Putting it Together: Telling the Story Whole

In a recent art exhibition in Toronto, the eminent visual artist-auteur extraordinaire Doug Coupland included a display of prescient sayings for the twenty-first century, one of which was: “Lives are no longer feeling like stories.” This has been resonating deeply with me lately. I think he’s clearly on to something.

What does story do for us? It teaches us how to make sense of the seemingly random things that happen. In giving the randomness an order, we can clearly hold on to something tangible – and we trust that as we accumulate experience, we can see the path through the trees. In a way, it’s the only way to keep our footing on solid ground. And it is the solid ground that we construct for moving forward.

What does it mean to have a life that no longer feels like a story? It’s as if the series of distractions that are strewn in our path have derailed us – or rather shifted our focus from what may be most important for us. Without the focus that comes from the attempt at undistracted thought, we bounce from idea to image to sensation to titillation like a balloon in the hands of a three-year old.

Now perhaps this is the randomness of our world going forward, and maybe we have to adjust – re-sync as it were – and carry on spinning. But I would posit that there is much that we lose in the fray and parry. I think that the fragmenting of our world – into sound bytes, quick texts and instant repartee on Facebook and Twitter – might be something that is worth examining. In this day and age, information is everything – or it comes to us in an instant. But as it adds up, it becomes insurmountable – how can any of us know what is worth knowing? Stories and studies are reported, and before we can ascertain what the bias of the researchers are and the bias of the reporter, we are on to another story. And once we’ve passed through an information cycle, there’s neither the energy nor the time to go back. If it is not new, it does not interest us. We collectively, and perhaps unwittingly, move on to the next thing.

I have a suggestion: let’s return to reading novels and non-fiction books that take the time to lead a reader through a complicated set of events. It is the best training to turn your mind towards what it is capable of. I’ve been reading some very fine novels of late – and oh, the pleasure that they possess, and how they can reorient you towards the long view. And oh, the sensation of being in the hands of an artist who can lead you through from point A to point B without being heavy handed or didactic. There is nothing like it, reading a well-written story. But as things get more distracted, and people become less able to take the time to read longer forms of writing, we risk losing the sense that the story comes out of the larger context – and that there is safety in the larger context. For once we accept that we are essentially searching for meaning, or looking to have that sense of meaning reinforced – and that we put together our lives with the stories that we tell ourselves about ourselves.

I think that it is only in returning to the search for context that we can move forward. And there is a way back from information overload. What happens after we have been alienated? What do we have to hold on to? Are we going to have to now live in the realm of uncertainty and insecurity – that not knowing all of this so-called distracting but vital information will necessarily doom us to fall behind?

I have personally learned how perilously easy it is to lose the way, to forget the story, to give up the agency that we have over the events that we go through. I think that this is what unites us all. I’m talking about the way we have about learning something – learning what we have to get us through a rough moment, learning that key to what will help us make sense of our lives the next time around.

In working with a psychologist, I came to put the entire mess that I’d landed in into an order that I can now own. She made it clear that it was my work to be done. And she asked essential questions; pointed out the things I had missed, or had misrepresented to myself. I took the time to work it out. I didn’t fall for the realm of the easy fix; I sought out others who had similar experiences. I found my way by taking the time to find my story.

And this is where – if we’re honest about it – we all have to start paying more attention to our life as a story. There are narrative patterns that we fall into – and we have to be more cognizant of them. Now, of course, if we are to fully embrace that, there is a moment in which we do forget, there may be a way to enter back into that mindset – and to then find the truth that lies there. This is why we need to live a well-considered life. But we have to pay attention – don’t get enthralled by the extraneous bits. Let Doug Coupland’s assessment play out as a warning: try to make your life feel like a story; take your role in it. And don’t get distracted. Move forward by understanding and owning what you’ve been through.