The Stories We Tell Ourselves

the stories we tell ourselves

At work, as part of our professional development, I (along with several colleagues) have been reading and talking about Make It Stick, a book written by Peter Brown, Henry Roediger, and Mark McDaniel, on the psychology of learning.

The other day, I was given the task of leading the discussion on chapter four, intriguingly titled “Avoid Illusions of Knowing.”  That reading, and the accompanying conversation, inspired me to write this blog.

Early in the chapter, the authors argue that all humans have a “hunger for narrative” and that this arises “out of our discomfort with ambiguity and arbitrary events.”  In other words, because life often seems so random and incomprehensible, we create stories that help us make sense of what seemingly appears to be nonsensical.  For example, if we fail at some important task and find this failure surprising and upsetting, we tell ourselves that someone or something else was the cause of our poor performance.  This story serves an important psychological function:  It helps shift the blame to something external to us—something beyond our control—and therefore acts as a kind of psychological salve.

The authors go on to say that we also create stories that help us construct an identity and worldview.  In my case, when I think of who I am, I have a story I tell myself that goes something like this.  I come from a working-class background.  My early life was chaotic because I grew up in an unstable family.  As a result, I was often alone and lonely.  This caused me to become an introvert, thoughtful, and creative.  I also didn’t have brothers and sisters during my earliest formative years so I had to learn to entertain myself and become self-sufficient.  Today, because of the way I grew up, I am tough and attracted to solitary, creative pursuits.  In politics, I also champion the underprivileged because I empathize with this class of people.

Brown, Roediger, and McDaniel explain that we create such narratives because they help us “fit the events of our lives into a cohesive story that accounts for our circumstances, the things that befall us, and the choices we make.”  In other words, we construct an identity through the telling and retelling of what amounts to personalized myths of who we are and how we came to be.

Here’s the problem.  These stories become self-fulfilling prophecies.  In my case, because I have always seen myself as a creative loner, I have come to act like a creative loner.  Though the identities we’ve constructed for ourselves provide us with a stable sense of self, they can also limit us.  In my case, when I’m being entirely honest with myself, I have to say that though there is some truth to this “self” I have constructed, it ignores other aspects of my personality and personal history.  I had, for instance, a large extended family, including lots of cousins that I loved spending time with.  I am also happily married and generally enjoy myself when I’m among a large group of like-minded individuals.  In other words, I have a history of being with others and acting quite sociable.

Here’s my point, we all have this idea in our heads about who we are, but we need to remember that the self we’ve constructed is, indeed, just a story we’ve created.  This story, though it certainly does contain some important truths about how we see ourselves, it is also likely an exaggeration or an oversimplification.

What do you think about this idea of the “constructed self?”  How accurately does the self you think you are match the self you think others see when they look at you?  Have you created a self that limits you in some important way?

All very important considerations and questions.

Decide Who You Want to Be and How You Want to Live

Who do you want to be

I’m incredibly busy right now.  (That’s one of the reasons I sometimes don’t publish here as often as I’d like.)  I work full-time as the director of a writing center and I help my wife run her small business.  On top of all that, I’m a writer and an artist—one who is in the process of restarting his art career after recently selling, almost without even trying, several Prismacolor pencil on paper drawings.  As you might guess after reading all this, my biggest challenge is finding a way to do all these things and still eat and sleep.

As luck would have it, I had an important conversation with a very interesting woman—I’ll call her Mathilda—this past weekend.  Our conversation began with her telling me about how she’d immigrated from Germany to American several decades ago and about her unconventional views on just about every subject one might think of.  It then very quickly morphed into her sharing her thoughts about where so many people go wrong in how they live their lives.

She told me that people can learn a lot by observing animals.  Animals, it seems, live very simply and thus intelligently.  They prize shelter, sufficient food, and being part of a herd or swarm or gaggle or whatnot.  Because they have no concept of what it means to engage in conspicuous consumption, they do not waste or behave frivolously.  There was a time when humans were a lot wiser than they are now, a lot more “animal” in other words.  Somehow, though, human beings have been seduced by things, like status and the accumulation of things (especially money).  These accumulators believe that being wealthy is the key to happiness despite there being lots of evidence to the contrary.

She told me that she is now retired and lives with her American husband who is just as unconventional as she is.  (She told me that they met in an ashram in India quite a few years ago.)  She said the house they currently live in meets their needs, meaning that it isn’t grand, nor do they have air conditioning because they want to live naturally, as the animals do, so they open their windows and doors to let in the breeze.  During the hot parts of the day they nap.  During the cool parts they get active.  They also produce all their own food and live very intuitively and instinctively.  She said they own no TV and that they live as the Spartans did.  She stressed, throughout her telling of all this, that these were choices they’d made based on what they value and the kind of people they want to be.  Many (or even most) let circumstances dictate how they live and are fairly powerless.  My friend, on the other hand, said that she and her husband are consciously in control of their lives.

My conversation with Mathilda revealed to me that I needed to think about how I’ve been living and what my lifestyle is doing to me.  I needed to sit down and make a list of my priorities.  It occurs that many people today don’t really know who they are, want they want, where they want to go, and thus how to get there.  They don’t even know what they value.  This is shame.  This keeps people from deciding what’s important and what’s not.

In my own case, I want to be a good husband, a just and caring person, and very creative.  These are the things that matter to me.  How much money do I really need to be a good husband and caring person?  Absolutely nothing.  And what do I need to be creative?  I need time and enough money to keep a stock of art supplies.  That means I have to look very critically at how I’ve been living.  Am I throwing money away needlessly?  Am I wasting my time by watching TV and the like?  How many hours per week do I spend staring at my mobile phone and twiddling my thumbs?  The answers:  yes and too many.

My conversation with Mathilda made me do some self-examination and take stock.  What I found was a bit painful.  Even though I knew what was important to me, I was not being focused and self-disciplined enough.

What are those things that you most value?  What are your priorities?  What sort of person do you want to be?  What changes is it going to take in how you live for you to become your ideal self?  I’d like to hear your thoughts to these extremely important and personal questions.

This piece originally appeared in Pointless Overthinking.