I wrote a while ago about narratives, and that I couldn’t fully finish writing about them as I was forever coming across new and interesting ideas. And that continues to be true. Here’s a post that that I came across recently, written by the peerless Raptitude:

“At some point I discovered a wonderfully effective trick for becoming invulnerable to movie scariness without looking away or covering my eyes. I would continue to look at the screen, but slightly cross my eyes, putting the screen out of focus. This subtle move instantly broke any movie’s spell. Threatening gremlins and sword-wielding rats became soupy blurs, accompanied by disembodied sound effects. In an instant, I could dissolve the scary tale and turn it into moving shapes and sounds, freeing myself from the story’s emotional grip…I had no idea I was doing something I’d later learn in meditation halls: deconstructing a narrative experience into a sensory one, and moving my attention between these two levels on purpose.’

…

As adults, we spend a lot of time captivated by the stories depicted in our minds. It’s impossible to know for sure, but some studies suggest we spend more than half our lives lost in thought – that is, completely gripped by free-associating mental depictions of life, rather than life itself.”

Raptitude: how to take a break from your mind

And I wondered, ‘only half of our lives lost in thought?’ Because for me, I think it might be nearer 95% or even 100%. I’m always in narrative mode, whether it’s thinking of what I want to achieve that day, or daydreaming, or thinking about whether ‘daydreaming’ should have a hyphen, or reading, or watching TV, or projecting myself into someone’s head in conversation. I’m always constructing a story.

And there’s a question: What happens when we lose sight of the sensory experience and instead get lost in the swirling nexus of narrative? Either in those others have created for us – books, films – or in those we have created for ourselves?

Here’s where I need to get a little personal, and tell you that – for various health-related reasons – I’m pretty tired and overwhelmed all the time, and have been for over a decade. Now, no one with this kind of history hasn’t had the word ‘mindfulness’ thrown at them like a Brand New Idea, or as if we just need to refine our practice, or as if a particular take was somehow the magic bullet that would change everything. And yet, this Raptitude post was the closest I’ve ever come to that magic bullet. Because if the world is something that has to be constantly constructed, then no wonder I’m tired and overwhelmed! And it might be that I can experience the world at it is, without transformation.

Or here’s another take: what if, despite being surrounded by stories, I’m in fact empty, starving for stories, because none of them are right for me? We use narrative to create meaning – what if I’m having to construct my own narratives to find that meaning? Where are the stories based in real life for people of my life stage, with my ambitions?

Writing this, I’m wondering if part of the undoubted power of mental health counselling comes from the fact that, together with your counsellor, you construct stories that are right for you. This feels a little counter-intuitive: we generally think that counsellors are there to guide us back to what’s real, and that narratives aren’t real. And it’s true that stories aren’t real in the way that trees are real. But, if you think about it, neither is society. As people, our brains form societies, and they form stories too. Brain artefacts are real artefacts.

My very first post on this blog spoke about my need to write in order to think; that I learn by teaching. Perhaps that’s because by writing, you construct the story: you pick out the highlights and draw together disparate points to form meaning. Perhaps part of the work of a life is to create and share narratives that are meaningful to others – that sate them with the right narrative for their circumstance. And perhaps to lean into meaningful narrative is not to pull away from reality, but to bring it into sharper relief. Oh look: I’ve just discovered art.