Thursday, December 5, 2013

telling your story and mine

Possibly ...

Every (wo)man's life is just the story on the next (wo)man's lips. Such tales provide context and control and consolation and meaning.

S/he is a woman; s/he is a man; s/he is kind; s/he is cruel; s/he is tall; s/he is short; s/he is happy; s/he is sad; s/he is healthy; s/he is sick; s/he is a mom; s/he is a dad; s/he is smart; s/he is ignorant; s/he is competent; s/he is a klutz....

These stories are told every day without a backward glance. "Pete is a great mechanic," "Suzy is a terrific mom." I shape you and you shape me and thus we are shaped.

But the comfort and context and meaning of such stories hit a snag when a (wo)man tries to tell a personal story. The comfort and context and meaning I may find in telling your tale seems to be not at all so comforting or meaningful when I try to tell my own story.

I am a man ...
But wait! There's more.
I am a woman ...
But wait! There's more.
I am kind...
But wait! There's more.
I am a stock broker...
But wait! There's more.
I am a supermarket cashier...
But wait! There's more.
I am strong...
But wait! There's more.
I am weak...
But wait! There's more.
I am stupid...
But wait! There's more.
I am smart...
But wait! There's more.

And no matter how hard I try, there's always "more." The comfort and meaning and context and control I may find in telling your story doesn't seem to work very well or be very accurate when it comes to my own.

And if it doesn't work for me, what makes me imagine it could possibly work when I apply it to you as I search out comfort and context and meaning and consolation?

Following this Yellow Brick Road for long enough, perhaps there comes a time when, exhausted and out of breath, I exclaim, "I am this moment!"

Which, of course, is not true either because by the time the words have left these lips, "this moment" is long gone and the comfort and context and meaning and consolation I demand or long for is no where in sight. It's pretty confounding.

I see nothing wrong with stories, but I wonder if seeking comfort and meaning and context and control within their confines is especially wise.

They are, after all, just stories.

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