and sending fan letters to celebrities. In the age of email and instant messaging, my family and friends who received correspondence from me seem to appreciate the simple surprise of getting snail mail for no reason other than I wanted them to receive something other than impersonal mail and circulars in their mailbox.
Together, we’ve found greater joy in simple acts of kindness and gratitude than postponing the acts to make them “bigger”.
Okay, back from that long-ass tangent… I wrote a letter to Dr. Chapman. She was my Rhetorical Theory professor during my final semester of college, several 300-400 level courses… and that course by itself is the shit of which nightmares are made. When Dr. Chapman and I had our mid-semester one-on-one, she did one of the greatest things anyone can do for another person – she told me the truth. A hard truth, but I grew from it and felt happier because of her. I still carry the energy of her conversation with me, and it’s a multi-faceted reminder when I need it.
My letter to Dr. Chapman was an overdue thank you letter – my gratitude for her kindness and living the words of Maya Angelou:
“I’ve learned that people will forget what you said, people will forget what you did, but people will never forget how you made them feel.”
– Maya Angelou
Dr. Chapman could have kept our conversation to the fact that if I didn’t work harder, my grade would have slipped from near-failing to actually failing. But she didn’t. She cared. Dr. Chapman told me that she knew I had so much potential, but I was slacking. I could do more than skate by, but I wasn’t trying. I hardly remember the conversation, but in our half hour or so together, she showed me she believed in me. I still light up when I think about her encouragement and kindness.
A few weeks ago, I received a thank you note from Dr. Chapman. We’ve added each other to the list of meet-ups that we look forward to when in-person socializing is less restricted. I felt happy to hear her perspective, reflecting on trying to teach rhetorical theory – it’s just as difficult on a professor as it is on a student. 😉 And I felt her sincere appreciation for my time in writing to her and letting her know I have not forgotten her or how I felt because of her.
One more little note – rhetoric is a lot like algebra. Some of what I learned, I truly learned and use without thinking about it; but then other parts aren’t garbage, but using them would be under special circumstances, such as trying to teach it to someone else. 😉
Today when Chief Daddy and I were at the cemetery, bringing Mommy the last of the tulips from her garden, I walked back to the car to give my dad solitude while he prayed his rosary. I noticed the marker number on a stone… it’s one of those combinations of numbers that has always had a sort of pull or magic to it. [Note: I just now did the math, and damn if it doesn’t add up to 9 – my life path number. Coincidences do not exist.]
I stepped to the front of the stone. Novella Chapman. I didn’t even think about it. It clicked. Everything. Fucking. Clicked.
All of the advice to quit chasing and just allow it to come to me. It did that.
All of the messages to “let your life be your message”. I’m doing that. I’ve been doing that.
All of the thinking too much and feeling too little with trying to cram myself into a title or role or something already defined.
All of the telling myself I didn’t feel like I was being called to be a life coach or counselor or teacher or healer or medium.
All of my misunderstanding the message that “you’re already doing it!” It should have been obvious. I feel myself being a lightworker or leading like a priestess, but even that has felt too defined.
Everything I think that I am not, I actually am. I may not write a novella, but I am a storyteller.
I share my life through the accounts of my experiences, and through those stories, I help others to laugh and lighten up a bit. I listen when someone comes to me to vent or to ask for advice. I share what I know from my own experience, I lead others to the same tools, and we raise the vibration.
I am all the things I didn’t think I was because…
I am a storyteller.
Dr. Chapman’s first name is Iris. One song comes to mind, and the chorus fits where I’ve been and where I am now:
“And I don’t want the world to see me
‘Cause I don’t think that they’d understand
When everything’s meant to be broken
I just want you to know who I am”
Iris, Goo Goo Dolls
Luceat lux vestra.
