Boring Stories Through A Rose-Colored Lens

When I look at my life, it hasn’t played out the way I expected. I never expected to become chronically ill, nor to meet the love of my life but not be able to marry (at least yet). I never expected to be paying property taxes and HOA dues while living with my in-laws, nor to be working in quality assurance. I never thought that, at age 34, I still wouldn’t have a dog.

If I look at my life through a critical lens, it would be easy to feel disappointed. But, instead, I’m rockin’ the rose-colored glasses. My life isn’t all sunshine and rainbows, but I’ve learned to love dancing in the rain.

I was recently reminded of a on old English proverb that my grandmother would often recite. From there, I found myself thinking about her life. She grew up to brilliant, affluent, and well-connected parents, so her youth was filled with worldly adventure. Her adulthood, however, was filled with an suffering and sorrow that, I believe, broke her spirit. The rose-colored classes fell from her face and her joy slowly faded until it was replaced by a pervasive sadness.

Her children and grandchildren begged for stories. Sometimes, she would comply, sharing larger-than-life stories from her youth. More often than not, she held back. The stories were painful to recall, or not deemed exciting enough for her young audience.

While my life isn’t some magical fantasy, it’s a story I hope my future children and grandchildren would enjoy hearing. It’s a story that, even if they don’t want to hear, I intend to share.

The old proverb is about being a good listener. But, what does that really entail? Does being a good listener simply mean we shut our mouths, or is there more nuance to it? Join us over at the Heart of the Matter and join in the discussion on listening, understanding, and where family history falls into the mix.