The Story Collector

by Evie Woods

We alter together with each season, transforming, yet always staying true to our nature.

But my mother would argue that to lose one’s intellect is akin to letting seeds wither and die in the dark ground, and she routinely wins the argument.

His final words were the most poignant of all. ‘If we lose our stories,’ he wrote, ‘we lose ourselves.’

‘I understand; you end up saying what you think they want to hear. There’s a fear in all of us, that we’ll lose the relationship. But I suppose we end up losing ourselves instead.’

You made your plans, but life had other ideas and somehow you had to make peace with that. Find the meaning in it and let it change you. Fighting to stay the same was the problem.

Life was like a great painting; if you only focused on one part, you would miss the full picture.