Some people love food. They try new restaurants, create new recipes, discuss culinary treats of all sorts. Other people love traveling. They backpack across continents, mingle with the locals, sight see cathedral and canyon. Yet others like wine. They frequent Sonoma, buy expensive bottles, taste with their sensitive palate. Or perhaps adventure: these people skydive, white water raft, swim with sharks.
I love stories. I love reading fiction, listening to people's lives, writing. In medicine, I enjoy patient narratives, learning about who they are, even thinking about the evolution of their diseases. I like drunk speeches, bedtime stories, historical accounts, philosophical arguments. I can't converse about sports figures or movie stars, but I like talking about authors. Instead of collecting souvenirs from worldly travels or fine wines, I have a folder with my favorite short fiction and a collection of my favorite poems. I rarely talk about food; instead, I talk about the conversation held over dinner. Everyone has their thing; stories are mine.
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1 comment:
how did this happen? did our mothers not read enough to us when we were kids?
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