Mists and Sands
Take a Rest
Whenever I travel, the first thing I’m generally reminded of is the story. The stories surround me. Walking down the street, I see the smiling old lady being led by her granddaughter. What has she seen over the last 80 years in Rio de Janeiro? What makes her smile so brightly?
Shuffling past goes an older man of African descent. He is carrying an easel, a somewhat heavy load. It’s apparent he’s on his way somewhere to paint. He’s focused and determined. What has led him to this point? What inspires him to create art? What sacrifices has he made to do so?
A bus goes by. Everyone is looking out the window. Forty different stories going down the street. Hopes, dreams, fears, tears. Yesterdays and tomorrows. Stories that have yet been told. Stories that will tell themselves.
Then I think about my story. How did I get here? Where am I going? Why? Today marks the beginning of my 40th year on this planet. My story started in Harlan, Kentucky, deep in the Appalachian mountains. And continues here, on the streets of a Rio de Janeiro Brasil, exactly forty years later.
I’ve arrived at this point with all of my toes, and most of my fingers. I was raised with lots of love and support from great parents. I’ve received insights and warnings from my brothers and friends. Some I’ve heeded, some I’ve ignored.
Yet here I am, traveling the world with a banjo, in search of that common song that connects our hearts and spirits. The song is the story. The story is the song. I know all stories must come to an end eventually. But as each chapter unfolds, my heart is ever expanding. My belief in the human spirit grows stronger.
What story are you writing? What story are you telling yourself? Are you happy with how your story is going? Or does it need a plot twist? In any case, pick up the pen, dip it in the ink, and start writing.
With love and gratitude, Andy Eversole