In It

A soldier fighting on the battlefield tells a much better story than one who hears about the details on the news.

Work was hellish last week. It felt like the battlefield. It felt like blood and sweat, muscles aching, raising my loaded gun at the apparent enemy, wielding my weapons that can do serious damage. My desire scaring me. I wanted to jack some patients right in the face. Engaging at a psych hospital is dangerous. I am dangerous. Yet even more dangerous is the belief that I am not.

That to say, it is good to fight. Goodness. Goodness is bloody, angry, grieving, joyful. Goodness is instead of looking on from miles away, getting close enough to bleed. And no one can tell better stories than one who has the wounds to prove it.

I want to tell better stories. I want them to be less anesthetized. I want them to be more personal and more dangerous. Only then will they be stories of real life. Only then will they play a part in the grandest story of all.

"When you tell the story, the way you were in it, when I can smell your breath in the details, you tell a damn good story."