Thursday, December 22, 2016
In my freshman year of high school, I was standing in line when a teacher motioned for me to come her way. I'd been queued with friends and had just repeated a story I'd been told. She'd overheard what I'd said and asked why I thought the story was mine to tell. While I hemmed and hawed and insisted what I'd shared was true, she reiterated that, true or not, the story was not mine to tell. Her words stayed with me and over the years there've been occasions when I've had to stop and ask myself if the story I'm about to share is actually mine to tell.
When you travel with a group you hear lots of stories. Some are told by lonely people seeking affirmation. Others are told when tongues are loosed by too much wine. These are the stories that must be rewoven before they can be told. And sometimes, as they are reworked you realize that there isn't much to tell. Many stories were shared on our long coach rides in Costa Rica, but, on examination, they belong to others and are not mine to tell. I can, however, share with you impressions, two in particular, that were garnered on our trip.