I made my way to the New York City Public Library main branch. Even though I have visited the Bryant Park area several times, I somehow had no idea what treasures the library held. Yes, the building is gorgeous, but I wanted to look at a special exhibit. Some of the original Hundred Acre Woods characters were on display. It was a must-stop. I grew up loving Pooh, and the adventures wove through the next generation as my girls grew.
We had them all. We almost lost Roo decades ago. I thought Piglet had recently disappeared. (Don’t worry: he’s been found.) All the stuffies invite a new generation to tell the stories AA Milne crafted, as well as creative stories of their own.
As I looked at the old, protected stuffed animals, they looked lonely at first glance. They just sat there in a sterile box. They looked like they could never be loved, but they were, and not just by the original owner but because stories were shared. I learned even more through the few sentences describing the display. Roo wasn’t included because he had apparently been lost in an apple orchard. Even when he disappeared, it seems he was having an adventure.
That’s what stories do—share adventures and invite participation, reflection, and opportunities. And it’s why we share. For me, it often includes writing but it also includes talking and doing life together. I’m no AA Milne or any other reputable author, but I want to share life.
It’s risky. Inviting people into our lives always is. We can do it for the wrong reasons. We can let selfishness, pride, status, and influence cloud the conversation. We can disengage and make it a stiff obligation or rote exercise. But when it’s personal, lived, embraced, it challenges and invites others into adventures and growth.
The stories of Pooh aren’t simply words on pages. They are dipped in experiences, imagination, and possibilities. They are connected to reality but not restrained by it. We live our own stories, grounded in reality, yet they open a door into possibilities, where we can reflect, change, grow, stop, begin, deepen, broaden, and move. What ends up on display might seem stiff and inert, but look a little farther into what has come before the moment—and the possibilities of after.
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