Story Telling

I’ve always loved stories. In church, or school, I sat up when someone told a story. Just hearing the words “once upon a time” made me eager to hear what was coming next. Stories are easy to understand, and can be remembered for years. I was fortunate to find jobs that allowed me to use my love of stories for good. Stories can help people understand things that lie deep within, sometimes beyond logic’s overwhelming grasp.

I recently realized how long I’ve been telling stories, not all of which have been helpful. The stories I am referring to are the ones I've told myself since I was a child. Looking in the mirror, I told myself stories about my body. Playing sports, I told myself stories about my abilities. And when I was pulled out of class for special attention because of my dyslexia, I told myself stories about my intellect. I doubt I’m alone, but the stories I've told are unique to me, and I’ve carried them for a long, long time.

The stories I’ve told myself (and even shared with others, so they could tell them too) helped make sense of the world and my place in it.  It never dawned on me to questioned the stories I was telling. They've provided a convenient explanation of things, even if they weren't true. I’ve come to see how false some of my stories have been, and how much they’ve held me back.

            Questioning the stories we tell can be disconcerting. What if I’m not who I’ve always said I am? What if I've encased this person in a story that isn't true? What if the way I remember and event isn't completely accurate? Then what? In some sick and twisted way, holding a false narrative feels more comfortable and safe than the uncertainty of questioning long-held stories. Like sitting in a car stuck in a ditch, you at least know where you are! As absurd as that sounds, it’s what many of us do.

            On the other side of our discomfort, however, on the other side of the uncertainty, is new life. I can’t say I know this to be true, because it's all new to me, but I believe it is. With fear and trepidation, I’m beginning to question my stories, I’m reaching down and putting the car in drive. It’s time to get out of the ditch and see what’s down the road.

Want to come along?