We are all just a collection of stories. Stories that we live, that we tell others. Even ones we tell ourselves. Stories let us make sense of the world - they narrativise our lives and the lives of others. They bring coherence and clarity to an otherwise random and arbitrary existence.
A good story isn’t just for vanity’s sake. Often, we use stories to shortcut social connection. The tales we tell imply the values and preferences we hold dear. When I regale a new drinking buddy with myths of my exploits, I smuggle my morality into the evolving story he tells himself about me. In all spheres of life, we choose and shape our narrative through carefully and deliberately selected chronicles.
There are some selection effects in the stories that we tell, both in the context and content. We might not have told our professor about our indiscretions the night before, but rather the time we won a research award. There are also selection effects in the kinds of stories that we get to tell. We select for experiences that seem in line with the person we are, and the person we hope to become. Colloquially, this phenomenon might be known as “doing it for the plot”. The idea that the narrative of our life is propelled further and further with each successive story. In particular, we select the plot devices that are most notable, most grand, and most sensational. “Doing it for the plot” doesn’t seem to encompass a slow and methodical pursuit of your values in life.
The rise of the “plot” could be reflective of the kinds of egocentrism that abound now. I’m not sure though. We have a tendency to be chronocentric; in other words, to view the world through the lens of the present. A fair critique might be to say “How could we view it otherwise?” Still, we seem to over-index on the present and humans have always seemed fairly self-obsessed. The concept of the “plot” transcends language and time. All that has changed is the ways in which we reference it.
We often seem to do things that are not particularly germane to our plot, merely because we wish to collect stories. These irrelevant stories at best seem to elicit no new “character development”, and at worse, seem to subvert and contradict the kinds of values and norms we wish to impute with our stories.
That is not to say that every moment of our life must be narrativised, or even that we ought to have a cohesive and coherent narrative. Our self-inconsistencies and contradictions are fundamental to all lived experiences. Some stories we have just for the experience at the moment - I’m certainly no stranger to hedonism.
As well as the intrinsic inconsistencies in our lives, there is also a strong case for experimentation, both from a loss minimisation and personal development perspective. Often, our preferences and beliefs have been formed on a very limited set of experiences. To truly know what we do and don’t like, we must sample a reasonably large set of experiences.
Sometimes, experience is not just helpful, but a pre-requisite for deciding preferences and beliefs. Our preconceived ideas and notions may preclude us from fair evaluation - exposure is required. It also seems that the people who follow dutifully down their predestined path are some of the most uninteresting and insipid characters. There are no rough edges, no callouses. To free themselves, they must defy convention.
My qualm with stories that flout our self-proclaimed conventions is over-indulgence. In both cases, extraneous stories are only necessary until you have gathered enough experience. One doesn’t need to sample ice cream a hundred times to know if they like it. Similarly, we collect stories that belie the person we claim to be, despite knowing this truth.
These stories are compelling, often regaled to eager ears. A good story can inspire awe and reverence, and who doesn’t like to be adored? Often though, these stories leave an unpleasant aroma wafting in their wake. You might offer a sympathetic gasp to an old companion who brags about their escapades while their recent proclamation of secure attachment slinks uneasily through your mind. The disconnect between intention and action becomes all the more jarring as they repeat the same pattern of behaviour over and over.
Not all dalliances are as subversive as the above example. One should in principle err on the side of experimentation and experience as they go through life. At the same time, one must also be aware of indulgence and self-awareness. It can be tempting to binge on the adulation and praise of your contemporaries as you recount your adventures. Some day though, you will wake up and realise these stories are not just stories - they are who you are.
All impetuous details fade into the tapestry of the past. But, what else is life, but a collection of stories we tell ourselves over and over?