Living one story after another.

I'm reading a book of short stories. They are entertaining stories. But I much prefer living my own short stories. Which is far better than writing a story. Living and writing are two very different experiences. Writing often is imaginary. Rather than actual living. That doesn't stop me from writing. About life. About my experiences. About my thoughts. But so many of my stories are never put into written words. Because the real satisfaction is in living the story. Which I do every day. Without miss. I live a power-packed story every day. A very entertaining story. Full of intimacy. Some days, I am fascinated and captivated and thoroughly entertained by the story I've lived. Nothing short of incredible. If I hadn't lived it, I wouldn't believe it. I'm in Sardinia. An island in the Mediterranean Sea. With my Italian true love. I've made it happen. Not as a work of fiction. But real life. I have two homes. One in Minnesota. Back in the USA. But also in Sardinia. In Italy. It's the way I want to live. One day at a time. A story each day. Lived. Fully. I don't know how tomorrow's story will evolve. Because I still have to live it. And often I don't know how it will go from one moment to the next. I just let everything flow. Naturally. I plot a little bit ahead. But the plot can change. I'm flexible. I've mapped out a departure from Sardinia in February. For several weeks in Minnesota. To experience a genuine winter. But not for too long. I know my limits. By March, I'll be in sunny Arizona. Taking spring training with the Chicaggo Cubs. Watching exhibition baseball games. I'll be in Sardinia again in time for Easter. In early April. And maybe I'll return to Minnesota in June. For the duration of summer. Living one short story after another. Until the day I die. And then I expect life to still go on. Forever and ever. Making for an endless sequence of short stories. Lived. --Jim Broede