Just someone to listen to stories I tell.

See, sometimes, it's the telling of the story that matters. That's where change starts. It's not the reaction, not the response. It's the telling that often contains the magic. Stories are things that love to be told. They also love to be heard, but to ever have that chance they have to first be told. I love them. I have devoted the majority of my life to them, through film, photographs, song, paint, and pencil I have told them. You use what tools you know but they must be told. I have fallen in love with people I've never met. I've danced in halls that never existed. I have been privy to events that shake my soul and shape my beliefs. It can be Arthur Conan Doyle or The Bible, I believe with all my heart that stories make life worth living. Sondheim and Soderbergh, Neil Jordan to Neil Gaiman, these people and thousands more taught me about life, love, and, how to be a better person. How else could we share our lives with others? Real, make-believe, it doesn't matter. On a screen 40 feet high or around a table in a diner with friends. Truth and fiction both can teach us about real life. Telling the story often makes us feel better, taking our thoughts and experiences, organizing them, and, throwing them into the world is freeing. Much like this short essay which I now offer to you. It all starts with the telling. The telling helps. Sometimes, it's the telling of the story that matters.

Stories I Tell-- Toad The Wet Sprocket

Don't give me answers for I would refuse
"yes" is a word for which I have no use
And I wasn't looking for heaven or hell
Just someone to listen to stories I tell

Now what is a blessing and what is a dream
Caught between portraits and none's what it seems
And why is it people expect there's a change
When I feel I'm a part of something I can't see
I feel the same

Now don't ask me questions or I will retreat
Fame is a cancer and ego its seed
Now I wasn't looking for heaven or hell
Just someone to listen to stories I tell

Do we ever wonder?
And do you ever care...

Subtle salvation in poems we know
Hiding our heads in a shadow of home
Now I wasn't looking for wreaths or for bells
Just someone to listen to stories I tell
Stories I tell