A few days ago, I received a message from a friend that read. “…today I finally met my new(ish) neighbor, Eric, as he was on his way to Haywood Street to make the pineapple upside down cake. We sang your praises together.”
She went on to tell me that as she conversed with Eric, she kept staring at the tattoos on his forearms, knowing she had seen them somewhere. It occurred to her later that she had seen them via Haywood Street’s ‘Marks & Memoire’series, along with the story I’d been lucky enough to capture.
I suppose it just warmed my heart. Because the point of any good storytelling, in my opinion, is to make a constellation out of human experience; to play connect the dots; to realize the very few degrees of separation.
I continue to be in gratitude for the people who bleed onto my pages; for the ones who step up to the challenge of vulnerability. I am grateful for all the stories that keep me guessing at who this God character is, while simultaneously providing me with the unwavering knowledge that he is each and every one of us — tattooed, tattered, manicured and millionaire.