Is there a memory that keeps reminding you of your past? That same one, attached to a story, that arrives more often and urgently than others? This could be the come-up story, the war story, the story of regret or remorse.
It could be a story about how introverted and smart you are or how you could never learn to dance because you’re too uncoordinated. It could be about how childhood bullying led you to find solace in books.
At one time, I was attached to a story of comparative lack. As a child, I told myself that big things could happen, but I’d have to create them in my mind. In the physical world, they were probably going to stay somewhat less-than-adequate.
This wasn’t depression exactly because I was always able to find beauty in life and ideas. But it was a story that served more world-weary thoughts than any notion of hope or belief in others and bettering my conditions.
Slowly, I saw that others had found fulfillment despite adversity, so I dove into human stories—studying literature and observing life. Memoirs and documentaries were always my favorites. Even without meeting the people I’d learn about (at the time, athletes like Gail Devers and Steffi Graf were heroes), I could see how they had dedicated themselves to the impossible, despite odds and naysayers.
These were not people I knew. They were not in my neighborhood. But they were models of action. They helped me redefine my story and think of it more as a journey than a consequence. Likewise, they taught me to abandon thoughts of limit and grandiosity alike. What made them compelling was their journeys—the journey.
I was given a prompt recently by a mentor and teacher, Scott Wolven: Write about a person who is self-defined by a story, and then explore what would happen if they forgot that story, good or bad.
AYTL: What a brilliant prompt, no? Thank you, Scott. And what an interesting question for ourselves. If you could forget any notion of needing to have x, y, or z or wishing a, b, or c would’ve happened instead, how would that change who you are? Would it be for the better or worse?
Jen, that was a great prompt and a great question!
I love this question. I also value what you wrote about abandoning limits and grandiosity alike. The journey is everything. Thanks for writing, Jen.