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"Connections and Why They Matter"
Most of what happens in our life will spark a connection. Life connects with what has been found in books. Books connect with what happens in life. Use the connections to help you see more clearly. A love of reading and writing is what motivated the creation of this blog. Thank you for coming to the blog.
“How you arrange the plot points of your life into narrative shapes who you are and is a fundamental part of being human.” This is the subtitle in an interesting article titled Life’s Stories, published in The Atlantic in 2015. In that article, Monisha Pasupathi, a professor of developmental psychology at the University of Utah, offered much insight on this subject. She stated: “To have relationships, we’ve all had to tell little pieces of our story.”
We share our life stories daily as part of our small talk. In just our greetings to others, here are some examples: “Hi, where are you from?” “Where did you grow up?” “Which school did you attend?”
Recently, I watched a salesperson standing at the entrance of a store in a local mall, making eye contact and smiling as people passed by. A lady said hello back, and the two walked into the store together. I was nearby and overheard what happened next. The salesperson greeted the customer, asking where she was from, and received a smile and a reply in return. She mentioned a town in California where she grew up, and the salesperson replied enthusiastically as she knew the city well. They reminisced about a street they shared in common. Both women relaxed and enjoyed getting to know each other. It was clear they had made a connection by sharing part of their life story.
We see our own lives as a series of events, connecting the events with a narrative that then becomes a story, our story. To a large degree, the resulting report we constructed has a great deal to do with our self-identity.
In the last twenty-plus years, I had the opportunity to tell my life story in front of a church group of men at least twenty times. Each time I shared my story, it was a little different, as I added, changed, or withheld specific details or events. I had thought more about the story and had new experiences, and my memory altered as time passed. Yes, I recalled it differently because I would reflect on events and see them in a new light.
In that same time frame, I heard a few dozen men present their life stories and then often heard them tell their stories again after a few years. Their stories' emphasis, substance, and even conclusions changed, as my own had altered with each new telling.
Life stories are like books. They have plots, themes, timelines, and characters. We choose which are important to us and connect these events in a narrative, shaping and reshaping our self-identity. Art, music, poetry, literature, service, our heritage, and even food can influence us even to the point of being part of our life story.
People come and go in our lives, some becoming significant characters in our story as events unfold, but later in life seem less important. We look back at these people, filtering all we have been through with our memories. Indeed, the anonymous poem opening this book suggests, “Some people come into our lives for a reason, some for a season, and some for a lifetime.” Some feel God sends the people that are needed. Others may bring challenges and darkness. I believe we have a choice in putting together the narrative of who we are and who we become. We can pick which of the events we connect with, what we conclude about them, and then weave and reweave them into our story. Finding or choosing a better perspective later in life can make all the difference.
If we reject the case for being able to reshape who we are, we are left with a deterministic view of our identity. Some who embrace this belief claim that people are wired to be what they are. This view says that since we didn’t choose our parents or the time or place where we were born, we are therefore programmed by cause and effect, resulting in our current circumstances.
It seems clear that this deterministic view is false. All you have to do is tell your story to a friend or family member, write down how you see things now, and then do the same again in a year. Your account will be different.
Whenever I think about my life story, I rethink what happened and draw new conclusions. The following story didn’t happen in a boxing ring. I wish it had because I might have done better, but the story has stuck with me throughout my life.
When I was about eleven years old, I had the unfortunate experience of being chased home each day after school by a kid called Allen, who was much bigger than me. One day my mother met me as I was running into the yard. She had probably noticed I was out of breath on my return each day. That day she asked why I was running so hard, and I told her Allen was chasing me. I could have said, “I was running to avoid getting pounded.” That would have been an honest answer.
We lived by a river, and crossing the bridge in front of our house meant I was home. The next day my mother was out front, waiting for my arrival as I crossed the bridge. She stopped me there, and when shortly Allen came thundering across, she called him over and announced to us both that the following day we would meet right there in the park across the street from my house and fight. The announcement surprised me. What surprised me even more, was my mother setting this fight up. Looking back, it also amazes me that I didn’t try to get out of it or worry about it. I just figured that was what I had to do. I had to fight him.
The next day at school, word got out. Some asked me the kids if I was going to fight him. I said yes, I was. After school, Allen arrived at the park with a crowd of kids from school, some even before I arrived. My mother was there, waiting. She had all the kids that had shown up from a big circle. Allen and I entered the ring with fists, ready to start swinging, and Mom was the referee. I still remember looking at Allen, who was much taller and heavier than I was, and not feeling afraid.
The fight began, and I danced around with my fists, trying to land some punches and trying harder to avoid getting punched. I hit him as hard as I could a few times. I had boxed with my dad in the evenings and understood a little about the process, but Allen didn’t look like he even felt my punches. He wasn’t very good at boxing and preferred to push and shove, several times jostljoltingo the ground before jumping on and pounding me. Even lying flat on my back, I would hit whatever part of his body I could connect with. Each time we landed on the ground, my mother had us get back up and continue boxing. It wasn’t a fight; I stood a chance of winning. Finally, my mother held Allen’s hand and said, “There you go, Allen, you won!”
What has always surprised me most then, and ever since, is that I wasn’t scared. I felt like I did my best and didn’t hurt too badly. I lost my fear of failing. Life went on. I did get into a fight or two in later years at school and did much better.
When I tell this part of my life story, it seems to be a meaningful connection and even explains many of the future challenges and changes I have had in my life. I have not been afraid of failures but have worked through them over the years. I learned that when you get knocked down, you get back up, you keep fighting, and when it is over, life goes on.
By the way, a side note. I have always loved boxing. Watching it, in particular. Muhammad Ali is my favorite boxer, and this quote of his has specific relevance for me:
“Only a man who knows what it is like to be defeated can reach down to the bottom of his soul and come up with the extra ounce of power it takes to win when the match is even.”
