Almost everyone loves a good story, whether a formal tale or that anecdote about the guy in the supermarket. It’s one reason gossip is fuel for so many and, I’m guessing, is also the basis for serious insights revealed in therapy. 

One version of story — I might argue the most pervasive version — is what our minds “say” about feelings and events. It may indeed be raining. Someone hit you. Joe actually said those words. I might like rain, see the blow as a playful punch, and know Joe was teasing. However, you might experience rain as depressing, be scared of such violent action, and feel violated by Joe’s words. When one starts identifying our interpretations as story, it can be very freeing even when the interpretation is negative. And when we start looking at being powerful in the world, truly wanting to contribute to positive change, just beginning to see this is important.

However, there are other sides of story. There are the ones we hear and read. But today the sides I’m fascinated with are the ones that explain how we’ve evolved and are evolving into our best selves. This is the part of you that, perhaps, loves animals, understands music, and smiles at strangers. The part of you that yearns to change the world, that wants to make a powerful difference, has also been formed by story. 

Because often our default in stories about ourselves is negative, and we usually tell those stories to share our vulnerability, I dare you to look deeper. Other stories are there.

I got to this point by realizing I’m sometimes impatient when people see situations as hard (yes, I know I don’t know all of the details). And I realized why.  One day I was simply walking down the street by the main branch of the Cincinnati public library (officially the Cincinnati and Hamilton County Public Library), headed to meet my son for dinner. Suddenly I fell down. I didn’t trip. I didn’t pass out. My shoes were tied. There wasn’t a bump. I just fell. Flat on my face.  Well, at least I turned my head. After I convinced the 20-year-olds passing by that they didn’t need to call 911 and was given some Kleenex by one of them, I proceeded on, got some ice for my head from the restaurant’s bartender, and had dinner. Two days later I finally went to my doctor who diagnosed a mild concussion. And the remedy for a mild concussion is low light and no activity. 

So, I thought, in the best new age manner, “What is my body trying to tell me?” Clearly, since my body simply fell, it was trying to get my attention about something. As I lay there in the low light, I realized it seemed to be calling me to be simply present. It was saying that planning and forced acting wasn’t me. And for a year, I easily lived in that space.

But at the end of the year I was diagnosed with an odd kind of leukemia. Clearly, in this story of listening to my body, my body was actually shouting. This time the attention getting involved three weeks in the hospital, first with chemo, second through a process of resetting my white blood count, and finally the diagnosis and treatment for a nasty MERSA infection. Apparently, being present was still too active. I was called just to be.

Personally, I love this story. Mainly because it works. People talk about internal mind chatter (yes, I do still have some), how hard it is to live in “now,” and being overwhelmed with day-to-day demands. Apparently, almost dying (as my doctor once impatiently reminded me) can make just being almost always easy. Note that through just being, multiple things happened, or got done if you prefer, such as publishing two books* and moving across the country.

This, too, is a story. Somewhere there is a story that works for  you. Perhaps it’s about learning how to love. Or what happened when your kids finally realized they didn’t know everything. Maybe it has something to do with seeing, really seeing, that you’re good at skiing or gardening or playing the Legend of Zelda. Or whatever you like to do.

You may learn that you can relax enough to begin a story where you, too, find the advantages of presence, being, and ease.

Play with it. It’s time to give your positive stories space and love. I dare you to share!

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All photos by Spirit Moxie – from the top:

Main branch of the Cincinnati Library – 2019
B’s shadow on sidewalk
Rock – “Believe in Yourself” (Don’t really know the source of this photo, do you?)

*Books: Moxie Moves: 10 easy ways to make a powerful difference
Talking to Trees through poetry and pictures