By Eliza Wing
Our minds make up stories. They don’t tell us the TRUTH, they create narratives around what we perceive, what we wish was true, what we think others are doing/saying/thinking. The brain is like a fevered novelist, pumping out adventure after adventure with you, the hero(ine) as the central character.
Depending on our experiences and the way that we have shaped our related memories, this very productive novelist (she’d be a best-selling author with a tremendous backlist) will happily weave tales about you as the beleaguered and battered character whom no one understands. Or perhaps you are the courageous hero ready to take on all enemies who emerges wounded but victorious (I’m not dead yet!). Maybe you are the romantic lead who simply can’t find THE ONE. You get the drift….
Depending on where you are in your story, you might think of yourself embroiled in a tragedy (my spouse has died and I am alone) or a redemption story: My spouse died and I was very lonely but then I moved to Europe and bought an old villa which I redid and turned into a successful retreat center (that was a fun! And no I don’t wish my spouse would kick the bucket).
Here’s the thing, understanding that we are all creating narratives helps us to understand that others are doing the same and they likely have a quite different story that they are running. Simply by recognizing that there are a gazillion narrative arcs running all around you is freeing.
And…. It’s very important to have a healthy sense of perspective in your own tale. You know when you are reading a book, and you get all swept up in the narrative? It’s as if you are in the pages, suffering and loving and generally carousing through pages. We don’t want that as we proceed in our own stories. Instead, we want to take a more objective stance (think of it as shifting the narrative voice from “I” to “she/he”). A little perspective is a good thing.
Then, once you have accepted that you are building a narrative out of what are basically random life events and memories, it’s a good and fine thing to lean into it. To use the framework of story as a way of understanding your own path.
I was working with a client recently who is going through quite a rough patch. If they were in Princess Bride, they’d probably be in the Fire Swamp surrounded by lightning sand. Not a great place.
The Hero’s Journey as told throughout time has a common structure centered on idea of being tested. In fact, without the test, there is no redemption or metamorphosis (the point of many of our myths).
Invariably, the hero sets off on a quest, equipped with what they think will best help them on the journey – a sturdy steed, a goatskin filled with water, a warm cloak – you get the picture. They are on their way with the tools that they have and that have worked for them in the past.
As my client and I talked through recent trials, we talked about lives as stories and that our narrative is shaped by the way we choose to tell it. This low point could be seen as the end with no redemption in sight. Or my client could see that they are, in fact, just at the point where they muster all their courage, take stock of their strengths and provisions and helpers and venture on.
Something to consider: When you are being tested, what tools do you bring to bear? Who is there to help you along the way?
Remember that often, at the darkest hour, the hero digs deep and emerges stronger and changed. Without the struggle, there is no redemption.
If the hero had stayed back at the castle or the inn or the safe harbor, they’d never have discovered the beauty at the far end of their known world. It’s an oft told tale and in this case, it’s no story but a truth.
Sometimes you must wade through a mess of terrible crap, or, you know, a Fire Swamp to find your truth.
Saddle up.