NANCY CAROL MOODY
  • Home
  • Books
  • Publications
  • Poems
  • About
  • Coming Up
  • Contact Nancy

The Story I Don't Tell Myself

1/14/2013

2 Comments

 
Picture
Picture
Recently, an artist of my acquaintance sent out a request to some of his contacts, hopeful they could provide him with some inspiration for an upcoming project. He was interested in the stories we tell ourselves, the narratives or mantras that help us get through the challenging and difficult times.

How hard can this be? I thought.

In a jiff I hit the Reply button, set to work with my response, then returned to his inquiry to make sure I had fully understood his request.

Nope. Wrong answer.

So I set aside the jiff, scratched a little deeper and once again hit Reply. Again began to type. Again returned to the original query.

And again—nope. It appears this one's a stumper. Or in confectionery terms, smooth chocolate on the outside, gnarly nougat in the center.


I don't believe I possess such a narrative. At least not one that I dust off when the mud's sucking down my boots. It's true I tip toward optimism, but that's more a way of being than a story I actively tell myself when the going gets rough. I've always been a vicarious learner, having shaped my point of view largely on lessons I've taken from others' experiences. If you burn your hand in the fire, I don't have to test it myself to see that it's hot (okay yes there have been those ugly exceptions). I've always felt that a strong personal philosophy would serve me well in the most despairing of times.

Sure, there are moments when my brain taps out a quick little memo to myself, something like You Can Do This, a message I consider a simple placeholder for the highly developed faith system I lack. But a quickie message such as this hardly qualifies as a personal narrative. Or so I think.

A woman who has been very special to me for a long stretch of my life is also a person from whom I learned many things. Her most important lesson, though, was an inadvertent one. We were quite alike, the two of us, and early on I recognized in her the darker side of myself. What I gained from her was a template for the person I did not want to be, and so I began to adjust my choices, to move in a direction that pushed me toward that person I preferred to become.

And then there was my mother who, quite sadly, gave her final years to an unhappy life. Many more times than I care to remember she said to me, "I spent my whole life looking for tomorrow. And tomorrow never came." Her words are a weight I carry with me still. But also was her message heard.

Earlier I asserted that I don't have a narrative, but perhaps I do have one one after all. It doesn't come to me in words I recognize, but it's there, its own sort of pentimento, under the surface, but bleeding through. Move forward, it says. Move forward in a way you won't regret.


Do you have a narrative? I'm not asking you to tell me. Just ask the question of yourself.

Picture
2 Comments
Margaret link
1/14/2013 10:01:16 am

What fascinating and insightful reflections! I received the same request and also found myself thinking about what seems to have been my mother's personal narrative: "Look on the bright side." That was problematic for me, because I often felt pressured to ignore or gloss over any of my feelings that weren't bright and happy. Your personal narrative seems to bounce off your mother's and move to a place that improves on it. So does mine. I want to focus on being happy, but in a way that acknowledges the reality my times of unhappiness and suffering, using them as a sort of launching pad to happiness.

Reply
Nancy
1/17/2013 05:52:49 am

Thank you, Margaret. I have this idea that once we stop learning, the very point of our existence ceases to be. So I lumber along, chewing on the gristle of my own experience, trying to shape an improved path for myself. Certainly I want to—would love to—enjoy happiness along the journey, but I don't see happiness as the vanishing point. Betterment might be the word I'm searching for. As in: If I am a better person when I return to the earth, I will have done my work here well.

Reply



Leave a Reply.

    RSS Feed

    Nancy Carol Moody

    I'm a poet and a letter-writer. Yup, that kind. The kind who uses pens and paper and actual stamps. The kind who will leave the house with nothing on the agenda but to get to the mailbox before the scheduled pick-up time. The kind who understands that technology is a wondrous thing, but nothing quite beats finding a real letter with a real stamp on it amid the credit card solicitations, pizza coupons and seminar catalogs.

    Picture


    Archives

    August 2013
    July 2013
    June 2013
    May 2013
    April 2013
    March 2013
    February 2013
    January 2013
    December 2012
    November 2012
    October 2012
    September 2012
    August 2012
    July 2012
    June 2012
    May 2012
    April 2012
    March 2012


    Categories

    All
    Animals
    Art
    Eugene
    Happiness
    Mail
    Medical Stuff
    Monday Morning
    My House
    Mysteries
    Negative Space
    Nostalgia
    On Writing
    Oregon
    Poets And Poetry
    Sports
    The New Yorker
    The New York Times
    The New York Times Magazine
    To Do Lists
    To-Do Lists
    University Of Oregon
    Work


    Blogroll

    All About Oregon
    Anita's Poetry Blog
    Anvils & Edelweiss
    Colette Jonopulos
    Evelyn Searle Hess, Author Blog
    Haiku Oregon
    Off the Page
    Poetry & Popular Culture
    Stone Soup
    Writer's Island

    RSS Feed

© 2022 Nancy Carol Moody
Photos used under Creative Commons from marc falardeau, Sedona Hiker, juggernautco, jetheriot, Jaime Olmo, Lucas Guimaraes, titanium22, Benimoto, Tim Green aka atoach, quinn.anya, gadl, rjs1322, photosteve101, Epiclectic, Bert Kaufmann, Dave Hamster, Nesster, WarmSleepy, Double--M, appadaumen_de, Epiclectic, x-ray delta one, Krikit ♥, Hey Paul Studios, Steve Snodgrass, andydr, One From RM, Dusty J, IIun, out of ideas, claumoho, Marxchivist, AtomDocs, TheCreativePenn, acnatta, ell brown, Dyanna Hyde, katerha, ThrasherDave, highwaycharlie, photoverulam, opensourceway, mas_to, opal nova, kk+, Spigoo, quinn.anya, Flóra, Wonderlane, MaretH., JD Hancock, sunshinecity, dollen, cliff1066™, Epiclectic, PinkMoose, DebMomOf3, Jonathan Daroca, Family Art Studio, Gonmi, Jilligan86, Epiclectic, Infrogmation, christine zenino, j_lai, Andrew Morrell Photography, anemoneprojectors (getting through the backlog), exfordy, andy_tyler, psd, mikecogh, "T"eresa, Epiclectic, TheGiantVermin, cybrariankt, Sergei Golyshev, Epiclectic, Kate Cooper, Ray Larabie, kathia shieh, Homini:), Robert Banh, Hitchster, squeezeomatic, marfis75, katerha, Chrissy Olson, flikr, jenny downing, snapp3r, BazzaDaRambler, Robert Couse-Baker, leppre, Marcin Wichary, jeff_golden, jpockele, Paul Lowry, Nina J. G., Lincolnian (Brian), Epiclectic, peasap, juggernautco, cogdogblog, U.S. Embassy The Hague, gui.tavares, Wonderlane, stu_spivack, Bitterjug, puroticorico, wayne's eye view, The Travelling Bum, HockeyholicAZ, david.nikonvscanon, Paul Lowry, OnTask, net_efekt, oswaldo, donireewalker, Sister72, herval, teadrinker, James Nash (aka Cirrus), jaqian, Yosemite James, Tim in Sydney, C.K.H., Nadia Szopinska, Walraven, ArmandoH2O, Peter Blanchard
  • Home
  • Books
  • Publications
  • Poems
  • About
  • Coming Up
  • Contact Nancy