StoryGator


Never underestimate the power of storytelling.

Consolation plasters

Never attempt crafting when you're in a hurry. Or when you're annoyed. And even rather when you're both. We know the rules and we break them.

I recently cut myself when crafting and all I had left in the plaster box were children plasters with teddy bears printed on them. And you put them on. Listen George, I was bleeding after all. It was the teddy bears or a rather big puddle of blood on the floor.

When the bleeding was stopped and the dust had settled, I sat down. And I reconsidered “life choices”. Welcome to adult life! You fail at crafting.

I failed at crafting, this time. That's your broken record spinning: Every win is a unique exception. Every loss is a general rule.

Now look who's gotten all clever and witty. And is now reconsidering “life choices”. To be precise, I considered what to make of it. I am an adult, living a – fairly – adult life: a job, insurances, responsibilities... and children plasters with teddy bears. Some were dresses like doctors.

And? And more than anything I would love to tell you now how I – like the adult that I am – got myself out of that moment. And yet I didn't. Every second made it a bit worse, I got reminded of my post about recursive emotions. So instead of letting myself get paralysed, I drew a standard card in my repertoire: humour.

Self-humour? Am I about to get a little brother or sister now? I hope not, I don't have the nerve to deal with both of you.

I picked and played the humour card. I made a picture and sent it around to friends. Connection is often a good first step and it already lifted me up. Still, it didn't prepare me for what happened next.

“Kiddy plasters are best plasters” was the first reaction I received. And if I know one thing about this friend, the sentiment was genuine.

“I call that winning at life” was the second reaction I received. This one could have been partly sarcastic, but then again, it's more likely that the sarcasm was directed at life than at teddy bears.

And then the bleeding was stopped, the dust had settled, I sat down, and I chuckled. I chuckled at life, at my friends (bless you), and I chuckled at myself: I didn't inherit those plasters. I didn't buy them for nieces or nephews. I bought them myself a few months back, thinking “Why not?”, probably chuckling to myself.

But when push came to shove, when teddy met skin, I felt down instead of feeling truly privileged. After all: Kiddy plasters are best plasters.

Last post: “Nobody ever returned to tell”

Nobody ever returned to tell

In my last post, the topic of “broken CVs” lead me to the phenomenon of “survival bias”. If we want to talk about storytelling and its impact on how we perceive the world, we can't underestimate survival bias.

Survival bias is what I like to call the “hero's story of the mundane”, the epic journey of people “like you and me”. But mainly, mostly, always... people like the other “you”. Survival bias is a two-sided coin. The “me” side and the “you” side. Let's start with the “you” side.

"You can achieve anything if you only believe enough in yourself".

Unless you believe you could fly. This will get you locked up. The “you” side of survival bias is looking at the successes of others and feeling bad for not following in their paths. Look, they made a gamble, believed in themselves, challenged the gods and returned victorious!

We love hero stories. More than stories about “people who tried and failed”. There's nothing wrong with that but it shifts the perspective: Even if thousand have failed, we tell the story of the one who succeeded. And we might feel encouraged, despite the odds. You’re not seriously promoting the opposite, are you? Great idea! Let’s tell all kids their bedtime stories of the ‘thousand who failed’… it’s going to encourage them for sure to even try ;)

You’re thinking in just black and white again, George. I hoped for you to be over that by now. Depressing discouragement is as crushing as fatalistic encouragement, although maybe faster. Then what? The famous ‘balance’? Bit of both to cancel the effects? “You can! But probably not!” ?

That would then be the “me” side of survival bias. I will fail because I’m not special enough. Or crueler: because I didn’t try hard enough. Others succeeded. We’ve got the evidence. Go book their masterclasses now!!!

We might miss the point. Encouragement and discouragement can’t balance out each other in a healthy fashion. And you’re right, why should we counter encouragement at all? Because you will fail. You will fail, your nose will bleed, your knee will hurt, and then you loose your job, your flat and future career. The slippery slope of failure.

