Noticing Stories; Edits and Rewrites
I had no idea where I was. I opened my eyes to what felt like an entirely new world. I didn’t recognize the objects, people, or even places. I didn’t speak the language. I was immersed in unknowns. But somehow, I felt cared for. I felt loved. I felt dependent on others, but knew and trusted that they would provide for me while in need. As if I were an extension of them; catering to my being as if I were them.
The collective support was nurturing, most of the time. It was fascinating. I had a lot to learn, but I was excited for this opportunity to discover and grow. No one seemed to care that I was clueless, or dumbfound at their way of being. They met me with open arms, each ready to teach what they knew and felt to be true from experience.
Each ready to guide with what they had. Or at least try. Everyone was doing their best, from the stories they knew. The stories they had created or been told.
I learned many stories amongst these people, these places, in this experience. I was privileged in that I fit into most of their stories, I was one of ‘them’. I noticed there were others who seemed to experience things different from the stories I was told. I wondered why.
I even learned to create stories of my own. At times an experience would come along and create a story that I felt must be true in all situations, at all times.
I learned stories of things being one way, and for much of this encounter they seemed to be true. But every so often, a new experience would arise and I would find that the story I had learned didn’t fit what had happened. So I created new stories. Of distrust. Of confusion. Of separation from hurt. Of barriers and protection.
Stories were vital to these people I was around, this world I had somehow awakened into.
Stories seemed to be the creators. And yet in the stories, there was a seeking. A seeking for truth. But if the truth was in the stories and we were the storytellers, with so many differing stories, how could there be one truth?
Storytelling can be quite a useful tool. Stories allow for us to exist outside of ourselves for maybe just a moment. They allow for us to weave together words and vibrations that we have attached meaning to to create a larger picture, a bigger vision. In this experience of hearing stories we step into new ideas, characters, places, and scenarios often with mindsets or viewpoints that may differ from our own.
We are able to not only learn from stories we didn’t personally encounter, but also create stories from our journeying.
Interestingly, as we grow we each become storytellers, often unknowingly. We may even show up already being storytellers, yet the first stories we tell go unspoken.
We learn these written stories over time. From our families, our teachers, our friends. Even our own observations and interpretations create stories, inscribing them into our very own subconscious. In fact, the stories we create from our experiences may be the stories we hold to be truer than true - I mean we experienced their very creation, how could they not be! We felt it.
I have always been one with many words, many verbal or written stories. But along my path, I noticed most of my stories were being roped into chapters of a book with a greater underlying theme or message. The book itself seemed to hold a storyline that all of my stories fell into.
Organizationally, I can imagine this was nice for my mind. No need for a library sorting system. Each story I learned or created would simply fall into the same section of my thought. There wasn’t much need for brain plasticity when the only areas of the library I seemed to walk were the ones that I housed all the books under.
One could even say this made for a simpler existence, my stories made sense with one another because of this theme. There wasn’t too much contrast, or even discomfort. Things felt in control.
You might ask, why expand the collection then? Sounds nice, peaceful even. And while I hear you, and I thought the same, I am grateful to now have a library of thought that welcomes an ever changing storyline. It allows me to feel more free, more dynamic, more curious. This hasn’t come easily though, and it is constant hard work to regularly shift the libraries organizational patterns with new found information.
And I wish I had made this choice, to personally reorganize. But for me, it doesn’t feel like I did. My overarching storyline was leading me into a very dark place, one where I regularly contemplated ending my personal story once and for all. I experienced this darkness year after year, reengraining these stories that had brought me into the darkness in the first place.
One of the storylines that seemed to leak into each story I learned or created was the notion that I wasn’t important. That other people didn’t care and that I was alone. This overarching storyline had slowly grown over time from my hidden feelings.
It had slowly planted its seed in my mind, allowing each experience I encountered that fit its mold to water its roots and plant itself deeper and deeper. Until it was a story that held true in almost all other stories I knew. But this story I had fed so well, was killing me.
It was killing my ability to make stories where I was important. Where I mattered and where I was part of a collective. It was limiting, and it didn’t allow for the growth that I had felt in my original story. It didn’t let me experience the love or connection either.
I was outgrowing the simple library system and if I wanted to step into myself, I had to step into the unknown, again. I had to go beyond what my mind knew to be true and be willing to make expansions. To allow in new storylines, that differed or even contradicted the others I had known for so long.
