you write the moral, and I’ll write the lesson. we could read a love that kept us guessing.
i’m a story teller. i believe in connection through words. through detail. through interest and intrigue. through sharing. if you know me in real life, you’d probably say that this is an understatement.
i am obsessed with the story. any story. i want you to want to know every detail. it’s how i connect. i want to tell you things. i want to share, and explore, and feel like you hear me, and understand me, and imagine being there. or appreciate the serendipity, or agree that we are all here, interacting with one another for a reason. and it’s important to me.
i want to hear your stories. small or large. i want the details. i want to know what things you will emphasize, what things you value. what you notice, why you care… about life.
this weekend i was talking with an amazing girlfriend of mine about dating. shocker. and i told her a story, about a boy. and she told me one. and she said most matter of factly, “of course it’s about the story. when is it not?” and for some reason it hit me. she understood. really understood. it IS about the story. it’s not that we all want some romantic comedy like meet cute for because it’s romantic. well, there is nothing wrong with that even
. it’s the story that begins “us,” as friends, lovers, soul mates, as fateful friends. and she and i, this nbff (newbestfemalefriend), we have a good story.
women often share stories and secrets in relationships with one another. it’s how we connect, and support one another. men often do things together, play sports, or give advice. gendered communication. it’s all there, whether it’s socialization or genetics the research has been done.
but what my friend said to me, and how she said it, made me feel like someone finally got it. that telling stories, the story, isn’t about me being a female, and telling secrets is what we do on the playground. it’s bigger than that.
and it suddenly came to me, everything i know about story telling, and creating a narrative, from an academic perspective. when thinking about dating, i often reference, in my own brain, things i learned in grad school. i don’t know why it always surprises me. i mean, isn’t that the point. to learn, remember, and apply? well, yea, every emotion i have is processed through this crazy rational virgo filter, and often times using academic research is what makes me feel more healthy about about being so pragmatic.
the narrative. it creates meaning. it provides us a view to understand how we see ourselves in a larger group (society). it gives us a space to emphasize who we want to be. the parts of us, and things we’ve done of which we are proud. stories allow us to test our normalcy in relation to the rest of society.
by telling a story, we are sharing ourselves. whether outwardly, or cryptically, we tell stories to connect. to share our hopes, and dreams, and wishes. to show faith in the universe. to understand our place in the world. the art of storytelling is much more than just an art. it is what keeps society moving. stories of what was, what could be, and will never have to be again.
stories provide us frame of reference in which to relate to one another. we find common ground through the telling of our story, and we gain interest in hearing others.
this being said, no wonder i’m obsessed with storytelling. in general. and more importantly, no wonder i’m obsessed with “the story.” the how we met story. it’s a way of showing exactly when the connection started.
most surely, the few boys i’ve swooned hard for, have a brilliant story attached. there is something romantic about the way events unfold
with passion and caring and attraction and mystery creased into every page.
romantic |rōˈmantik; rə-|
1 inclined toward or suggestive of the feeling of excitement and mystery associated with love.
there you have it- romantic is the feeling of excitement and mystery. and those feelings are felt, not given. not attributed. being romantic is not something that it can be learned, or enacted. it is the excitement of life, and every crazy messy turn it takes. and when there is connection to be made with someone else, with whom you are attracted and compatable- that is romance.
and with all of this glorified unpacking of the concept of the story and its function in relationships, it becomes obvious- my obsession with the story. in general. in life. in love.
my love for storytelling (which i am only now starting to identify as such and embrace, own, and love) comes from the excitement of watching the universe unfold in front of me every second of the day. each event adding meaning to another. that the story developing in front of us is a sign. that this is all deliberate. and precise. that this is exactly where we should be. and what should be happening.
i have some good stories to tell from how my life has evolve thus far. but what excites me is waking up and having the possibility to create more.
the possibility of creating and continuing ‘our’ story. the one with twists and turns of serendipity and kindness, not so random winks from the universe, challenges and successes.
and with this, i am positive, not hopeful, that when ‘he’ finds me (or the page turns in an existing narrative) ours will be an anecdote with the elements of legend. because, though i need to keep modesty afloat and use the word ‘hope’ when i refer to how it will unfold, i already know. because if nothing else, he will embrace, love, and value the construct of a story as much as i do.
the story of the human race is the story of men and women selling themselves short. -abraham maslow
« i am no wimpy scaredy cat. keeping with the honesty, even if it’s scary. »