It took me a lot of time before I decided that I actually wanted to do it this way; to start off my experience with something wonderful by talking about something horrible, that I cannot change, which somehow manages to make it even worse. I decided that, since I am here to create and tell stories, I might as well give my reason why.

At the time this was written, it will have been one year, two weeks, four days. I was watching some obscure German drama. The subtitles were dreadfully done, and I could only comprehend about a third of what I was watching. In spite of this, I was halfway through, and hopelessly invested. My mother and I were voicing our half-baked, misinformed theories to each other, making corrections to things we did not know, as if we were both directing each other through a dark room. My phone rang, and the night was even more exciting.

A lot of films and shows tend to make subtle jokes regarding phone calls as a means of cheap storytelling. It's funny and moves the plot to where it needs to be in a fast, almost seamless way. Typically, if a scene is grim, an anonymous voice from over the phone will lighten the room with wonderful news. To contrast, if the mood is bright, the same faceless caller will reveal something terrible and, in both scenarios, everything will change. There are a few gem moments in life when something stupid like that will happen, some random plot device that hardly works in film will spit on you for real. I, of course, experienced the latter.

There really is no way to describe the news of a friend’s sudden death without feeling like a complete and utter cliche. At least, there is no way that I have figured out quite yet. I went through all of the motions while I waited for the faceless bearer of horrific news, who was actually a mutual friend, to knock on my door. I sat on my bed in frustrated silence. I broke a glass. I was angry that I wasn't crying or breathing or thinking, or doing anything normal people are supposed to do when tragedy happens. He would have told me to get my shit together.

We sat on my front porch, me with my messenger, drinking mint tea and talking about him. It turned into a conversation about life in general, and it seemed as though there was little comfort to be taken in anything anymore. Our ideas were grim. It was cold, but that didn't bother us. All that mattered was him--how he lived, how he loved, how he died. I still cling tightly to the almost silly words he lived by that were actually kind of genius.

"I live to tell stories."

This is how I have started making decisions. When I want to cancel, fidget, hesitate, make excuses, I have to wonder what kind of story I would be able to tell if I just shut up and did it. Whenever I find myself dreading a situation, a decision, anything, I wonder how good the story will be if I just do it. I wonder if it would make him laugh.

And then, the craziest thing happens--I do it. I make brighter, more spontaneous decisions. Whether it goes exactly as I planned--which it never does and never will--or horribly wrong, I always end up with something to talk about it. I tend to panic when plans are unclear, or when things change, or I simply cannot control something. Doing it this way, however, by simply shifting my perspective rather than forcing a change, has made a significant difference.

Austin valued himself based on how he made other people feel. No matter the mood he was in, he was truly the light of every room he walked into. He was around to entertain, and he lived by this. Between all of the stupid and beautiful things he would do, no matter how ugly or foolish or wonderful, he would always pair it with an amazing story, for what else was one to do if they were not making others happy? What was the point of all of these experiences if they were just for one person?

To live to tell stories is to live for other people while remembering to do things for yourself. Do it because it could be interesting. Do it because it could be funny. Do it just to make a bit of a mess. I'm doing my best to go through life with this little piece in my back pocket, and the best thing I can do is share it. People are listening--tell your stories.