The Stories I Tell

One way of looking at the world is that it is a continuous series of stories...stories that I tell and re-tell. I don't mean the kind of stories we tell to children at bedtime, around the campfire or those designed to elicit a specific response, like a scary story looking for screams.

I mean the stories I tell in my head, pretty much non-stop. Stories that grow into bigger stories the more I tell them, even a way of looking at life, and perhaps, eventually, the nature of my life itself.

It's easy for me to tell the story of how life and work are hard. I tell myself that the only way to survive is to work hard, and that nobody is willing to work harder than I. Then I tell the story again...and again. I embellish it, get very good at delivering it, and I begin to tell it aloud, to whomever will listen. It doesn't take long for the story to assume the nature of a complaint. Because it is really not what I want. But it is the story I am telling, the story of my life.

I really want a life of ease, a life of success, a life with plenty of time to sit and read, to walk in the forest, or sail on the open water. However, I have told the story that life and work are hard, and that is what my life has become.

So, what about the idea of telling a different story? Well, it's easy for me to tell the old story again and again. To be truthful, I am a bit lazy about it, (hard worker that I am) so I keep telling the same story, instead of a different one.

But I am focused on what I want enough to tell a better story. (I'm learning here) I re-tell the story, and begin to change some of the details. My edits and embellishments are of my choosing, not just the observation of life as it seems to be. And, strange as it was to me at first, my life mimics my re-telling of the story.

The nice thing? I get to decide what story I tell.