I believe people have lots of stories, rather than just one. But I believe the One Story idea because you can learn a lot by the one main story someone tells you about their life. Is it a story about success? Fame? Victimhood? Misery? Love lost? Sexual adventures? Being misunderstood? Finding Jesus?
In thinking about this, I’ve thought about the stories I’ve told all my life, the ones I’ve used to explain myself and my life to new acquaintances, and I’ve resolved that some of those stories are old and worn-out and, really, have nothing to do with me any more. They tell nothing about me or my life or anything I care about. They’re just habit. But you’ve gotta have a story, right? When someone engages you in conversation and is trying to get to know you? And I’ve come up with a short and utterly true story that should tell anyone all they need to know about me.
1. I hate carrots. I hate the way they taste and their texture and especially that odd little core in the middle that makes me think of some weird skeletal structure. Or maybe bone marrow. They’re too sweet to be a legitimate vegetable and not sweet enough to be a fruit. The only thing I like about carrots is the color, and that’s not enough to redeem them.
2. Carrots are good for you. I know that.
3. I eat carrots every day.
The End.
What’s your story?
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13 comments:
Quite succinct!
I guess mine would be: As a kid, I used to run away constantly, because I was absolutely *positive* that hidden out somewhere in the hills of central Texas was a community of folks who I would identify with and fit in with.
Eventually, I found them, but they were in Tennessee.
Oh, by the way, I cannot stomach carrots either...though the only way I can eat them is if they're cooked to mush in a soup and no longer resemble there original taste or form.
cynjon, i love this story! what is it about texas and tennesee? so many people moving from one to the other. my grandfather moved here from tennessee--to get away from his second wife.
and that's all i know about my grandfather, pretty much. or about tennessee--except i guess that must mean i have some distant relatives somewhere there, huh?
Like you, Rice, my story has changed as I have changed (and, dare I say "aged"?). While mine used to seem to be a litany of miseries, they are still a part of my PAST and are no longer my Story.
I found love...at 40. It's more than I ever imagined and has given me wings to be myself, find my true self, and explore the world in any way I wish. Love really IS grand.
Peace & Love,
♥ Barb ♥
There does seem to be an inordinate amount of folks who volley back and forth between the two states for whatever reason.
And since Blogger doesn't allow for editing of comments, I'm hereby replacing that "there" with "their" on my original comment. Yes, it would bug me out otherwise.
I like this idea as well!! It makes you think. Even summing who you are into one story makes you think... what is the important bit of you that you need in your story. The story that you tell about yourself would probably be different to the story someone else tells about you too!!
Cool! It's sort of like what my husband says about going to parties or other gatherings: have one good anecdote ready, tell it, then you'll be off the hook and you can listen to everyone else talk.
My story? I met a great guy when I was sixteen. We dated a couple of years, then I dumped him and proceeded to thoroughly trash my life. We got back together when I was thirty-six. It has been good. Better than good. That's my story arc.
Alas, some of the worst hells are the ones we bring on ourselves and proceed to lie to ourselves about. That's the hidden part of my story arc, the part that took almost twenty years to figure out.
I love Warty Mamma's husband's philosophy on this... Having one good story to tell and then you can listen to other people's. I love writing down OP's stories in my diary, so it's nice if they've got a succinct one and I don't have to edit.
My story? Changes daily...
FYI A million little pictures, a project on photo documentation.
http://www.arthousecoop.com/projects/amlp
I've been thinking about stories lately also. My grandson loves hearing stories and I have really never been good at making up my own. Until Him...now I LOVE telling him stories because he LOVES hearing them.
Right now I'm in the process of writing him a story about the dove that made her nest in my new fern. (true happenings made a little more interesting...haha) He is in 1st grade and reads now...we live 3 hours apart so sending him letters disguised as stories is what he will be getting.
You would love The Moth podcast. It's just people telling stories in front of a live audience. They always sign off with "I hope you have a story-worthy week." I don't think you do the iPod thing, but I bet you can listen streaming from your desktop or laptop.
http://www.themoth.org/
Like Wendy, my story changes daily too. Or could. Some stories seem to hang on longer than others, but I have many, and know I'll have many more in the future. For many years I had a huge novel of the place that chronic pain held in my life. I am beyond thrilled to say that this is no longer even a short story in my life!
This "What's your story" fascinates me as my therapist and I were discussing this very topic just yesterday - before I read this post.
If you like peoples stories you should check out the Story Corp web site storycorp.com or .org. We had a mobil booth here in Sioux Falls and I took my 12 year old son with me to record. It was great. I think they have a show on public radio also. Diane
I used to live my life by a magic that even I found unbelievable. If I wanted a parking space, I'd just drive to the front of the lot and there it'd be, waiting for me. Men occassionally bent to kiss my hand upon greeting me. My 3 kids and I could leave the house with a half tank of gas and $5 and somehow return home at the end of an adventurous day with full stomachs, happy smiles and stories to tell our friends. There is a sweet appreciation for life that comes from surviving pain. I think I used to taste that sweetness much more than I do now. Now I am cerebral, wrestling with logic and reason until I've squeezed all the honey out of life. It is safer but far less tasty.
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