A beginning is never just a beginning
It is the storyteller's prerogative to begin a story from any time and any place. This may sound counter-intuitive, but I rarely begin a story from the start. Or else, if I do, my start will morph and evolve many times before it becomes the formal point of beginning.
We like to believe that we are in control: of our lives, of our journeys, of our work, of the people around us. But, in truth - while we are imagining ourselves to be forging ahead - we are actually a mere talking point in someone else's narrative. This may sound depressing, but it isn't meant to: all the people who are in your life, are part of your narrative too.
The idea that we are all an asynchronous chorus, that sometimes comes together and sometimes doesn't, sometimes harmonises and sometimes clashes, promises an unpredictable and diverse ride. It adds interest where you least expect it, and intrigue when you may be seeking quite the opposite. It also challenges us to reframe where we imagine ourselves to be. Do I believe myself to be at the beginning of a new year, a new job, a new relationship?
Perhaps I am further off, or closer than I think?
Perhaps the place where I begin is actually the middle of someone else's narrative?
Perhaps what I have just ended, isn't really closed, but is actually a portal to something new?
Perhaps my perception of where I am - and in fact who I am - is completely different to someone else who is also a part of my story?
One thing is for certain, in the world of a storyteller, a beginning is never just a beginning and the end is never really the end; these are all interwoven paths that loop, stretch, double back and allow you to imagine a universe of endless voices, endless tales and endless possibilities.