I do. Wait, I don’t. Well, I did.

I got married the first time in 1986. I was 23 years old, my husband, Harry, was 43. It was a match made in desperation, confusion, fantasy, escapism. Love was also there as was friendship but it played a smaller role in our marriage.

I didn’t so much want to be married as I wanted to move out of my parents’ house yet maintain the standard of living to which I was accustomed, and with Harry, I did just that.

It was not a bad marriage for the most part. We had some good times. We had few arguments (mainly because it is just not my nature to argue). I know when I am right, and I have developed a technique where I prod the other person just enough to “see the light.”

My husband and I became very good friends with another couple, Pat & Grady, who were also 20 plus years my senior. We would go to one another’s houses for dinner, drinks (lots of drinks) and just talk. We took vacations together. We consoled one another during our darkest times. We laughed. We danced, we cried; we shared some great times together.

I was always struck by the hilarious and to the number of stories that Grady would tell us. The stories were often repeated thanks to Jack Daniels, but never varied. I just remember thinking what an interesting life he had led. I would try to be included by telling my own stories. Mine never compared to Grady’s.

My daughter was born in 2003 after I had divorced Harry and I had said goodbye to my 30’s. As Lucy got older I began sharing with her, stories from my past. She had her favorites, and Lucy would get me to repeat them often. She would comment on how much she loved the stories. I always seemed to have a new story to tell. One story would beget another.

I think the stories help Lucy to see me more as just her Mom. She can see that I am much more dimensional than that. I learned that Grady had so many wonderful stories because Grady had lived so many more years than I had at the time.

Your story never ends. Each experience adds another chapter. Through living you are writing a book, not a diary. Share your stories. Share yourself.