You make it sound so awful but what’s your proof? Thousand failed. And didn’t die – despite what “survival bias” suggests. Maybe they just learnt. Maybe they tried again. Fools! If they try again, they didn’t learn!

Not your lesson, that is. And not the best to graduate, I’d say. Nobody needs to “embrace” failure. But how about we greet it like the old and wise neighbour? The one who waters our plants when we are away, the one who lectures us every time how to “properly park a car” but who would never go as far as scratching it with their keys.

You are escaping into romantic semantics again…

Perhaps. But this time it feels justified, being the better lesson:

“Better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all.“

Next post: “Consolation plasters” Last post: “If it ain’t broke, have you ever fixed it”

If it ain't broke, have you ever fixed it

I met some friends for dinner and my friends brought friends of their own I haven't met before. A perfect situation for general introductions: Who are you, how did you meet, when did you meet, what do you do for a living, what are your hobbies...

And several times – explicitly and implicitly – I heard the term “broken CV” going around the table. Well. Break your C, it might break your V. But does it?

The word “broken” implies at the very least “something isn't in the state it is supposed to be”. A very subjective but clearly negative point of view. Some broken things can be fixed, some can be mended. Most leave scars of some sort. Then cover them up. don't go around parading with them, will you?

But here it becomes complicated: Scars – some of them – are considered like trophies. Proof of heroic obstacles, overcome and turned into achievement of growth. Well, well, aren't we desperately trying to romantize things again? People started something, regretted their decision, then changed course. Only for some new courses getting broken soon after. Studies never finished, a job quit again rather suddenly. And those are just the ones who actually tried to plan ahead. Others only tumble in the wind like leaves. But I guess everyone can be an “artist” these days.

My dear George, what caused this aggressive mood of your today? We try, we fail, we learn. Every child falls on their bum a lot of times until it can walk. Maybe the original reason for padded diapers.

You'd enjoy to only call an artist “artist” if you like their art. Only the result can justify a raison d'être for you! Fine then. Have it your way. Honour failures. Celebrate dead ends. Give medals for detours. But we sometimes do, don't we?

Many laugh about people traveling the world to “find themselves”. But it's often the same people envying the ones who actually “found themselves”. Survival bias at textbook level. Think outside the box, but never leave it.

I guess we got it all wrong. One size doesn't fit all. And when it comes to life, sometimes even “my own” size doesn't fit anymore. Or not quite yet. And. That. Is. ... Alright? At least it's normal. And if it fits, in this very point of space and time, that's normal, too.

If it ain't broke, don't fix it.

And if it ain't hurt, don't break it just because all the cool kids have. The danger of survival bias lies in risky decisions. And regret. Speaking of regret: Around the table, around the “broken CVs” there wasn't a lot of regret. People hoped, tried, reconsidered, and tried again. They know their scars. And some used them for a change of clothes.

Next post: “Nobody ever returned to tell” Last post: “Shame on me if I fool me daily”

Shame on me if I fool me daily

Unrelated to my accomplished milestone (or very much related indeed, I leave this up to your judgement), here's the dark spot. The topic which was on my mind from the beginning and which I didn't want to cover: the imposter syndrome.

Go on then. You claim to be an expert on this one.

I know perceive a lot of my friends to suffer from this. The more they accomplish, the more they reach, the more competent they seem to be... the less they seem to believe it. Instead, there is a deeply rooted belief to be imposters and to be one day exposed as what they think they truly are: a fraud

Regarding self-talk, this topic is spicy. When you talk so an “imposter” (for simplicity I will call the victims of imposter syndrome “imposter” now, the quotation marks being an essential eye-winking part of the phrasing)... Enough remarks, the readers will get it. Don't bore them with your pitiful diversion from the topic!

As I was trying to say: Talking to “imposters” is spicy. There is a high chance to directly talk to their self-talk unfiltered. They won't admit fraud – who would – but they start reasoning with against you while you shoot proof after proof at them. The better their rationality, the more proof-proof they become!

