Saturday morning I walk out the door, in a cheerful mood, on my way to the cheese farmer. It is busier than usual due to the tasting that has been set up for the SPAR, our downstairs neighbor. It’s a pleasant bustle for such a small village as Langeraar.
I almost bump into a somewhat older man with a panicked look on his face. Our eyes meet. “Something is really wrong here,” I think to myself. I look at him questioningly.
‘It’s not normal what’s happening here! How did they come up with this? This is not a meter and a half, is it? ‘ he says angrily, pointing to the tasting. He looks around and seems to be looking for support.
I breathe with relief. I understand what this is about.
The man’s mood is so different from the cheerfulness I experienced less than a minute ago. For a moment, I feel like I want to respond to him, but at the same time I really don’t. In any case, I don’t feel like talking to him about the ‘one-and-a-half-meter distance’.
My stream of thoughts gets going. ‘What story is taking place within him? How miserable for this man that it is so busy here. How do I respond to his indirect appeal to me? ‘
Nothing comes. I murmur, “Well, well,” to fill up the time … “That’s how we all have our challenges, Sir.” I smile into his eyes, hoping he will relax a bit. He turns and walks away.
So it didn’t work out. Nor was it the most fantastic statement I could have made.
A little later, when I take a sip of my homemade cappuccino, the stories come to me.
Maybe it would have been better if I had acknowledged his feelings. In the vein of, “Looks like you are worried or maybe you are angry?”
Well, would that have been a good thing to do? And what is good? Good for who?
What stories are relevant to that man? I can only guess. From ‘I’ll get sick soon, until maybe I’ll die’. Or, who knows, it might be something completely different.
What would it be like if I asked him to change his stories? He may not be able to come up with any new versions.
Yet, the possibilities for a new version of our stories are endless. I can think of a few for that panicky man: what great fun here; how nice that I am healthy. Or: I did lose my wife to Corona. Not surprising that I would react like that.
I know it so well, that I let myself be guided by stories that I also believe myself, at least at the time. In fact, it happens to me to a greater or lesser degree every day. I feel like a victim of that situation. Not really a good feeling. But, a different story is always possible.
What can you do if you don’t realize that you can choose what to focus on? Do you actually have a choice when miserable stories rule you? Let alone, if you are actually dealing with tension, loss or illness.
The good news is that I know by practicing this, I get better and better at being aware of my stories. At that moment, I have a choice on where/what to focus my attention.
A major source of inspiration for me is the book The Choice by Edith Eger. A woman who survived the holocaust. She describes her story in an impressive way. What fascinates me is that she always manages to survive the most terrible situations.
What her life story teaches me is that you really always have a choice.
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