The End is only as good as the beginning.

Perspective and perception are the two things I've always championed.  No two people tell the same story in the same way and no story can be told without an audience.  For years I've over heard countless stories of harrowing feats, unannounced blunders, unlikely humor and realities shaped from just a tale spun.  I've always felt it a gift to hear tales of someone's past as it helps shape not just their perception of life but your own perception of who they are.  We all have stories that just like required reading in high school have to be told to the masses.  Over the years I've always said how great it would be to promote such works that truly deserve the word press. Myself, a self proclaimed writer from the first grade, can maybe express someone's own story through my own filter. With my own prejudice, my own style, in a way fitting that might in a perfect world do justice to not just the person but their story.  Even in my own grammar riddled run on way. Retold in a way fitting to the beholder and beholden.  

 This idea, pursuit maybe, has been something I've muddled over for years. I remember talking to my gramma in high school about this exact thing. Thinking her own story should be told to the masses for such a strong women she truly is. (and still is 15 years later)

Obligatory background story ensuing;

My senior year was pretty much one for the record books. Dealing with not just every teenagers own woes and petty problems believing them to be so worldly that it should involve the sun revolving around me but also real world issues of loss that don't need to be retold so much. One great break from such selfish loathing was student council and the free spirited approach to school. One such day was running an errand for my teacher that at the time was probably a needed break from the rigors of dealing with day to day senior life and the inevitable break into adulthood. (though even at 34 now I'm not sure if I can be an adult if I still eat cereal for dinner and avoid looking at my bank account like its the Birdbox) *insert blindfolded Sandra bullock looking at my chase app* On to the said errand. Replacing a tire for my teacher. Score one for me for not only leaving school but also driving a teachers car and even on top of that being so socially responsible at 18 that a teacher trusts you to drive off in their car with a crappy tire! Ten minutes later dropping car off at tire shop and insert another ten minutes for my ensuing walk to my grammas house. Also don't speculate over the fact that not only do I say gramma but also spell it out as gramma. Inside the house 18 year old Tim helps himself to a few cookies, I think now I can see who I should blame over my sweet addiction and incessantly hard belly to lose, and sits down at the table to chat it up for the next hour.  As my conversation turned to her crazy youth life bouncing around from different relatives, a dead nanny from drano (a story that will be sent to my favorite murder in due time!) and possible shady business done by relatives I was enthralled. The whole time debating on grabbing a pen and paper or wishing it was 2018 and just pop out my iPhone to record everything and save so much time. That day I told her that I really wish I could write the story of the McCubbin's lives. Or retell it in my blog that at the time was  once again filled with such angsty self loathing that would make Anne Frank check her own diary.  Now fast forward a decade, countless cookie filled pounds and grey hairs later, I think I just might do that.

Now I wont kid myself, like any other adventure I've ever started including such feats as keto diets, insanity dvd workouts, countless books and a marriage it might not last as long as I believe it to be. Yet I'm never one to discount the act of the try. Even if this does end as fast as it started, it's only as good as it's beginning.

Boom full circle. yes I did that on ya. No going back. Cyclical.  Now just insert any meme where it shows the actor saying the name of the movie.