When story telling becomes a cage

I love to tell stories. I believe that everything, even the smallest, apparently insignificant events can become great stories in the hands of a good narrator. 

My father is a great story teller. Ever since I can remember, during our family holidays in the mountains, he would (still does) go every morning to the bakery to get fresh bread for breakfast, less than a minute walk away from the apartment. The whole trip would usually take less than 10 minutes. 

Yet, every morning at breakfast he would (still does!) tell us in detail what happened in the “boulangerie.” He would tell us who was there, whether it was the usual lady at the till or a new, younger one. He would tell us whether they were in a happy, chatty mood or tired and grumpy. He would tell us about the customers there, trying to guess where they were from based on how they talked and dressed. The 10 minutes daily boulangerie trip, every morning, turned into a half hour story about the village and the life of the people there. Now that’s story telling. 

It’s probably not a surprise, then, that I love to tell stories too. 

As I go through my day, I have an inner voice that is turning what I do, as I do it, into a possible story. As things unfold, I am already thinking about how I could turn it into a good story. Most of the stories never make it to world, though, but no matter, my narrating voice continues unabated. 

There is a downside to this voice. In a way, it stops me from enjoying the moment, as we so fondly like to say. In a way, my narrating voice keeps me once removed from what is going on. And I like this part less. Ideally, I’d like to “live the moment” and then switch to story telling. 

This is a muscle that I am yet to develop. I call it the story telling cage, because, sometimes, I have the impression that it’s like a cage keeping me away from immediate experiences. 

The story telling cage took a new, stronger turn with social media and vlogging. 

Ever since we’ve had the farm and all the animals, I have been creating and sharing stories that I know have touched many who follow us. But the visual component of this story telling medium, photos for Instagram and videos for the vlog, have made me want even more to make everything I do and everything that happens around me into a story to tell. And this has felt a little bit like hell. 

Here’s what I mean. 

Imagine that I am sitting at the farm sipping on a nice cup of coffee. I take in everything around me and see our pit-bull Sunderi play with the kitten India. The sight is adorable. I rush to grab my phone to film them and take photos. My narrating voice is going full bloom. Now imagine that this is happening every moment of my day. I don’t like being like this at all. 

I have been off Instagram for 10 days (wohoo, Charlotte!). I’ve also promised myself not to vlog anything for the time being too. The effect was immediate: I stopped wanting to reach for my phone to record everything that was going on. My narrating voice calmed down. This has felt like a wonderful holiday. 

But the fact is that I love telling stories, sharing what is going on at the farm and the wonderful lives of all the incredible animals who surround us. I’m already feeling that urge again, to share and tell stories. But I’m also dreading it. 

My aim is to work on that brain muscle, also known as mindfulness, to allow me to have more agency in switching between moments where I am experiencing something fully and moments where I can tell stories. 

Brain gym, here I come! 

Manjeev, Laila the Dane and Mira the British cat have a moment