luke wrote to me every day of his cadet basic training (aka beast). he relayed his daily experiences, his ups, his downs, his fears, his frustrations, and his celebrations. he carried me with him on those six weeks, telling me his story as a means to process it within himself.
i'm writing a new story for myself these days, though i use the word 'story' with reluctance. the cliche, 'a new chapter,' sells it short; but 'story' suggests a false closure on what came before and a false discreteness in its beginning. but those reservations aside, i embrace this as my story for another reason. it is a story because i am its author.
when i sent luke the bound copy of his letters from beast, he reread his words with curiosity and the benefit of hindsight, and filled in the context of each letter for me, with what didn't make it onto the pages. though the book tells a complete story of his summer experience, complete with plot, character development, catharsis, and resolution, he wisely sees it as the introduction to a longer story and cherishes it as such. but for me, as his mother, his beast story serves as a metaphorical and metaphysical reminder of the power of the pen.
ever since luke was able to speak, he was in character. the characters changed over time and included his cartoon heroes (like bob the builder), his animal obsessions (like the tiger shark, whose costume he created with a sharpie and a cardboard fin taped to a shirt), and people he looked up to in his world (such as "the landscaping man" he embodied for hours and hours, meticulously grooming hedges and edges as a three year-old toddler.) i wish i knew how many hours and dollars we spent on costumes over the first ten years of his life.
by middle school he'd outgrown the costumes and shifted his attention to high dollar fashion, buying and selling for a profit. (costuming turned commerce!) and by high school, he'd announced his intention to join our armed forces and could describe with enormous detail the vision he had for himself in that role. he lived in that vision with a certainty and wholeheartedness that i've rarely seen in my life - never doubting that he would embody it in time. and he was right. a week into beast, in a letter dated july 6th, he wrote: "I have officially received my first piece of military fatigues and it feels amazing!...I'm not just playing dress up anymore, Momma."
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| CBT 2018: Luke Slays the Beast, a first-hand account |
when i sent luke the bound copy of his letters from beast, he reread his words with curiosity and the benefit of hindsight, and filled in the context of each letter for me, with what didn't make it onto the pages. though the book tells a complete story of his summer experience, complete with plot, character development, catharsis, and resolution, he wisely sees it as the introduction to a longer story and cherishes it as such. but for me, as his mother, his beast story serves as a metaphorical and metaphysical reminder of the power of the pen.
ever since luke was able to speak, he was in character. the characters changed over time and included his cartoon heroes (like bob the builder), his animal obsessions (like the tiger shark, whose costume he created with a sharpie and a cardboard fin taped to a shirt), and people he looked up to in his world (such as "the landscaping man" he embodied for hours and hours, meticulously grooming hedges and edges as a three year-old toddler.) i wish i knew how many hours and dollars we spent on costumes over the first ten years of his life.
by middle school he'd outgrown the costumes and shifted his attention to high dollar fashion, buying and selling for a profit. (costuming turned commerce!) and by high school, he'd announced his intention to join our armed forces and could describe with enormous detail the vision he had for himself in that role. he lived in that vision with a certainty and wholeheartedness that i've rarely seen in my life - never doubting that he would embody it in time. and he was right. a week into beast, in a letter dated july 6th, he wrote: "I have officially received my first piece of military fatigues and it feels amazing!...I'm not just playing dress up anymore, Momma."
his words reminded me that we are method actors of the highest caliber in the stories we write for ourselves, typecasting ourselves from the mirror of our self-image. it's easy to get that twisted... to believe our self-image is the internal reflection of how we show up in the world, but in fact, it's precisely the opposite. we show up and star in our stories exactly as we cast ourselves, an oscar-worthy performance in a role we believe is ours with our entire heart and soul.
as the sole author of my story, i'm renewed with the fullness of my creative power. the creative autonomy and inspiration to author a story much bigger than what my present reality may be. and the certainty that as i embody the role i pen for myself, don the costume, and take the stage, the universe will provide the supporting cast, production, and soundtrack.
d: a story of abundance
b: gifted storytelling is a family trait
g: beautiful stories that i'm honored to play a role in
as the sole author of my story, i'm renewed with the fullness of my creative power. the creative autonomy and inspiration to author a story much bigger than what my present reality may be. and the certainty that as i embody the role i pen for myself, don the costume, and take the stage, the universe will provide the supporting cast, production, and soundtrack.
d: a story of abundance
b: gifted storytelling is a family trait
g: beautiful stories that i'm honored to play a role in