The effect reaches new heights when two “imposters” argue about who is more successful... You enter a “ménage à quatre” with two self-talks taking the lead. Ah, my siblings inspirit. So nice to be with family.

But George isn't as much interested in the imposter syndrome as in the dark spot. Indeed! Tell them why you postponed the topic. If you can, that is.

I try. Don't interrupt me. If you can, that is.

When I started this project about self-talk, imposter syndrome was an obvious topic. But also a big one, cultivated over years, caused by so many things. Covering it seemed to be too big a thing. And what's more problematic: I can't write it as a self-talk I overcame. If I honestly consider myself an expert on imposter syndrome, I'd admit to be an “imposter”. But being an “imposter” means... Say it! Say it! evil grin

...to believe you're not. Muhahahaha. Checkmate

A trap so deep, you're never good enough to reach the bottom of the well. Never sure enough that nobody has before. Never brave enough to return to the light. And yet it keeps you on your feet. Makes you reach new heights and spins this world.

What do we do then? Every milestone simply being the “last milestone before the next”. I start to believe that all of us are recovering “imposters”. Maybe that's all we can ever achieve in this regard. And today I choose to celebrate that. Today's the day I honour this milestone on the eternal road of “imposter” recovery.

Next post: “If it ain't broke, have you ever fixed it” Last post: “Told me so”

Told me so

And there we are, aren't we? July! ...

What, will that be the first time you actually refuse to talk? When I made it further than you expected? ... You won't make October ...

Dear readers, my self-talk George is finally out of words. When I started this project, he was – albeit not yet having his name – lurking in the back of my mind, not giving me a lot of chances.

  • Will I find a topic each week?
  • Will you find enough topics at all?
  • Can I stick to a commitment?
  • Will you stop when nobody reads your posts?
  • Could it drive me crazy?
  • You mean more than you already are?

For such a loud start, half-time is a rather quite celebration. Oh then be my guest! Celebrate it. Indulge in your little victory. The stakes aren't getting lower, you know? You've come this far, stopping now will only be even more painful.

Then I won't stop. Why should I? I honestly enjoy this here! Then what the dark spot, huh? Didn't you promise me – and hence yourself – that when we “reach July”, you will talk about the imposter syndrome?

... You keep on dodging it and we both know that. Afraid your readers might find out that you're not an expert on the topic?

What happened here now out of a sudden? Since when did this become YOUR blog in which you refute me? Half-time, my friend, things can change.

They can, they do, they will. As much as June turned to July. As much as I celebrate this little milestone right now.

Next post: “Shame on me if I fool me daily” Last post: “A time and a place”

A time and a place

I can't believe you're slacking. We're on a run here, so close to the solution! Let's think about it again from the beginning one more time and we will find a solution! You. Better. Work.

It's so very nice of you George not to get tired. I know you can be annoying but this is a new level. Come on, I'm encouraging you, isn't that what you asked for? You are only “nice” because you want something, because you're not happy with what I'm doing or not doing. That's not a compliment, it's an insult!!

And yet, you're so close. Give it another shot, you know what they say: There's no time like the present. That might be true but right now it's 4am in the morning. Let. Me. Sleep.

Seriously. Fighting during the day was one thing but this is ridiculous. Every waking moment he can sneak onto the front shield of my brain, blocking my vision, just to derail me. So far, nothing new. But tonight I just woke up for a couple of minutes and here he was. Are you still under the illusion I could get away? Could go for a walk, maybe take a vacation abroad? Trust me, I wouldn't mind. I like my sleep. Definitely more than your company.

I feel hurt and misunderstood. Do you think it's fun to disagree with you all the time? I want to help you, encourage you... (Still doubting that) ...just look at this conversation and consider all the problems we could have solved in the meantime. It looks to me like you are the one derailing ME!

4am. And now I am the evil self-talk of my self-talk. Makes me chuckle and wonder what Freud would have said about it. He might have missed a third voice here, better not go there or jinx it.

