Earlier today I was on a teleconferencing call with Kevin Kling. We were being asked questions about the connection between stories and the healing process. We had a ball.
For those of you who do not know, Kevin is a famous playwright, author, and amazing storyteller (http://www.kevinkling.com). He also lives with an interesting story of disability. He was born with a malformed arm with a barely functional hand and fingers. Then twelve years ago, he was in a motorcycle accident that completely paralyzed his more functional arm. So his “bad” arm became his “good” arm. Try to imagine.
So we were talking about stories, the intersecting stories of both patients and caregivers. The stories that help one heal when there has been a radical disruption of how you fit into the world or how you know yourself, or how stories can help ground an ongoing change of identity. In this instance, Kevin was talking about the frustrations of traveling with his disability, like trying to open doors or turn on showers in a new hotel. He was saying that, at times, all he can do is embrace the frustration. Through laughter he says, “I hate to say it, but sometimes I even enjoy it.” Then, with his next breath, he tells one of the best, shortest stories that I have ever heard.
“However, there was one time I thought they were going to find a pile of bones behind a doorknob in Istanbul.”
I burst out laughing. I couldn’t believe it…literally. “Kevin, did that really happen in Istanbul?” “Yes, absolutely,” he said. There it is, the power of story. One word, one fact recognized as the doorway to laughter, lightness, and yet creating poignancy. That story has a completely different edge if Kevin says, “…behind a doorknob in New York City.” Then the story gets a little darker, more ominous, less exotic and less colorful.
The journey to find the stories of your life does not require writing volumes. It simply requires recognition. This brings me to the image accompanying this blog. Finding your stories means moving toward the earth, stepping down into your life, not reaching upward for the sky. This picture above is of the stairs leading off my deck. The tree you see is dead and has no branches. A storm took off its top half so nothing but the trunk has remained for the last fifteen years or so. If you look closely, there are holes in this trunk. That is because a wonderful pileated woodpecker loves this perch and I love when he visits.
Look at the luscious, green overgrowth that surrounds this magnificent stump. If I were a self-respecting homeowner, I would tidy up this scene. I would try to control it; but, in the end, I would lose. So too our stories. They come in all shapes and sizes. They bespeak of happiness and hardship, of successes and failures. Kevin tells us of the unimaginable moments of not being able to open a door and gives a snapshot into the difficulty of his life through humor. I tell you to move toward the earth of your stories. Don’t mind the mess and the loss of control. It’s beautiful.
So what’s at the bottom of your stairway?