The only thing that made me break out of my old thoughts was a set of life-altering realizations. A knowing of a need for a new story. An admission that my story wasn’t serving me, and even though I had made it and it had protected me at times, it was time to release. To accept, honor, and let go of. It was that or be consumed by a story that didn’t have my health in mind.
I write this in a time of collective story writing. Funnily, we are always in a time of collective stories. But now, more so than ever in my life, I feel that many of us may be stepping into the intentionality behind the stories we write. Stepping into being the very creators of the stories we live. Either consciously or unconsciously.
We are in a time of reading and writing. Of editing. Of reorganizing and considering possible regenerative futures. I say possible because there are endless possibilities. The future that we are creating is an active one. It is one where we must rise to the occasion. We each may have pieces of the collective story. And each piece is needed to make up the collective whole.
Right now I am taking time to consider the creation of collective stories. Considering what they are, where they have led us, why they came to be, and whether they stand true to the betterment of humanity and our planet as a whole. I think it is important to think about why some stories make it so far, what in them speaks to so many people. What resonates? What other stories are they built on?
Each story builds upon others to form beliefs, values, ideologies, concepts, notions, ways of being. And while many have been around for some time, it seems to me that some have fully served their purpose. They have created what they needed to create, and now we are in a time of release. To allow for the new to step in. To allow for different stories, different voices, different concepts, different experiences, different expressions.
For example, the story of lack and separation allowed for us to expand beyond our wildest dreams. Our species is on nearly every part of this planet. That is quite a feat, one that many would have never imagined before it became true. Only some held that vision, but they held it strongly. They lacked what they needed in one place and so they went searching for a new land. They saw themselves as other and acted accordingly.
And yet, we did this only with the underlying story that some people’s basic needs were more important than others. With the story that to succeed one must exploit and suppress others. With a story of separation, of ‘other’. But no part of this story holds the full truth. These stories were developed under the notion that success was a personal thing. However, time and time again I hear about the depression and angst many who are deemed ‘successful’ feel. How isolated they become. How meaningless their material possessions feel in relation to how they feel internally.
No story is true on its own, it is simply a sentence, chapter, or book in an endlessly expanding library.
Now, when we are separate, but more united than ever in our separateness I believe we can collectively step out of some stories. Stories that once served some of us, but no longer serve the collective. No longer serve as tools of growth but rather are enforcing limitations.
I personally believe that true success can only be felt when our actions are for the betterment of all mankind, and of our planet that sustains us. Without this there is a lacking to what individual pleasures one may experience. It seems to me that we know this truth from within, and yet some of us have learned or created stories that go against this, or that contradict this. We each watch out for our own, for ourselves. It is what we know and what we were taught through the stories of our ancestors. And yet, those we idealize through the generations are those that held stories of the betterment for all. Those who knew stories of unity, and care for their neighbors despite perceived differences.
I know for me, the story I am wanting to create is one of awareness and interconnectedness. It is one with a collective storyline of growth, abundance, nature, love, social justice, and relation. It includes expressivity and understanding. It has the underlying storyline of there being enough. Of us being enough, individually and collectively. It comes with a story of trust in the ability of mankind. In our collective genius and ability to innovate. Our ability to heal.
It goes with the story that we are here endlessly evolving. And in this evolution comes awareness, and a recognition of when we may need a new storyline.
Though I have my own truths, I want to avoid projecting them onto others. What I do want is to empower everyone to be a conscious storyteller of their own. To help others recognize their power in this collective creation, and to add intention into the storylines that lead our lives.
It only took a determined group of minorities to believe in the expansion of our nations to a global network, and here we are. What can a determined group of minorities create with this common day knowing? What do we want to write into the storybook? And why? The why matters, at least to me.
I have a lot of hope for our collective storyline. This doesn’t come without the consideration of challenges beyond what I can imagine. It comes from a story I remind and tell myself daily. The story that I am powerful. The story that I am a creator. The story that while fear and doubt exist, I don’t let them drive me as they don’t support me in creating the reality I aspire to live in. The overarching belief in the story that anything is possible.
I believe in the collective stories uniting us.
My story is that your voice, your truth, your knowing, is important. My story is that we each must do our best to bring awareness to our actions, and lead our lives in a way that doesn’t harm one another, whether distant or in close proximity. My story is one that supports the collective and our ability to protect our planet, as we care and nurture each other back to what it means to be alive.
What stories are you currently writing? I really want to know.