Creating A Narrative From A Snapshot Of One Moment In Time.

Driving down the road, I find myself lost in my imagination. While many people are not big fans of long road trips, I love to travel by car. Road trips allow my mind to get lost in stories—so many stories to discover, mostly imagined as we drive through old and new places. Old abandoned buildings, often run-down, are the best. They leave so much room for one’s imagination. I love to imagine the stories of the people that once lived there. It is easy to create a narrative of what might have happened or what people are like simply from a snapshot of one moment in time.

Everywhere we look, there are stories, some stories told aloud, others remain hidden, waiting to be uncovered, or better yet told. Some stories actively lived, and others are but fading memories. Our personal stories form who we are, who we are becoming. Learning someone else’s story gives us a glimpse into where they came from, who they are becoming. Stories can connect us or sadly divide us, depending on what we choose—stories matter; your story matters.

She sits quietly on her own, well dressed, appearing very much as if she has it all together, and yet she is somewhat distant. We see her often but do not know her beyond her name. A story begins to form in our head, a narrative of sorts. We assign labels, snob, proud, arrogant, maybe. Without bothering to know her, we have written her story. The true story, however, is far more painful than anything we could write. A life that looks beautiful on the outside is anything but when you look a little deeper. A marriage stressed by a need to keep up appearances, financial struggles, and parenting challenges leaves her wounded and alone. She does not get close for fear of judgment if anyone knew her real story.

She’s the mother who never shows up for class parties, never attends field trips, and rarely is seen at school. It is common knowledge that she is a stay-at-home mom, and as others feel overwhelmed by the volunteer load they carry, she is often judged for her lack of support. Others are working and volunteering; she appears to have time, she holds the label of lazy or uninvolved in her child’s life. Her untold story is that of chronic pain; she struggles through waffling between living drugged or in pain. Her anxiety is high, and elementary school children’s chaos triggers her anxiety; she does not know how to cope. She is getting through her days isolated and alone.

He’s finally decided to stop by the old abandoned farmstead where he spent many a summer with his grandparents. He has some amazing memories of hours spent lost in his imagination, exploring. He is grateful for the lessons learned as he worked side by side on the farm with his grandfather. But it’s challenging to go back; there is so much more than the beautiful story others imagined. He carries those heavy feelings of being unwanted and alone as his parents sent him off every summer. His grandparents loved him, but he was without friends his age; he never could participate in summer activities with the kids from school. He carries deep wounds from the stress his grandparents were under as they struggled to maintain the farm in their aging years. On the outside, people imagine a story of a successful businessman with unforgettable childhood memories from summer life on the farm. On the inside, he fears he is not enough, never enough.

There is always more to the story
than what we see out the car window as we drive by.

The stories we form from a single snapshot lack a life of the history that came before that one picture.

In a world so divided by differing opinions, how often do we form narratives about others without understanding their stories?

How often in self-preservation do we keep our own stories hidden?

Stories matter; your story matters, and while all stories need not be told to the general public, they should at the very least be said in our community. Sharing stories connects us at a deeper level; it helps us understand the narrative behind our decisions, our why’s. Telling our stories over coffee or a meal allows our bonds to grow stronger. It creates those “me too” moments where we find ourselves on common ground. We learn from one another best through our stories.

When we don’t have the opportunity to know the whole story, may we be a community that assumes there is always more to the story? May we be slow to judge others in the forming of our narratives of their story. May we be quick to learn another story, understanding our differences are not dividers.

My writer friend Sarah E. Westfall is passionate about learning and sharing others’ stories and recently wrote beautifully about assumed stories in her post, There’s More to the Story. In just a few short sentences, she summarized it so well.

Our stories offer us a way back to our shared humanity.
Because it is in our narratives where we lay aside comparison and pick up compassion. It’s where connection begins to grow.

So if we are going to assume, let’s assume there is more to the story.

Sarah E. Westfall