Punctuation

I was never a big fan of English class.  From diagramming sentences in elementary school to required essays about The Scarlet Letter in high school, it always seemed like a big snooze to me.  Perhaps it was because it came easily for me, or perhaps it was because English class always seemed like a vehicle for putting my creativity into a box.  Whatever the reason, it always seemed incomprehensible to me how--especially as my peers and I grew older--some people somehow failed to grasp the basic purpose of all these convoluted assignments: to learn how to convey oneself clearly and intelligently through writing.  For me, it was (and is) simple: the flow of writing should mirror the flow of life.  There is a beginning, a middle, and an end to most events.  There are pauses, interjections, and conclusions.  It was never very hard for me to take the commas, hyphens, and periods of life and translate them onto paper.  Life is, after all, a story.

What we don't realize sometimes is that though we can't always control the events, we can choose how they're told.  We each hold our own pen, so to speak.  Our own interpretation is the one that matters--and everyone has a different take.  It's easy to think of some events as a period, the final condemning dot at the end of a long, seemingly well-thought-out sentence.  It seems to scream "this is the end!"  But is it?  Much of the time, that's up to us.  One person's realism may be another's pessimism, and one individual's optimism can seem like idealism to someone else.  We are each telling our own story, and the multiple perspectives this can create is as amazing as it is frustrating.  "Why," we wonder, "can't people see the truth?"  What we fail to understand is that the "truth" we see is actually only our truth.  Yes, you might see a period in the events unfolding in your life--but somebody else might see a comma, a pause, a "but wait, there's more."  It drives some people--myself included--crazy sometimes to not know what's coming next.  It's the "but what if" syndrome.  The thing is, uncertainty can be a huge pain in the ass, but it can also be a saving grace.  Uncertainty keeps us turning the pages.  It helps us make decisions and take risks.  It helps us live in the moment, and I honestly don't think there's anything more beautiful than that.  I have moments that I return to often and fondly, many of which wouldn't have been possible without a certain degree of uncertainty.

I guess what I'm postulating is that if we can see our lives as stories--stories that are imperfect, subjective, and not finished until the back cover is closed--we can live more richly.  If we can see life's "punctuation" as variable, love those "characters" in our story because and not in spite of their flaws, and realize that our "voice" isn't the only one that exists, then we will be able to not only accept the uncertainty of life but embrace it.  Good stories make us laugh and cry, but don't we love them for both reasons?  I know I do.  I suppose it all comes back to that stubborn period.  You read the sentence, your voice lilting with the words, rising and falling with the expression of good times and bad, finally coming to the conclusion.  Your voice drops, signaling the end.  The crazy thing, though, is this: no matter how firm and blatant that period seems to be, if you add two more dots the meaning changes instantly.  What seemed like the end now seems like a "to be continued..."or a thought left hanging.  Is it "The end." or "The end..."?  Well now, I guess that's up to you.