Making sense of the world

Posted by random olio

We tell the stories of our lives to remember, laugh, and ponder where we have been and where we are going. We learn from each other, grow, and try not to make the same mistakes. Stories enrich us. We hear how someone else moves about the world, how they interact with their family and friends, and how they endure the good times and the bad. We laugh with them, we cry with them, and we relate in ways we sometimes cannot imagine.

I just finished reading: “If It’s Not One Thing, It’s Your Mother” by Julia Sweeney. If you are not familiar with Julia, she was “It’s Pat” on Saturday Night Live. Her book is a memoir and heavily focuses on her experience adopting a daughter from China. She is a blunt and humorous writer. I appreciated reading her book. It is just raw, real, and to the point. Her comments about telling stories resonated with me:

“I think my urge to perform, and specifically to perform true stories from my own life, is my way of coping. Just like alcohol is for some people. But the storytelling urge is not particular to the Irish. It’s in everyone. In fact it’s how our brains, every single one of our brains–not particular to any ethnicity–makes sense of the world. We tell ourselves how it all went, how this happened and how that happened and how it could happen in the future.” page 238

Is that what storytelling is for each of us? A litany of events, dates, and experiences that we tell as we make sense of the world? Yes, and so much more. I often write to make sense of my world. As the words come out of my fingertips I often connect thoughts and ideas and have aha moments. I realize what bothers me, find solutions to problems, and feel gratitude for the good parts of my day.

For me looking back at my past, at the stories of my life, help me to better understand myself and how I tick. Since both of my parents have passed on, and my grandparents are gone, I am on my own to put the pieces of my past together. I have asked my sister or brother how they remember an event, and yet their memory is much different from my memory of a specific event. That makes sense, as we each look out from our own perspectives. Since I cannot call my mom up and ask her about my first words, or how I handled a specific event in my life, I have to rely on my own memories. They may be flawed or off from the actual details but in the end, it is still the story I remember that has molded me into who I am today. As biased as my perspective might be, the feelings I had in each experience shaped how I handled future events.

Our story, our view on the world, is how we make sense and process who we are. Keep telling your story.

Were you raised on fairy tales?

Posted by random olio

I recently wrote about whether you should tell you kids about Santa Claus, the Easter Bunny, and the Tooth Fairy. I wonder though about fairy tales. Are they different?

I do not remember my parents pushing fairy tales on me, but, I do remember reading my share of them. Did I believe them? I do not remember. I had an imagination as a kid, but I am not sure it was specifically from fairy tales, mostly I think my imagination because of the volume of books I read. I grew up without a television, so my life was interesting through what and where I explored outside, the individuals (they were characters!) I met on my paper route, and what I read in books. Sure I watched television and movies, but only at friend’s houses or when I stayed with my grandma.

The books that I read led me to write. I made up stories all the time. Whether they were good or not is another thing. I still have all of them, but have not snuggled on the couch with warm tea and pulled them out to go over what my little self wrote about. I am sure I will be amused. I can remember one was a mystery and had a detective, and another about a girl president. Who knows where I got those ideas. I am sure many of the books I read as a kid kindled that fire that made me want to write.

Which is why I liked this informative blog post about how great leaders are birthed from fairy tales. This post shares how exposure to fairy tales, means you just might be imaginative, have critical thinking skills, and are creative. It also shares the words of Albert Einstein:

“If you want your children to be intelligent, read them fairy tales. If you want them to be more intelligent, read them more fairy tales.”

I love it. For those of you that are parents out there, bring out the fairy tales. Allow your kids to ask questions, dream, and wonder about what is possible. You never know what Hansel and Gretel might mean for your adventurous son, and Cinderella for your beautiful daughter. I think fairy tales start conversations about what is true, what could be, and what should be. I never had those conversations with my parents, but hey maybe you will.

