The Shortest Story Ever Told
Two words. A one-dimensional view of my worth.
I am always telling stories.
Some are long and convoluted. Some collapse inward on themselves like a dying star, imploding into greatness. Some meander and peter out without ever really going anywhere. My stories are lived and earned, and sometimes stolen. There are funny stories, and sad stories, and other stories somewhere in between. Words that fill, and float, and beat out a story onto the page. Words for days, words for years. Words stretched through all of time, sweet and ready to be plucked.
And then there is another type of story. A story told to me and to you. It’s just two words; you probably know this one.
Work hard.
I did not arrive here with this story, stored somewhere in my deep reptilian mind. It was told to me, to my parents, and to theirs, and theirs before them. All the parents and all the children in all the lineages of the world told: “Work hard.”
Work hard, and you can achieve anything. Work hard, and you’ll receive all you desire — that’s a guarantee. Work hard enough, long enough, and the world — that place of fairy tale and power — kisses your fingertips, like snowflakes in July.
