There's More Than One Way To Tell a Story

There's more than one way to tell a story.

For example, Randy just took me on a "surprise" vacation, which I could describe like this:

We left on motorcycle around 1 p.m. The sky was thick with smoke from neighboring forest fires. Even with the smoke the temperature pushed 95 degrees. I was uncomfortably hot in the jacket and helmet Randy insists I wear. Damn him for caring so much about my safety. As I struggled against the sweat and smoke, I cut my finger on a loose tooth of the jacket's zipper just as a bee flew into Randy's chest, somehow finding its way under his shirt. He had no choice but to kill it with his bare hands at 70 mph, but not before it sank its stinger multiple times into his chest. Shortly thereafter I heard a snap. One of our straps broke, sending a saddle bag flying into oncoming traffic. I looked back in time to see it explode all over the highway, along with all of its contents. Before we could land for the evening we ran out of gas in a town that had only one pump, which had been shut down for hours. (It was Sunday, after all.) We eventually found our way to a historic hotel, the kind with no TV or internet and creepy pictures of your great-grandparents on the bedroom walls. What kind of omen was it that we would literally be shaken out of bed the next morning? An earthquake. Rattling those creepy pictures on the wall. We should have seen that snowstorm coming...

Or I could describe the vacation like this:

Randy and I stopped on the side of the highway to take a selfie at the California/Oregon border. Sixteen months before he had flown to Philadelphia to meet me as my plane from Madrid landed on American soil. We went out for Philly cheesesteaks, making Pennsylvania the first U.S. state we had experienced together. Now, 16 months later, Oregon was officially our 16th state. What a season of adventure! We welcomed the cool air of Oregon. Skies were overcast and a bit rainy, a nice change from the California heat and drought. It also meant Sunriver, the resort where Randy had booked our stay, was much quieter than normal. It had the feel of having it all to ourselves. We didn't encounter a single canoe, kayak or paddleboard as we coasted down the Deschutes River, though some bikers along a nearby path did get to witness a flock of geese buzz our heads. We enjoyed the river so much we often paddled upstream so as to make our 3-mile journey last as long as possible. As we began our 2-day journey home we stopped to view Pauline Falls and were delighted by the few snowflakes that fluttered through the air. Delighted might not be the word to describe how we felt when we reached the visitor's center at Crater Lake National Park, however. Drenched. Colder than we've maybe ever been. But I soon discovered what an opportunity it was to show love. I was freezing when we got off the bike to run in for a cup of coffee. But when I saw that Randy too was uncomfortably cold, my attitude changed just as quickly from "I'm miserable" to "how can I make this easier for him." When I asked him what he needed he said he needed me to be okay. So I bought a fleece jacket for myself and two cups of coffee. As much as we were ready to check-in to Crater Lake Lodge and hunker down for the night, we quickly discussed it and decided what we really needed to do was to get off that mountain as soon as possible. Some of the other visitors told us the snow had just started and wasn't likely to stop anytime soon. Within a few hours we were clear of the mountain and even dry thanks to the 70 degree temps in Medford. When we finally did check in to a room for the night we met an older gentleman who told us of a 17-day motorcycle ride he took through Alaska. "It rained for 12 of them," he said. "My son was with me. I wouldn't change a thing." He obviously understood the beaming smiles on our faces from our latest adventure. 

All of the details from both versions are true. What's different is the attitude in which they are told. The first focuses on the negative, the discomfort, the "bad omens". The second focuses on the positive, on our relationship, on gratitude.

I am so grateful that Randy and I share the second focus. When we lost our saddle bag in the middle of traffic he wasn't even phased. When we ran out of gas it was an excuse to talk to the owner of the Saloon who just happens to keep a gallon of gas on hand. When we were safely down that snowy mountain Randy took the time to tell me that my calm strength and trust in him just made him fall a little deeper in love with me.

Reality is that we don't always get to choose when bad things, unexpected things, challenging things happen to us. But we always get to choose the attitude with which we confront them.