Make their day, make my day…

Posted by random olio

Have you ever thought about starting your day by thinking about how you might make someone else’s day? We go through our day going from meeting to meeting, or down a checklist of the many items we need to accomplish. Often we do not have time to think about getting lunch, let alone think about someone else and the full day we have ahead of us.

What would it look like, feel like, be like if you thought about how you might make another individual you encounter have a better day? What would you do? Instead of jumping right into your computer, emails, and meetings, might you ask a co-worker about their weekend? I often think that we get to work and start out on a hamster wheel, only to get out at 5, get into our car and drive home. Other days we might actually get out of our hamster wheel and truly focus and interact with others. On the days we get out of the hamster wheel, break routine, and engage and connect with those we see everyday we might just find that we see a glimmer of how we can be present for others.

I wonder if we started our day thinking of others, if the mood and focus would be different. We might rush less, breathe more, and appreciate our surroundings that much more. We could find that by thinking of others more, they think of us more. Like a boomerang effect of good will.

Are you with me?

A hot, sticky mess

Posted by random olio

We awoke to many loud popping sounds, almost like gunshots going off. It was the middle of the night. I sat up in bed, my heart pounding. What happened?

My parents, sister, brother, and I ran out of our bedrooms, down the hall, and into the kitchen to find out what had happened. We were shocked. The paneled walls in our dining room, the flowered border wallpaper, the olive green refrigerator, and the painted walls were covered in grape jelly.

A few days prior, we had visited my grandma’s house, and spent an afternoon picking grapes off the grapevines in her backyard. We did it every year. Our fingers purple hued with grape juice. I rarely popped one in my mouth as the tart taste was not my favorite. What I loved is what we would do when we brought our bounty home. Our kitchen turned into grape central. Massive pots brewing and stewing grapes and the counter lined with Ball jars ready for the final product. My mom mostly made grape jelly. Maybe there were other concoctions of grape canning or cooking, but I only remember the jelly. I loved and hated it all at once. It was a lot of work, but the result? Yummy grape jelly (my favorite) for breakfast!

So the grape covered walls? My mom had been canning the grape jelly and had not waited long enough for the grape jelly to cool before sealing the lids on top of the jars. In the middle of the night, the heat inside the jars had made them explode, leaving our kitchen and dining room splattered with grape jelly. It was a bit of a shock and funny all at the same time. The bummer part? My sister, brother, and I had to clean up the hot, sticky mess.

I think of it every time I smear grape jelly on my toast.

Shift

Posted by random olio

I felt off last night. Do you ever have those days when things do not feel right, you feel out of sorts, but for the life of you, you cannot figure out why? Sometimes when I am in that space, I can get cranky, and other times I just feel quiet and introspective. As I was stretching after my run, I pondered if something had happened in my day that might have led me to feel this way. No dice. Nothing came to me clearly. How was I going to get out of my funk? I had gone for a run which usually helped. No luck.

As I continued to stretch the thought came to me, maybe your funk has to do with what you are not focusing on. Hmm. Interesting concept. I then remembered the different conversations I had, ones about specific internal work politics, which can sometimes irk me. I could review all that junk with you, but I will not bore you with the details. What was cool about this post-run/stretch was that when I shifted my thoughts to what I had not been focusing on, I realized I was not directing my thoughts to the right parts of my day.

When I enter that window where I can see my thought shifting the word that always comes to me is: gratitude. It is always that instant ah-ha moment that reminds me I have been mulling over the crappy stuff. If I were to reflect on my day I would say that I was grateful to catch up on a ton of work that I had not had the opportunity to sit and focus on for days. Sometimes it is the smallest of things that can start us down the path to move us from grump to a smile.

If only every day, we could have the clarity of thought to flip a coin and look at the other side. We can have that clarity, but do we do it? Now I cannot tell you that after all that I felt 100%. Instead I think I started the shift internally. Sometimes you have to see how to change course, call it a day, sleep well, and start fresh the next day.

Happy holiday weekend to you!