We always tell OUR own story.

In storytelling sessions, when working on a story, we discuss what the story means to us, what message it carries, according to us.  "According to us" is the keyword here.

It strikes me again and again that stories rarely carry the same message to all their listeners. 
Even when we find a story which seems to carry an obvious message, lead to a clear conclusion, even when we share this story with people who share our language, culture, views, attitudes, still then, the story often carries a different message to each of us. 

The reason you may ask?

We can only hear our own story.

When we look out to the world what we see is what we carry in our heart, when we listen to a story, what we hear is the story we carry in ourselves.

For the past week, there has been one story I have been telling over and over again, I got it in the article "Black Out teaches New Yorkers the Ancient Art of Talking to Each Other"

(see link: http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2012/11/02/new-york-blackout_n_2067462.html).

It's a story about what happens when a huge city has no electricity. It's a story about people bereft of Ipads and cell phones, heating, and light who find that they are having some of the most incredible times in years and more sincere exchanges with friends, family members and complete strangers than they did when technology supposedly made communication easier.

So I stopped and I asked myself, what is it about this story that touched me so deeply that it somehow works its way into all my conversations?  Why did this story hop on the train of my thoughts?
Well I am sure that if I asked this question to all the people I shared this story with, we would have a long list of answers.  But when I asked myself this question, the answer was simple:

It's a story about the value of "difficult" over "easy".

And once I had this answer, it made sense.  Of course the value of  a "difficult" processes over taking the easy way is what I am all about.  I was born on weaver's commune.  In post industrial times, if someone is going to wash, die, spin, and weave wool, instead of going out to buy themselves a coat, they give utmost value to "difficult" processes over taking the easy way.  And there are many ways I have carried on this family tradition in my life.

It's almost as if I welcomed the hiccups of life, for the opportunity they give me to embrace more "difficult" processes. 

An example, these days I don't have hot water in my house, and so I carry my shower stuff in my bag and take showers everywhere, at friends', at the gym...  This morning as I was enjoying a warm shower in the middle of a work day, I felt just blessed to be taking this impromptu break.  And I thought how much I would miss this, once I have hot water in my house (hm, should I say: if this ever happens?).  For me the difficulties of life that make us use the long way, often take us on wonderful new paths and bring magic in our lives.

I choose:

the long way home,

the shower in the middle of the day,

the hand-woven coat,

the hand written letter,

the candle lit cafe in the middle of the storm.

I choose the long difficult process which produces the exceptional gem I will treasure, over the easy way which gives me a gem I can discard after use.

And when from the constant flow of the river of data and information, I fished one story, I just happened to fish this one, and I should not be surprised when I found that it was: my story.