I'm just not a storyteller. Not that I have never tried to be one though.
I used to write a lot, actually. I had a blog, not a popular one, but it was such a relief to my soul to be able to express myself in the way I just wanted.
Now, life has change, for good. Moving to New York from South America has been such an amazing experience, but it has been nothing comparing to raise a child. In that regard, I am the luckiest to have the best wife in the world, so loving and caring about our baby's permanent needs. And our baby is just... perfect.
Ok, let's be specific. He cries, he gets frustrated when he can't move the way he would like to, he can't sleep all night long, he wakes up earlier than I ever could, all that baby staff that people are so afraid to face. But I couldn't think of it as a bad thing, not even close to that. I love him, I want to be with him, I miss him when he goes to sleep. I can't help it, I must stare at him. Maybe I'm a creepy daddy. I don't care.
Neither I care about singing baby songs in the streets, taking him in his baby carrier to everywhere (some people actually thought I was a very fat person when he was too little to be seen from outside), attending concerts where babies are not very welcome, making funny faces in the subway. When he's around, expectations about how I would behave doesn't count anymore...
Let me correct myself. There is a tiny little cute person whose expectations really count. He would probably not look at me the way other people would when I open my eyes and smile like crazy. On the contrary, he would smile with so much awe and wait for me to do the next funny thing to making him laugh out loud, shiny opened eyes, arms and legs shaking, all his body committed to the task of enjoying life. That's the only, true expectation that I care.
In this whole new sense of being a human being that means to be a father, I suddenly also became a storyteller. I enjoy telling stories to my baby boy. I love to sing songs to him and to share emotions with him, and I really, really want to be good at it.
My purpose in writing this blog is to share my practice to become a true storyteller, one who can help his little son going to bed with the most sweet, magical, meaningful dreams. One who can inspire in him so much attention and compassion, and help him grow in mindfulness and creativity. One who can plant the seed of joy and reverence and who continues to nurture with love his own path to adultness.
By doing that, I also hope to share experiences and to hear from other storyteller fathers and get connected with them. We face such a huge task. Why don't we do this together?
Best to all,
Al
I used to write a lot, actually. I had a blog, not a popular one, but it was such a relief to my soul to be able to express myself in the way I just wanted.
Now, life has change, for good. Moving to New York from South America has been such an amazing experience, but it has been nothing comparing to raise a child. In that regard, I am the luckiest to have the best wife in the world, so loving and caring about our baby's permanent needs. And our baby is just... perfect.
Ok, let's be specific. He cries, he gets frustrated when he can't move the way he would like to, he can't sleep all night long, he wakes up earlier than I ever could, all that baby staff that people are so afraid to face. But I couldn't think of it as a bad thing, not even close to that. I love him, I want to be with him, I miss him when he goes to sleep. I can't help it, I must stare at him. Maybe I'm a creepy daddy. I don't care.
Neither I care about singing baby songs in the streets, taking him in his baby carrier to everywhere (some people actually thought I was a very fat person when he was too little to be seen from outside), attending concerts where babies are not very welcome, making funny faces in the subway. When he's around, expectations about how I would behave doesn't count anymore...
Let me correct myself. There is a tiny little cute person whose expectations really count. He would probably not look at me the way other people would when I open my eyes and smile like crazy. On the contrary, he would smile with so much awe and wait for me to do the next funny thing to making him laugh out loud, shiny opened eyes, arms and legs shaking, all his body committed to the task of enjoying life. That's the only, true expectation that I care.
In this whole new sense of being a human being that means to be a father, I suddenly also became a storyteller. I enjoy telling stories to my baby boy. I love to sing songs to him and to share emotions with him, and I really, really want to be good at it.
My purpose in writing this blog is to share my practice to become a true storyteller, one who can help his little son going to bed with the most sweet, magical, meaningful dreams. One who can inspire in him so much attention and compassion, and help him grow in mindfulness and creativity. One who can plant the seed of joy and reverence and who continues to nurture with love his own path to adultness.
By doing that, I also hope to share experiences and to hear from other storyteller fathers and get connected with them. We face such a huge task. Why don't we do this together?
Best to all,
Al
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