stories

The plane was about to touch down in Atlanta as I flipped closed the back cover of Don Miller’s most recent book. In it, Don shares about the process of turning his best-seller Blue Like Jazz into a movie. With the help of two film-makers, he learns story-writing basics for the big screen and discovered a whole new world of characters, conflict, inciting incidents, and fundamentally, that when characters overcome conflict (particularly against insurmountable odds), it makes the best stories.

Through it all, he is compelled to begin telling a “better story” with his own life, because as he puts it, no one wants to watch a movie about a guy staring at a TV. So, he gets up off the couch (literally and physically) and launches into the world to live an epic, or at least more memorable, life.

Needless to say, I loved the book. And though I have had it in my hands at the bookstore more than once, it wasn’t until early last week that I went through with what turned out to be a very timely purchase. Despite many points of connecting with him, though, Don also accurately pointed out what may be our primary difference -- “People who are living good stories are too busy to write about them.” (p. 97)

It’s not that I think mine is anything amazing – this crazy path is certainly something that I didn’t consciously follow or construct. But as the narrative of my life has unfolded -- with each move, each trip, each friend-- I gradually realized that something was being told through my life (and through all of our lives) that was much, much Bigger than me. So, as many of you know, I decided about two months ago to hit the pause button and at least try to write this all down before I forget how I got here.

Yet, when I reached for the pause button, I must have accidentally hit fast-forward. I looked around and found myself in Haiti amid both terrible tragedy and irrepressible hope, then I zipped back to Baltimore/DC and had way too little time with my amazing friends before seeing all my earthly belongings shoved into a truck and driven away. I stopped in at my favorite Tennessee homestead on the way to my new city, then suddenly I was surrounded again by all my stuff, but it was all still in boxes that were all over the house. And then the phone started ringing -- “Why, yes, I would love to do that project for you!”

I mean, wasn’t it just like Don -- I was too busy living to have time to write? Not entirely. Buried within someone else’s rambling memoir and his descriptions of conflict and struggle and how those develop true character, I realized what may be my biggest obstacle to overcome yet, one which I’m avoiding with all of my perpetual busy-ness... telling my own story, truthfully.

The Cowgirl and I affectionately call it The Veil -- it’s the line between all those things that everyone knows happened but never talks about, versus what’s ok to discuss at the dinner table -- the taboo topics compared to the safe topics, or for us at least, all of our rowdy, rebellious years versus the women we’ve become today.

I’ve known it was coming. From that first outline I sketched out a few months ago and realized my story had to be much longer than one year in Indonesia; I knew. It had to start in Mississippi, where it began. The Veil was going to have to be drawn. Having grown and become (hopefully) something better than the little devil I was during my late teens particularly, the thought of re-visiting years that are repressed for a reason is, to me, much more mortifying than a short-term consulting job in one of the world’s most undeveloped countries (which I’ve already, fearlessly, agreed to do).

The thought of drudging back through the dark years, shining a spotlight on all the yucky things about myself (then and now), is one part of this writing project that I had not really even allowed myself to consider. The rest -- world travel, adventures, funny people, exciting work, weird food, whatever -- all of that? Covered. Check and check. But if I really want to share a Good Story, if I want the character, my character, to grow and develop, and become someone that has the courage to face insurmountable challenges and overcome crisis, I am going to have to do it myself.

After years now of running furiously forward, I need to have the guts now to stop, turn around, and walk deliberately backwards. I need to figure out why my life has become this particular story and be willing to a hold up a mirror to the character of me and see what’s really there.

Insurmountable obstacle? We shall see…