The Stories We Tell Ourselves
I’m aware of four kinds of stories:
There are fairy tales that we read to and tell our children when they say, “Tell me a story.” We spin yarns about fantasy worlds, places they’ve never seen and characters who don't exist, like Santa Claus, the tooth fairy, Rumplestilskin, enchanted forests, princesses and fairy godmothers. It’s all about the imagination and it captivates anyone who hears it.
Then there are the fantasies we make up about people we don't know. When I was twelve and thirteen, I shuttled from Worcester to Boston four times a week for my ballet training. Sometimes my mother drove me but when I took the Greyhound Bus, I’d look at the people around me and invent made up lives about them. The girls behind me who were whispering and giggling were on their way to meet their boyfriends on the sly. A young man across from me was an athlete on his way to play a championship game. A woman in the front row had had a row with her husband and she’d left him to start a new life. Anything to pass the time.
The third kind of stories are real and personal – our true stories. our lifeblood, a part of our DNA, the way we uniquely see life based on the events and circumstances that have come our way during our lives. These are filled with the lessons we learn as we walk along the path of life that will eventually take us back home.
This above trio of kinds of stories delight us, sustain us, teach us and help us find meaning. But there are also destructive ones, the fourth kind, that we tell ourselves based on a painful past or visions of an ominous future. These are the worst case scenarios that we torture ourselves with and leave us paralyzed with fear:
• Someone must be mad at me. I didn't go to his party and he’ll never speak to me again.
• I’ve written something so bad, my class will wonder why I think I can teach them anything.
• I’ll never feel good again.
• My old age will be painful and terrible.
• I’ll die alone and destitute.
These made up terrors become the foundation for a load of negative stories to pile up, one on top of the other, until you can't find the original lie you told yourself. I’m all too familiar with these made up miseries. You could say I’m a pro at believing that whatever is going on is certain to have a negative outcome. I work at shifting my thinking, remembering not to believe myself when I feel insecure. “Change the channel,” I think. Often I’m successful at distracting myself. You can’t think two thoughts at the same time. But sometimes, no matter what I do or say, the mind loop continues until there are no pauses where I can uproot the source of the story and plant a kinder one.
I wonder why it’s so much easier to think the worst instead of the best. Maybe our past was so traumatizing, we can’t get beyond it. Or maybe it’s our programming. I remember sitting at the dinner table on Thanksgiving with my extended family who were talking about disasters. My mother silenced all of them when she put down her fork and said in a commanding voice, “The whole world is dangerous.” I was six years old and a shot of fear hit me in the solar plexus. My mother maintained her stance when she and I had to cross a street. She would take one step off the curb, throw an arm in front of me and yell in a terrified voice, “Watch it!” Even when there were no cars coming in either direction, that was her “crossing the street mantra” and it startled me every time.
I remember all these things but I believe that programming as not an excuse for current emotions. I recoil when someone says, “That’s just the way I am.” Expecting the worst doesn't help. Awareness does. We can all rewrite our history. Do you want to live a fear based life? I want to find some peace so I remind myself to slow down and pay attention to what I’m thinking. I look around me to focus on something solid and real. I tell myself that was then and this is now. I scan my body to find areas of tension and breathe into them – whatever brings me back to the present where there is no past or future.
This is hard to do. It’s easier to ride on the impetus of a negative story like a roller coaster, clutching the bar and screaming. But drama gets old after a while so we can step away, plant our feet on the ground and breathe ourselves into the present. It might not be exciting. It may not be dramatic. But if peace is the goal, mindfulness is the answer. Who wants to see the “whole world as dangerous?” I’d rather see it as an adventure, a place to explore and to feel connected to other people.
When I think about the people I’ve lost, their stories keep them alive and vibrant for me – the ones they told me, the ones I told them and the ones that I didn't tell them but I wish I had. It’s never too late. When a man I knew died of AIDS, there were important things I hadn’t said to him. I was upset until a friend said, “You didn't miss anything. You can start a whole new relationship with him now.” When I spoke to him in spirit and told him my stories, he seemed so vibrant and present, I was filled with love and hope.
Here’s my favorite story: Maybe graduating from the earth plane into the next chapter is not the booby prize.