I come from a long line of storytellers. As a young girl, I heard stories about my great-great-grandad—the one who believed better times were around the next bend in the road. “Yonder will be better,” was his rallying cry. I listened as my favorite aunt shared stories of life on the farm before telephones, televisions, and modern-day appliances. I was touched by the story of how my dad and mom met when she was a waitress in a small-town café, and he was fresh out of the US Air Force.

A few years after I graduated from high school, I attended my grandad’s funeral. As I looked down at those warn and gnarled hands, I wondered how many stories they held that he had never told me. I wished that I had taken the time to sit with him and record his stories as he talked. But more than that, I wished he had written them and passed them forward so I could read them whenever I needed to hear his voice and feel his encouragement.

I began keeping a journal and have filled many journals throughout my six-and-a-half decades. See, I want people generations from now to know I lived and loved, laughed and cried, failed and succeeded. I want them to know that if I could keep going through some of the crap in my life—some self-inflicted, some simply because of life—they can, too.

And I want to teach and encourage you to share your stories. Not the epic saga of years and years of life—the stories that make up your life. One story at a time. That’s all it takes. And that story will lead to another and another and another. Those stories will show the zigs and zags of a life that didn’t go as planned. They will be a testament of getting through hard things. They will paint a picture of who you are for those who will never meet you.

So, let’s take this journey together. Let me cheer you on as you begin sharing your stories—stories no one else can tell—one story at a time.