Turning the Page
Every year at this time, as the light takes on that warm, melancholic hue that signals the end of summer, I find myself in a reflective reverie. And this year has had a bit to reflect upon: my marriage ending, my decade-long chronic fatigue disappearing; my work trajectory changing, and my baby leaving for college.
Thinking about all these things as I flew home from North Carolina after settling my son into his new alma mater, I had a big realization. It occurred to me that I’ve been wrong about everything I thought would happen this year. I thought I would be married, but I’m not. I thought I’d feel painfully lonely, but I don’t. I thought my fatigue would never go away, but it did. I thought I would have an emotional breakdown when I left my son at school, but I didn’t. These were just stories I’d told myself.
It’s a singularly human tendency to project ourselves into an imagined future to try to get a grip on it. The ego always wants certainty; it wants to know, or to believe that it knows, because not knowing can feel so very frightening. So we try to prepare. Our minds latch onto one possibility and say, in effect, “That’s my story and I’m stickin’ to it.” The problem is, it’s a story. It’s not necessarily the truth.
We tell ourselves all sorts of stories, stories that become ossified beliefs. Our stories about our past can keep us locked in unhealthy patterns, depression, even illness. Stories about our future ( which usually come straight out of the past) can fill us with anxiety. Case in point: I was certain I would fall apart when I said goodbye to my son. I envisioned driving to the airport, sobbing; envisioned sitting alone, staring out the little airplane window, depressed and tearful … and none of that happened. I was letting an old story of loss and loneliness from my past dictate a story about my future.
Side note: The actual story was this: The school was incredibly wonderful, my son was more than ready, and I realized — while having a “why not” drink at the airport bar, whoopee me — that I was filled with joy and gratitude for all of it. It’s hard to be sad when everything is actually wonderful. My old story about myself just isn’t true. Imagine that.
The problem with our stories isn’t just that they’re often wrong; the bigger problem is that they limit us. When we assume that we know, we leave no room for other possibilities. We waste precious time and energy stressing out, preparing for something that never comes, or assuming something that isn’t so. When we do this, we damage our nervous systems, we lose the moment, and worst of all, we miss the magic. Attaching to an old story we become rigid and closed, rather than flexible and open to what Life is trying to offer.
It’s actually hugely relieving and exciting to let go of an old story and see what wants to happen, to relax and discover that we—and Life—are infinitely bigger and more interesting when we stop reciting the same worn-out story over and over. I’m grateful to be reminded that Life is a pretty amazing author; all I need to do is turn the page.
