Stories...life happens

I’m a listener of stories. A story viewer. My professions and my retirement post profession revolved and revolve around stories. In a recent pod episode of “The Moth,” a snippet of a storyteller said the following. “Life happens...and it is the job of us mere mortals to make meaning out of what happens.” It is not some cosmic fatalism or god-given event that some might prescribe to what happens, as well-meaning as those spoken words might mean when said to someone, thanks, but most times not helpful. Those times might just be more helped by sitting with someone and being present with them.

One of the most meaningful times of the day for me is my walk and then the sitting quietly on our deck like I’m doing now. Listening, listening.

As a psychologist, the story is where the ‘meaning making’ was heard. Where the person across from me unfolded the mystery of how life happened or was happening to them. Listening and being present. One of my training analysts said to me, “for some who will come to you, it will be the first time in their life that another gave them 50 min of undivided attention.” As a student of theology and ordained, helping parishioners understand the meaning within the scriptures meant sitting with them and discussing the stories woven into the complexity of their faith journey and shepherding them to finding a truth embedded in the storyteller’s tale. I used to begin reading the scripture lesson when I preached by first announcing... “I cannot tell you that what I am about to read actually happened, but I can tell you that what I am about to read is ‘true’”. I do not know if anyone ever actually caught the meaning of that, but it was about planting the seed to look deeper into the story. And when one would tell me they “did not believe in God or that religious stuff,” I would ask them to “tell me about the God you do not believe in.” No one ever was not able to tell me that story, and I learned so much of their spiritual journey. (And most of the time I could honestly respond that I would not believe in that god either).

Now retired, I have moved deeper into the love of photography. It is a different art form of storytelling. Photographer Elliott Erwitt once said, “Taking photos is not so much about what we see, but of how we see it.” And that is where the story lies. And like all stories what I see is not what you might see, or the next viewer, as we all bring our own stories into the frame. But when you see a photo that really catches your eye and holds your attention...it is the story that unfolded within you that made it so compelling.

But to have that reaction, to be held by a book, a photo, a person, I need to sit quietly and listen. To be present to the moment no matter the chaotic world that is going on around or in me. Life happens. My job is to help find meaning. To become a participant in the life around me. I have found that it is harder in retirement. It has meant shifting perspective. Photography has helped me with that. Changing the lens, watching the light, knowing what speed and aperture to use, all necessary to obtain a clear and compelling image. But also, metaphors for how to move into the new world of getting older. Learning that I have been more ‘clever’ than ‘wise’ in my younger days. Moving too fast and missing the nuances along the way.

Age has its own unique ways to teach you to slow down. My photography benefits from that (as well as my safety). Learning to let go and know that the new chapter in one’s story is beginning and that holds both loss and new learnings about grief and anxiety. But it is not the end of the story (yet). There is freedom in that letting go - a new way to use the grief and anxiety. Photography now reminds me to never pass up the photo op. (Or the men’s room when available). I always carry a camera with me. It helps me to be present. To ‘see’. To ‘compose’.