Scary Stories
During the season in which we search for the things that go "bump in the night", I want to take a deeper look at the stories we tell. Not the scary stories that we tell around a campfire, but the most scary stories: the stories that we tell ourselves. The stories we tell others, but mostly, the stories that we keep to ourselves.
Recently, I was texting a family member and decided to be vulnerable. I decided to say that I missed them and wanted to spend time with this person. I decided to say that I would travel the distance to see them. To my astonishment, the person simply responded as I'm busy and have my own travel plans for the holiday. I was shaken to the core. I could not imagine the other reasons that another person would be so unkind, especially someone that I though so highly of. Someone that inspires me in numerous ways. A person who I have previously worked so hard to ensure that they were proud of me. Someone that I could only see the good within. You see, in my story, this person would always be available for support. This person understood my struggles being from the same family of origin and would help re-build the broken bones of our dysfunctional skeleton of family. When this person proved to no longer fit into my exact characterization playing in my head, I froze. I panicked. I cried.
Later, I realized that I was shocked that this person did not fit into my mold and thus, I was being forced to make a decision-whether I would face the ever-changing story or cower away. After a while of pondering, I realized that my story may not have been the only story impacted in this event. I realized, that perhaps I had been characterized in a less favorable manner according to their storyline. Or, perhaps, I was one of the characters pushed to the side. The character that most do not know what to do with. Perhaps I was shelved for a time when we are all older, when there is more time to smooth out the wrinkles that the past created. I realized in my vulnerable state I presented a new story and disregarded his story. I thought that if I did these things that there would only be positivity to grow from them. I thought if I was honest and loving that people would say of course I love you too but realized that I could speculate at their storyline, or I could face the fact that I did not want to face my own story. The story that was being edited with, or without, my input.
The spooky part of our stories is that they never stop. They don't pause or erase-we can't go back and undo certain chapters. We also don't always choose all of the characters. I sometimes cringe at the thought of the characters that I continue to avoid because I did not invite them to the story. Some are a pleasant surprise, others are ones that I wish were different. I wonder how many of us are terrified of our stories at times. Have we been shaken by the politics in America? Shaken by the oppression within our world, shaken by the hatred spewing from the mouths of others. We think that we will lose some control if someone gets into office or we will be in violated in some egregious way, but I wonder how we deal with a threat to our story daily. When frigtened, most people will not seek out more fear (unless you are on a roller coaster or strolling through a Haunted House). Yet, stories are treated as the most fragile and most of us are afraid of "shaking up" that story. But, what if the story that we create in our heads keeps us from achieving our goals? What if that story blocks us from loving others and being loved? What if the story that was meant to keep us safe, does more harm? I wonder if there's a better story to be written. Our stories do not have to be spooky-they can be amazing. We can be creative and mold a better version of our story. I challenge each of you to take the spook out of the story, be open to learn the stories of others, and live a more fulfilling, courageous life.