You can't run away from your tasks. They will still be waiting for you in the morning A wonderful idea. Shall we call it a deal and then call it a night? After all: When I'm tired it's you who blames me for it!

You make it sound like a an evil plan. It sure looks like it...

Next post: “Told me so” Last post: “In vino mendacium”

In vino mendacium

This week, I went out to town with friends. We had a good time, a drink, another one... “and the rest is history”. Or in this case mine. And guess who was eager to tell it? Of course George.

The next day was rather slow. I spent most of it in bed, accompanied by lots and lots of water and old DVDs. But despite my efforts, I also spent enough time listening to George's nagging voice in my head.

It was way easier than usual, let me tell you. Less distraction, no productivity, and above all: Less resistance. Admit it, old friend, you agreed with me after all: The state you were in was your fault. Stupid, avoidable, and your own fault.

How to even attempt a courtroom defense? Stupid, probably. Avoidable, probably. My own fault, who's else? Being called “old friend” by George seems to put insult to injury. Hitting a nerve, am I not?

Age seems relentless: You're too old to recover on the spot, yet also too old to sell and buy “no more alcohol” as the latest fortune cookie plan! An entire day of this. On and on and on. The offered conclusion – “beyond a reasonable doubt” in George's book: Too wild for monk, so I must be the pope of party land.

Only extremes, no middle ground. And me too tired to protest. The past is the past, no chance in watering some drinks retroactively. And so I win this one. You felt miserable. And I wallowed in the pain. See you again next post.

...

I don't know about our dear readers. I don't want to give him this one. But I can't deflect or neglect what he said: “Stupid, avoidable, and your own fault.” It was fun, though (the night, not the day). Could we settle for a draw this time? Oh please. You felt bad, it was your fault. Avoidable. Just not for you. You lost a day for a few hours. Not worth it.

Finally: something to disagree. It was worth is. And it will sustain from all of it. What will? The night. The day will pale in memory but the night will stay in memory. And I will tell its story.

This week, I went out to town with friends. We had a good time, a drink, another one... “and the rest is history”. One of fun and food, of stories and jokes, of laughter and joy.

Next post: “A time and a place” Last post: “Sports class warfare”

Sports class warfare

Never underestimate the power of storytelling. Not even for a second, as the stories will stay with you for a long time, shaping your view on the world.

You still remember them, don't you? The stories and the little roles you were allowed to play in them. Others have always been casted as the hero.

Of course I do. I watched enough movies of the late 20th century. And within: the omnipresent rivalry:

Jock or Nerd?

And every reader who endured at least one of your posts knows: you're a nerd. I wouldn't have been surprised if you'd written 'Kirk or Picard?'

Such a 'duality' is of course completely idiotic. I know very nerdy jocks, very sporty nerds, and people who are neither. And I know amazing people among all of them. But today... ...today the city belongs to... 'them'.

A football championship, sunshine, the smell of a BBQ somewhere. Every bar is suddenly full of fans, wearing colours, having fun. And I'm back in school, back in class, back in PE, back in a time when “Jock or Nerd” was like “Techno or HipHop”, like “Black or White”, and even a single shade of gray was yet to be invented.

I'm decades older now and I'm still there picking sides. As if it ever was your call to pick. You were picked. More precisely: picked last. For the team.

Fine, let's embrace the roles, let's mix some gray. You want me to stand up? To play the game, to cheer the team? I can wear the colors. My past is where I come from, not where I go, unless I run in circles. And even then, they'd be mine to run.

How about we consider the old stories more like silent movies? Even more boring? Open for art: same old movie, same old pictures. But every decade of my life has its own soundtrack running along.

You just try to fight your stories, to run from them. Not in the slightest, my dear George. I'm owning and telling them. And I never underestimate their power.

Last post: “Write more posts dot exe”

Write more posts dot exe

You're wasting your time. And in conclusion mine. We could do so much more! [George, regularly]

Do you know those moments when you “just” say something in a conversation and then this little statement can keep you thinking for days to come? It recently happened to me again when during a trip a friend was visibly unsatisfied to have “only” experienced what he had already experience the day before. So I said to him in a small side note: “You want to get the maximum out of every day, don't you?”

