The Story of Myself    

Cynthia Bourgeault, a Christian Wisdom teacher, invited her students to, among other things, “fast completely from the story of yourself.” She suggested this as an Ascensiontide practice, lasting for the period between Easter Sunday and Pentecost, forty days.  The entirety of her message and the Invitation she threw down was inspiring. But I was not sure what “fasting from the story of myself” really looked like.

A lot of people use the term “story” these days. Your story, his story, my story. I figured that meant talking about your own or someone else’s life. The older I get, the more interesting my story seems to be. But I didn’t think that was what Cynthia was really getting at.

So, I’ve kind of been wondering about this for the past forty days. Until today. Someone gave an observation about coming home after being away. She had been on a retreat which had enhanced her sense of presence. But when she got home, she lost a lot of that awareness, becoming caught up in getting her life into its accustomed order. She observed this desire as coming from the controlling part of her personality. But she also admitted that having her life organized to her liking made her feel good. Her experience helped me to see that “my story” is the groove I’ve become accustomed to living within. My customs, my habits, what makes me feel “good,” i.e., comfortable.

Living My Story

I also just came home from a wonderful month on my own. Time that felt like a private retreat with many deep and meaningful moments. But as soon as I arrived back home to my husband, I went into control mode. Clean up the kitchen counters, straighten the bedroom, get the laundry going, setup the porch area for summer. I dove into living my usual “story.”

Yet there was Jack, having just spent a month as a bachelor, blissfully free to do and be himself. And I caught a glimpse of that. Of a Jack that I seldom get to see, because I am so busy making my (our) life “comfortable.” He’s deep, this Jack. He likes to sit and “do nothing” so thoughts can marinate in him. He doesn’t get caught in being sure his clothes hang straight in the closet. Or that he has enough groceries for the week. His navigation system steers him smoothly around obstacles like that.

Letting Go

What I caught sight of, is that if I can let go of living my own story long enough, I could glide along with his. And where might that take us? It might take me to a place I don’t often go. A place where I’d be uncomfortable and would grow. In a story that is not just my own, but one I can share.