the stories we tell ourselves
I love a good story. Whether it’s a speech or a sermon, a good book, or a movie, stories are what make lessons learnable and applicable. Our minds are not programmed to simply memorize factoids, and most people will tell you that they are not good at remembering data. Even the accountants and mathematicians among us must relate their conclusions to that which is concrete and real in life. For instance, earlier this year, our government allocated over two trillion dollars, yes, two followed by twelve zeros, towards COVID-19 relief. I can’t even conceive of what this enormous amount of money. But what I do comprehend is that I received $1200 of it. The rest doesn’t mean much to me. When two trillion dollars becomes a part of my story, then it has meaning, even if it is only a tiny piece of the whole. Many people will be able to tell you years from now exactly what they did with their little parcel of COVID-19 relief money. It’s part of their story and one of the handles through which they will recall the larger picture of a world crisis. We define our lives through stories.
I read of a man who went to war during the Vietnam era. Like so many young men of that period in our nation’s history, Charlie was drafted and ended up fighting in a war that he did not understand and did not necessarily support. But Charlie did his duty. Within a few months, Charlie ended up on the front lines in the midst of a firefight. He was hit by enemy fire and lost both of his legs. As you can imagine, Charlie was devastated. But he was a determined man. The young soldier fought his way back through surgery after surgery and months of therapy. He struggled through days and nights of physical anguish and PTSD. However, during this time, Charlie heard another soldier's story, one from the Korean War. He, too, had lost his legs and had to fight his way back to health and sanity. The Korean Vet had become an athlete and inspired millions.
Meanwhile, Charlie, a top swimmer in his home state of Florida, set a goal. He would swim the Caribbean Sea from the beaches of Miami to the Bahama Islands, raising support for disabled veterans. Charlie began his harrowing journey and arrived on the shores of Grand Bahama Island. His story has been an inspiration to thousands.
Isn’t that a great story! We love stories like that, don’t we? Well, I must confess, I am a liar. The information you just read is untrue. I made it up. It never happened. Charlie is a figment of my imagination. Indeed, there are bits and pieces of truth woven throughout Charlie’s story, but Charlie is not a real person.
Humans have a unique ability. We can create stories in our minds, even ones that are not true. We take bits and pieces of information and weave them into grand epics that do not match reality. Sometimes we write epics about ourselves. Sometimes we are the heroes of our own story. I cannot tell you how many times I played the guitar and sang in front of thousands of adoring fans. But, unfortunately, I’m a hack guitarist and a not so powerful singer. So, here’s the catch. Our ability to write mental stories can turn on us like a hungry animal we thought was our pet. Sometimes the stories we tell about ourselves are like the one about Charlie. We overcome all odds and fight our way to victory. But often, our tales don’t end that way. In fact, we become the villain or the victim of our stories.
Many other times, we create stories about others, some positive, some not so lovely. We take morsels of information and devise scenarios that contain half-truths and sometimes outright lies. We create our own “Charlies,” who are sometimes heroes and occasionally villains. What’s more, we keep pushing the replay and record buttons and embellish the stories.
Some years ago, I heard a speaker talking about the importance of quality organizational communications. He made a statement that has guided me for many years. “In the absence of information, people will make up their own story of reality. And, for them, that is indeed their reality.”
It gets more complicated. We develop stories about those with whom we have close relationships. It reminds me of a tennis match. Both players are faced off on each side of the net, trying to figure out what story is playing in their opponent’s mind. “What will be her next move? I think I know, so I’ll mentally and physically prepare myself for her next move.” But, players win tennis matches because they surprise the opponent by not playing out the person's story on the other side of the net. The difference from a tennis match is that in real life, the person on the other side of the net is not necessarily my opponent; it’s my wife, my husband, my friend, my parent, my child, my boss, my co-worker.
Parents struggle with stories of their kids. John has a son! After three daughters, he will finally have a football player and not just any football player. No, his son will be a division one football player at John’s alma mater. His mind rages with stories of his son taking the ball across the goal line while his ever-faithful father, mentor, coach, and hero sits on the sidelines, cheering wildly. “I owe it all to my dad,” he thinks. Then John’s son hits the field for the first time. He has no interest in the game. Little Johnny just wanders around the field, obviously in another world. And the world Johnny is in; it’s the world of computers. So, after five frustrating seasons of John trying to get Johnny to live out his story of his son’s life, and Johnny hating every minute of it, the end comes. Johnny will never be a great football player; he doesn’t even like sports. Dad’s story did not come to a fairly-tale ending. It was a disaster. He’s spent years thrusting his well-written story upon a son who has developed quite another story.
Meanwhile, father and son have lost out on many opportunities because of the stories dad created about his son. Johnny went on to become the President of a small but successful computer firm. But he never lived up to dad’s story. Johnny still struggles with his father’s narrative after all these years and much success. Johnny’s story is, “I will never win my father’s approval. I’ll never be good enough.” If John and Johnny’s stories are never reconciled, they will go to their graves, bearing the burden of a false narrative. You see, as John’s story morphed, he came to accept and embrace Johnny’s new biography. But he never revealed his new version of his son’s life. Johnny never stopped loving his dad. He only wished John would have accepted him for who he really was rather than the fairy-tale written by his father, but he still can’t find a way to stop pushing the replay button. Some stories haunt us our entire lives.