And you should very well agree with him! Life's too short to not experience all you possibly can!

My friend reacted confused. Not by the observation, but by Captain Obvious, asking an “clearly” universal fact. It was a dumb question, alright. It's you who's in the wrong for slacking! As we speak, he's probably having a great adventure again.

George – as one must expect – sided with him immediately. And I couldn't brush it aside.

Am I wasting my time on earth?

This of course is an incredibly privileged question, I know. Let me clarify one thing: I don't mean walking-on-the-moon or eating-every-animal-on-this-planet (gross) level of “not wasting”. I mean a certain mindset of “more/newer than yesterday”.

Don't you listen to stories and wish you had experienced them yourself? Time is limited and there is so much to see. Use your chances and don't grab the little glass when you can get a pitcher.

It sounds exciting but exhausting.

I need to rest in between, to recover my energy to actually enjoy an upcoming adventure.

Remember what they say: “You can sleep when you're dead.” Remember what we know: “If you don't sleep, you die.”

Do you consider sleep a waste, simply because you already slept the night before? Your argument, George ultimately leads to addiction. More and more, never content with what you have. Every excitement a fleeting one when present becomes past. Because there is so much else out there. You only try to reason for what you have, to not crave for more!

So we agree then? That I enjoy the small things. And you disapprove of that. Wait, don't go there. No. Oh look: Hiking in Iceland! Oh look: a Sunday morning coffee in the shade. Writing a blog post. About a question that kept nagging me: “Should I want more?”

Every word a red flag, every word a George. When “enjoying something” is the wrong choice, you need to start doubting the campaign. But my conditioning to “should something more” is strong. A force that surrounds me.

All things are poison, and nothing is without poison; the dosage alone makes it so a thing is not a poison.
[Paracelsus, 1538]

Some of the happiest people out there are running. Some of the happiest people out there are walking. Most running people rest their legs between runs.

You're wasting your time. And in conclusion mine. We could do so much more!

Only if “not more” is “waste”. And that, dear George, is an assumption I hereby refuse to consider universally true. Yet as a compromise, oh loud voice in my head: How about you run wild now and grant me a magnificent daydream while I finish this cup of coffee?

Next post: “Sports class warfare” Last post: “Silince on the cliffside”

Silence on the cliffside

Since the start of this project I had my fair share of debates with George. Some more heated than others. Often, we start on a similar perception and differ in deduction, comparable to old adventure books: Optimistic? Continue reading on page 5. Pessimistic? Continue reading on page 18. Paralysing tantrum? Close the book and return tomorrow.

No matter how heated, adversarial, or agreeing (that also happens): Having the conversation is comforting by itself. You want to break any running circles but you’re not alone alone. Talking to yourself is talking (and according to modern studies not considered unhealthy anymore).

Great, quick blog entry this time. Warm peachy words about me enjoying the process. No? Why not? Did I miss anything? … George? …

George isn’t here today. No self-talk. No running circles. End of the rope. What happened?

“Too much” happened. Hit me. Showed itself. I was reading the news, fully respecting the irony of calling it “the news” if it felt more like “the same old shit”. Maybe the fan is new, spreading it faster and further than ever before.

The same old stale shit. So much same old stale shit. You close your eyes, you look away, it doesn’t help. The same old puddle. Even the fan resigned over this one. And George had nothing to say, stayed silent. A paralysing silence void of time. While running in circles you can count time: Count the laps when passing known shit. Not this time.

I openly admit, I’d give almost anything for a quiet “Nothing you can do” whispered by George. An easy way out. Move along – the circle is that way, you won’t miss it, society awaits you there.

Perception but no deduction. No debate. No next page, no further reading. A cliff-hanger on a frozen TV screen. And this hauntingly screaming silence.

Next post: “Write more posts dot exe” Last post: “What goes around might be walked again”

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