Now, I wish I were making this up. But, it seems to be that everyday, at one point, I state to someone “I wish I was making this up”. Sometimes I add in an extra word after “this”. It all depends on how much of an emphasis I want to make on the zanniness of the situation. But that’s not the point here. The point is that I have more than enough material to have something zany to share each day. I would actually go so far as to say, I might make that statement about a minimum of three times a day.

Here’s the thing. I’m a storyteller. Always have been. I was a champion storyteller in middle school. Yes, there was such a thing. I don’t know whether that still exists but it helped me develop an active imagination. Or perhaps it was vice versa. Classic cause and effect conundrum. Being a storyteller means that I need my classic stories and new material. And each year, each place most certainly provides for funny, sad, and outrageous stories. I have lived in 19 cities. I have stories. Some are meant for happy hour. Some are meant for Sunday brunch. Some are meant for the watercooler. A few, perhaps, are meant for the darkest of nights. Storytelling is such an art form. And, I’m so happy to be able to practice day in and day out.

The other day, a colleague noted that they were done with me as the story I told that day had surpassed a grand level of outrageousness. And, it was not a story about me per se but a story about a friend that could easily be turned into a movie. This colleague wondered why it is that I know such an interesting cast of characters. I know liars. I know conmen. I know grand kind-hearted people. The latter usually serve as inspiration for my aspirational stories.

What I like even more than my stories is being able to tell people that I wish I was making it up. Or more specifically, I love when something comes to light and validates my story. And, I can shrug and say “see, I can’t make this stuff up.” I get such a sense of glee.