The Stories of All of Us

From the time of the Epic of Gilgamesh, the oldest known written story on Earth for those of you who slept through high school English classes, the art of story-telling has been a pivotal element in how we humans have wrestled with the eternal questions. Though the details of lives have changed through generations and by geography, the same basic questions seem to remain throughout all cultures and times. Concepts of love, loss, faith, purpose, health, family and belonging echo throughout the ages. And, though Abraham Maslow would diagree (he was the dude who theorized about the heirarchy of needs), these are as vital as tending to our physical needs.

I was reading an article recently from Scientific American that was truly was fascinating. The gist of it was that there was evidence found in caves in South Africa that indicate that humans whose cognitive abilities more or less mirrored our own existed about 164,000 years ago. The kicker is that, due to climate changes, most of humanity had gotten wiped out and that the human race as we know it likely are descendants of only six hundred individuals who hung out in these caves. Six hundred people changed the fate of history and facilitated us continuing as a species. I'm pretty sure I know six hundred people and if the fate of humankind were totally in their hands, I might be a little worried.

And yet, while these people lived very different lives from our own and would stand in awe of cars, computers and iPods, they gazed at the same sky. It's not a leap for me to imagine that after they sought sources of nourishment and shelter, they looked for means of connection and ways of communication. Somewhere along the way, art and the oral traditions began to emerge and be passed down. I believe that there is something inherently rooted in our biology at this point that knows the value of creating, of sharing what we know, of what we question and of what we dream.

Our stories are us. But, we are not merely our stories. Like most people, I could tell a thousand tales of amazing, beautiful, heart-breaking moments from my own life, but the totality would fall short from even beginning to adequately define me-- or you. Every individual interaction shapes and reframes our stories and when we are at our best, offer inspiration, comfort, joy and hope-- and remembrance to each other. Knowing what it felt like to walk along the Seine on a cold Autumn day, gazing at the Left Bank doesn't make me able to touch the greatness of those who went before--- like Picasso, Rimbaud or Matisse, but being there reminded me of my own unknown potential that always begins with stepping onto the path that calls to you-- the one that won't let go. Knowing what it's like to run down the side of a mountain in Colorado as a nine year old with my father and brother leaping somewhere between the dusty, brown earth and the wide open sky didn't just give me a taste of freedom, it gave a permanent remembrance of it, one that echoes in my cells just through recalling the story. Knowing what it was like to be tossed around in the Atlantic off of the coast of North Carolina during hurricane season didn't just offer proof of Mother Nature's power, it left me with a sense of tangible awe of my own vulnerability long before I would learn that during the years of the "stillness." Knowing what it was like to hike down the Grand Canyon on a hot July day didn't just give me a taste of true thirst, the knowledge that those donkeys probably do come in handy and the insight that the middle of summer may not be the best time to go hiking in AZ, it offered the sweet reminder that what goes down, must also come back up. Standing in the Sistine Chapel, before the Mona Lisa, in Freud's waiting room, in the bedroom where Mozart slept or high above Piazza San Marco didn't just leave me with photographs and postcards, but deep inner souvenirs that left me richer in wisdom, humility and grace-- and the knowledge that it is not up to us to decide the effects our work will have. It is simply up to us to do it whole-heartedly.

Our adventures, struggles, and triumphs bring us the ingredients for our stories and while it is doubtful that the eternal questions ever will be answered definitively, it is up to each generation to ask them and to live as if it were possible to wonder and to know. By sharing the tales of our quests, we discover fire for the second time-- over and over again.