Stories
April 4, 2007
A page from my recent book proposal, which was once an entirely different creation that ended up being cut in pieces and re-arranged to fit the specs of my book.
I have long been fascinated by the stories we, as humans, accumulate over our lives, the way the heartbreaking are balanced by the triumphant and how each of these experiences shapes who we are. I find the devastating stories are the ones that ultimately make the most impact, and what is so interesting to me is that while these experiences are painful to go through, it is that going through that gets people to the other side. And that other side is where the greatest gifts lie, where the lessons that could have never been learned otherwise lay waiting, ready for us to sink into all they have to offer us. Phrases such as, "Getting cancer was the best thing that ever happened to me" are said with perfect sincerity, and profound gratitude is expressed at the most challenging moments. I have come to believe that it is those stories – stories that look like loss and pain and trauma on the surface – that do the greatest job of stripping away whatever happens to be in our way at the moment…in our way of finding our truest selves and discovering what we are really made of. During the most difficult year of my life, I read this quote by Pema Chodron every single day, and still know it by heart:
"Only to the extent that we expose ourselves to annihilation over and over again can that which is indestructible be found in us."
I have hardly experienced life’s most devastating losses, and I’ll just say for the record I’m not particularly interested in any new dramas right now. (In fact, I have been playing with the idea of believing that perhaps life is only going to continue to get better and better and better as time passes, rather than worrying that the better life gets, the more I risk having some other shoe drop and all hell breaks loose.) But I am still fascinated by these stories, these stories we all have that created a crossroads in our lives that we never saw coming before it slammed into our lives with the force of a freight train. My best friends have these stories, my parents have stories; hell, I’ve even heard stories from my Orkin man and our fireplace inspector today. I heard the story of a man who fled Cuba in 1969, who was in the same audience as I was for a one-woman play about the Cuban revolution in LA recently, who couldn’t stop crying throughout her performance. I was crying so much at the end he thought I was Cuban too, and from that we began a conversation. I am riveted by these stories, on the edge of my seat, wanting to know all the details, not out of a morbid fascination, but because it gives me a deeper insight into who the person before me is. And even if this is someone I may never know beyond a single chance meeting, those stories and the looks in their eyes stay with me, reminding me to be kind wherever I go. Even though I might not know the details of what everyone’s story is, I know one is there, and that is reason alone to be gentle and kind as much as I possibly can.
*****
What is your story?
last night i had a moment that hit me and took me a little off guard. it was a piece of my story that i thought i had moved into a good place about. and then a little piece of the scab ripped and i found myself bledding again. i’m still waiting for the day i’m able to say, ‘i’m so glad that happened to me.’…but that day’s not yet…not yet… but i know it will come because i’ve had other painful parts of my story that i can honestly say i’m grateful for. i guess it takes being open to the healing process…and giving that process the time it needs…
i can’t wait for your new book!
christine, thank you so much for this entry. i really needed to hear it. i feel as if i’ve been in a cement mixing machine for about four years, and though there have been breaks and triumphs woven in, i just feel so worn out by what is happening in my world since, like michelle said, the scab ripped up.
it can be so difficult to suffer and see our loved ones (and blogging sisters) suffer, as well. you’ve always been so great at putting it all into perspective and connecting yourself and others rather than isolating. THANK YOU. just for being YOU.
xo p
During the darkest days and weeks over this dark winter in Afghanistan I got up every morning and put Pema Chodron’s “Going to the Places that Scare You” tracks on my iPod and sat quietly listening to her wise, simple words. I’m learning that it is true, if I can find the courage and steadfastness to sit with the pain, fear and discomfort – not running away from it, avoiding or repressing it – then it does not control me and I can keep growing, stronger, more courageous and freer.
But I also believe in the joy and lightness of life so I love that you see your life getting better and better and better.
You write wonderfully, and your created images are amazing. I look forward to your book!
x
That is one of my favorite quotes too, and I also discovered it during one of the most difficult years of my life (… since there’s been *more* than one for sure). That book was very powerful. I took solace in it and lots of others, and I can certainly say that the difficult times have made me much stronger.
I also love these two quotes in the same vein:
“The world breaks everyone, and afterward many are strong in the broken places.”
– Ernest Hemingway
“The turning point in the process of growing up is when you discover the core of strength within you that survives all hurt.”
– Max Lerner
Everybody has a story, and each one is so fascinating and rich. Sometimes I wish there was a ‘place,’ website, repository, whatever (maybe like Spielberg’s Holocaust project) that would collect life stories in some really cool, universally accessible way that would live on forever.
Congratulations on completing your book proposal. Looks beautiful!
This post makes me recall the Goddess of transformation -Cerridwen. Whatever is put into Cerridwens cauldron comes out changed. But first it is boiled and stirred in the midst of a large bonfire -crackling, popping and scalding. The heat of transformation can be painful and intense but always worth the trouble.
Yep. I’m learning that I can’t be open to the potential transformation on the other end of a period of difficulty until I embrace the difficulty as a real part of my life. Suddenly, all of those things that I thought would be corrosive end up as building blocks. Still, there continues to be a whole lot of places I’m deathly afraid of visiting.
such a thoughtful post, and i love that hemingway quote that maria posted!
looking forward to the book…
I am praying that your book is one I hold in my hands some day soon.
The collage is perfect; Exactly what I want to see more of in bookstores and I think our creative blogging community would agree with me! (now the “book world” just needs to hear and believe us!)
XO,
Melba
i just wrote an email to someone about this idea christine. that it is the incredible that shifts us and changes us, even when the incredible is full of pain and grief.
your words always reach out to me and i find myself nodding along…
thanks for that.
well you know bits and pieces of my story, and yes you are very kind and gentle. it is true that the hardest of experiences gives us a renewed sense of perspective, at least for me anyway. and that sense of perspective, that freedom, carries me through even today. hard but good. hard but good.
So, Ms. Swirly, tell us a story. . .
On March 29th, my much-loved Aunt died suddenly of a heart attack. A week later we had a service for her in Phoenix. I had the good fortune of (with some of my family members) staying in her home for a couple of days during our visit. It was a wonderful way to get some closure. Last Thursday morning–the morning of her service–I pulled back the sheer curtain in front of a wall of bookshelves in her guest bedroom where I’d been staying for two days. The first thing I saw were a couple of shelves of novels…books that I might have read myself. I instantly felt heartbroken. All those years of corresponding with her…and knowing how much she loved to read…and it never once occurred to me to ask her what she was reading. I had made the horrible mistake of assuming she’d be reading the sort of fiction I’d look down on. All those years we could have been talking books. Everyone’s story has many layers. It was a painful way to learn the lesson (yet again) to not assume…to not judge without knowledge…to not care enough to get the whole story.
I’m coming late to this entry, but I guess I was just waiting for the right time to read it. With the current painful and difficult struggle I face right now, I’ve just been given the realization, through reading this post, that perhaps I need to sit with this discomfort for just a *bit* more instead of retreating into the safety of old habits, old lives….Easy to say, hard to do. Thanks for this.