The Stories We Tell Ourselves

And The Art of Contemplation

Life has been just happening and I take a little less time to hone in on routines like journaling and checking in. While social media makes these small acts seem appetizing, sometimes the reality is we don’t have enough time on our hands. (At least it feels this way) and when we have a moment of reprieve, often times, we spend it with friends, family, or alone. Maybe binge watching our new favorite show (Silo on Apple+ for me), maybe out about in the world while worrying about the list of to-dos still pending our attention and action.

July has been a month of chaos and carrying more than I usually do. I laugh at myself as I write this because, truthfully, life is pretty good. It all comes back to how we frame things, to the way we default to our built-in, practiced patterns that shape not just a single moment, but the entire story we tell about our lives.

This is not a unique journey, we travel through our life, first finding blame in everything that happens outside of us, then gradually, we realize there is empowerment in claiming responsibility. Not only the actions and decisions that fall on our shoulders, but even the way we interpret a story as it's unfolding. The way we can expand and make malleable our ability to move around, or move through an obstacle. No matter how challenging it feels in the moment, we keep collecting more and more evidence to the contrary, proof that we can, in fact, get through this moment too.

There is no comparison, and it's fruitless to try. We can compare our joys, sorrow, fortunes or misfortune. The truth is, all of us experience the same baseline human emotions that underline each external experience. Losing someone to sickness or death can seem more tragic than losing a loved one through choice. But the absence of them, dead or alive, hurts just the same. It is the feelings of grief, anger, and hopelessness we all share.