Like you, I have some “not so good” stories I replay in my head. For some reason, I was never considered a good student. I remember my first-grade experience. In my day, many kids did not go to Kindergarten, and I was one of them. This did not bother me at all! Why would I want to end day after day of virtually no responsibility, creating my own adventures, riding my bicycle wherever I wanted, making forts in the lot next door, and being the hero of a hundred stories. But, alas, I became of age and had to attend first-grade. I remember so well walking alone around the playground at recess, thinking, “This sucks! I could be at home playing and eating peanut butter sandwiches. Playing is so much better than school.” I never forfeited that story. Playing was always better than school to me. As such, I was rarely recognized by either teachers or my peers as having much life potential. The story I wrote was that I would never be a good student because I was too frivolous. If it was not fun, it was not my thing. And school was just not that fun. However, I made good grades in elementary school. I think the teachers liked my entertaining personality. For most of my elementary career, I was a big fish in a small pond.
Junior High was a different story. I attended a large school, and I knew no one. I was afraid and mostly lost. I was neither recognized nor appreciated by students or teachers. A seeming disregard from teachers marked the remainder of my Junior and Senior High experiences. I figured I must not be too smart, so I wrote another narrative that included drinking and drugging my way through high school. I just liked to have fun, and school wasn’t fun for a kid who’s not that smart.
After graduating in the lowest quarter of my class, I was supposed to attend Ball State University near my home. After all, David Letterman had attended Ball State, and he seemed to have lots of fun. However, when I arrived at the campus to register, I realized that college was not for me. No one in my family had attended college, and I know it must have devastated my mother, who wanted me to become a doctor like my cousin Sonny. That was not to be. My story was that I was not smart enough to go to college, and I certainly didn’t have the brainpower to become a doctor!
I would continue to be a grocery store assistant manager, which I loved, and besides, I made more than enough money to continue having fun. Working at the grocery store was the most entertaining job I ever had. Within a couple of years, it became evident that my partying ways would get me into big trouble. I barely missed being arrested several times. So, I began to settle down and ended up married in my early twenties.
I had become a Christian when I was twelve but had long-since left Jesus and his church friends to do their thing. I was still a believer but not a follower. My cousin Eddie was one of my best friends, and he was still a churchgoer. He and his wife were part of a new church started by the church in which we grew up. He kept inviting my wife and me to attend, and we finally got tired of his constant invitations. We caved and went to church. I loved it! For the next two years, I became deeply involved as a youth coach and a Sunday School teacher. Go figure!
At a youth revival, I witnessed a group of bible college students leading the services every evening, and finally, one night, the team gave a commitment invitation. We sang, “I have decided to follow Jesus. I have decided to follow Jesus. I have decided to follow Jesus, no turning back, no turning back.” I sat in my typical back-row seat, and something came over me I’d never felt before. The words to that song and seeing young people making something of their lives grabbed hold of me and shook me to my core. I was melting into the pew crying but doing my best to hide it. The next day I was in my close friend and mentors’ office describing my experience, and the most unlikely words came out of my mouth. “Jim, I believe I am being called into ministry, and I want to go to Bible College.” Jim immediately called my bluff and said something like, “Donnie, I agree. You should go to Johnson Bible College, where I went.”
But could I ever be smart enough to go to college? Well, Johnson took a chance on me. They let me enter the school on probation, and five-years later, I graduated still feeling like I was not a good student but a bad student with a diploma. The story I had written about myself persisted, even when I had clearly proved it untrue. You see, that is a trick we play on ourselves. We create false narratives and, no matter how inaccurate, keep pushing replay and even add illogical, untrue chapters to our already false epic.
Amazingly, over the next twenty years, I earned masters and doctorate degrees, all the while thinking I wasn’t that smart. My mother, who died a few months later, got to see her son become a “doctor,” just not the medical kind. I always compared myself to other students and automatically assumed they were smarter than me. That was about to change. I was sitting in my office one day working on my computer when an ad came across the screen. The company offered the opportunity to learn your I.Q. I always figured mine was probably just below average. That was my story. But, for some reason, I paid to take the test, and much to my surprise, I scored just under the “genius” level. I was dumbfounded. Maybe I’m not so dumb?
Then, it happened. I’m not one for religious visions and direct communications from God, but I felt so strongly that God was placing a message in my head. He spoke in a firm tone (I think God always speaks in a firm tone.) and said something like, “Don, you are not stupid. You have never been stupid. You are smart, persistent, and accomplished. I don’t ever want to hear you put yourself down on this issue again!” It was such a powerful “voice,” the message immediately created a change in my thinking. At that moment, my story changed. I am a smart guy. That’s my very simple new story on that subject. I have no idea about this test's integrity, but this is now my story, and I’m sticking to it. After fifty-some years, it feels good not to be dumb anymore. I’ve told the Lord several times, “Thank you for clearing that up for me.”
What stories are you presently writing about yourself and others? Our chronicles need to come under scrutiny occasionally. Like a critic reviewing an article for publication, we need to critique the stories we tell about ourselves and others. Sometimes, it’s even wise to tell your story aloud to a trusted friend or mentor or two and then pay close attention to their reply. People in our lives often tell us that the information we have written about ourselves or others is simply not accurate. It is not only inaccurate; it is destructive. Stop being the villain or victim of a false narrative and stop making others the same. So, what’s your story?
