The Stories We Bring

 "There are three sides to every story, yours, mine, and the truth". Robert Evans

We had our first blanket of snow recently which has disappeared already but in its wake, it left the little people in my life anticipating its return.  As we stepped out on the playground to snow falling softly and the flakes beginning to speckle the ground, there were five to seven-year-olds squealing with delight. The momentum of the squeals caused their own flurry of excitement in the air and the energy was contagious. A gradual white sheet formed while some students proclaimed, "I love snow!" and others chimed, "It's snowing!", to anyone near.  Snow was magical and celebrated in their exuberance. 

When I stepped outside with the snow flurries whirling about and covering my hatless head, I silently cursed the flakes and myself for not being prepared.  My mind went to the absence of snow tires on my car as I had not been able to get an appointment until later in the month.  Shaking out my hair and pulling up my hood, I thought of the people living rough who had just experienced twenty-two-degree weather a few short days ago and thought of what a shock it must be for the weather to change so drastically. The magic of snow was lost on me in that brief instance because of the stories I was bringing to this moment.

Both of these realities were two sides to the same story and then there was the truth of snow.  Snow is just frozen water. Snowflakes are just ice crystals that fall to the earth from the sky. There are no two ice crystals alike as their shapes and designs change as they fall from the clouds with fluctuating temperatures. No two snow crystals or flakes will have the same history of development either, due to the conditions changing for each and creating a new and original design or form, much like us.

Thinking about the stories we bring along with us that seem to shape the reality we see or the truths we believe in, becoming a teacher was at the forefront of my mind. With a student intern doing her teaching in my classroom now, I have been remembering my own experience more vividly.   I felt like I was so unprepared for the practicum component. Walking into an alternate universe was how I could describe stepping into the school culture.  There was a lot of feeling overwhelmed by the expectations of a busy classroom.  Most days I wasn't sure I could navigate my own fluctuations of emotions and behavior so was feeling quite intimidated by the idea of doing so for the twenty young bodies before me.  I remember one of the teachers I spent time with. She had young children of her own and was eager for help in the class. I remember her telling me how poorly it all goes at times even with years of experience. She was a kind and caring woman and even her critiques of me were done with such care and respect that I knew I would be harder on myself through this experience than she ever would.  Her story she brought to this mentoring experience was that I was doing my best, I was her equal even as a beginner, and that because we will always find ourselves in places as beginners, we should never forget what that looks and feels like.  I am thinking she has a similar mentor in her life.  I thought I would never become an effective teacher or do what she made look so effortless because of my story of lack in skill and knowledge.  She was overly generous with me in her perspective, and I  was beyond critical of myself.  The real story in this was that teaching is a gift affecting lives, helping others grow and realize their potential, so rewarding and the idea of managing or controlling twenty human beings successfully all day every day is an unnatural and unattainable expectation or aspiration but thirty years later I am still teaching and continuing to learn and recognize the stories I am bringing to each interaction I encounter. It is less about managing and more about creating a space for all the stories the students bring to their individual experience which can often look like chaos and it is loud and messy more times than not, as all growth and real learning are.  

The dear friend I had the pleasure of sitting down with for tea, who sees me as someone who holds space without judgment even though she has also witnessed all of my shadows and the scope of my humanity, is a gift.  Because she has done and is committed to doing the work to recognize her own shadows and the stories she brings. She believes in the evolution and growth of herself and therefore is able to see it in me.  There also remains the person who carries the story, because of experiencing a conflict with me, who sees me only from the shadows when indeed the truth is I am both my friend and my adversaries' story. I am all of it and own it as all the colors of me.  It took me a long time to embrace my shadows and my light that exist in one physical form. Many of us need to be reminded that we are all of these things and what we abhor or become resistant to in others at times. 

I have mentored many teachers over the years and I am sure I thought I knew the truth of their experience until I realized I didn't and that none of us truly do.  Whether it is in a career, politics, religion, language, gender, or any of the other divisive places we find ourselves in, it is good to remember that we don't ever check ourselves or our stories at the door. We don't leave our personal lives at home, and maybe we don't have to.  Maybe we need to bring all of ourselves with our stories of what is truth, with the awareness of our unhealed places, our triggers, shadows, and experiences so we can remember all the parts of who we are and like my sweet friend doing the work, we can recognize ourselves in some aspect of our coworker, the dysregulated child in meltdown mode or the student intern figuring out the complexities of doing a job that feels humanly impossible right now, and understand with humility the stories we are bringing, and where the divide is happening. We can turn our attention inward and ask what is creating the strong feeling or why am I acting with resistance here? 

 Like the more than a septillion snowflakes that fall across Canada every winter, we bring our own unique design from the conditions that have created and shaped us, the stories, and maybe, only relative truths.  Because the truth is, well the truth is.. just the quality or state of being true to facts and then of course to our own realities with the discretion that it is of our own design and maybe we will be able to see the truth of someone else's experience, bringing peace to ourselves and another and we will remember there are always three sides to every story.