Narrative Actualization » Narratives Actualized

Asking For Help

melissalion — Tue, 01 Dec 2009 19:23:40 +0000

I keep harping on editing, don’t I? Here’s another post about the value of another set of eyes on your work.

Another set of eyes is another chance for help.

I suffered from a tremendous bout of postpartum depression when my son was born. I was living in San Francisco in a beautiful apartment building and every single one of my windows looked out at the Pacific Ocean. It was wonderful, peaceful, quiet.

And yet, when I became a mother, I couldn’t engage with the world. I couldn’t engage with my son. It was like I was living under glass.

My downstairs neighbor who was a friendly neighbor-sort, but not a friend, saw me in the lobby and said, “If you ever need a break, we’ll help out. Even if you just need ten minutes, bring him down and we’ll watch him for as long as you want.”

He and his wife had no children. They barely knew me. But he had a sense that I needed help.

I never once took him up on that offer. It never even crossed my mind as I stared out those windows at the Pacific feeling absolutely nothing but indifference. I never even had a sitter for the first two years of my son’s life. I couldn’t accept that help.

Not accepting help didn’t help the people who offered. It didn’t help me. It was just silliness on my part. Oddly, as soon as I started asking for help, the depression lifted.

Asking someone to read your story and offer feedback is an opportunity for help with your writing, and help changing your story.

I still feel weird when people watch my son for me. I get this little ache in my stomach, but I realize too that people want to help. They wouldn’t offer if they didn’t actually want to help. So I take them up on their offers and I deal with the ache.

Help is here. Another set of eyes is willing to take a look, be creative, kind and challenging all at once. Take advantage!

What a Total Nightmare

melissalion — Tue, 17 Nov 2009 17:02:59 +0000

Last night, before bed, I was reading the New Yorker. I recently renewed my long-lapsed subscription after realizing that not having television, combined with working from home might have made me a little detatched from the bigger picture.

I also know I shouldn’t read the New Yorker before bed, because the bigger picture is stressful and scary sometimes. But lying in my bed is the only time I get peace and quiet.

So there I was, reading “Nightmare Scenario” by Margaret Talbot.

The story is about the new research and treatment of nightmares. Doctors are treating patients with nightmares with a technique called imagery-rehearsal therapy.

Here’s how it works:

The women in this group wrote down one of their disturbing dreams and were instructed to change it in any way they wished. They then wrote down the new version in full, and were asked to spend between five and twenty minutes a day conjuring the revised dream…

Those who had completed the imagery-rehearsal were having significantly fewer disturbing dreams.

– From The New Yorker, “Nightmare Scenario” by Margaret Talbot

As I lay there in bed I thought, Huh. Sounds a whole lot like Narrative Actualization to me.

Change your story and transform those waking-life nightmares into dreams!

Little Stories make Good Little Changes

bridget_pilloud — Thu, 12 Nov 2009 17:49:17 +0000

I use the “F” word sparingly. But I use it. And I’d like to use it to describe my former cell phone.
It’s called “My fucking former cell phone.”
It stopped recognizing that my fingers were punching buttons. It would occasionally recognize it. My phone had dementia.
It was frustrating me.
So, I imagined myself with a new phone. What would it feel like to have a phone that worked?
I had to borrow my friend Chris’s phone. His is a simple Nokia with push buttons that always work. It’s a solid sturdy little fellow. I love it.

I thought, I could use a phone like this.
I wrote a little note. I want a phone that works that’s simple with buttons.
And 2 days later, my kid said, You need a phone? My dad got a new one and he doesn’t need his old one.

And guess what? It’s the exact same model as my friend’s. And it works.

That’s how powerful and exact your new story can be.

You may be wondering, Why didn’t Bridget write a story about a fancy phone?

I thought about that. I’m a little scared of integrating another source of information into my life. If I can twitter and email and surf the web all of the time, well, when would I talk with my family?

The little, perfect, sturdy fellow suffices.

Narratives Actualized: Change Your Setting, Change Your Life

melissalion — Sat, 07 Nov 2009 22:28:24 +0000

By Melissa Lion

I wanted to live in Portland. I’d visited Portland for the first time seven years prior for the wedding of my husband’s best friend. We landed, drove our rental car to the hotel by the airport, slept, then went to Powell’s bookstore.

I’d spent the previous 10 years in San Francisco, and I was back in San Diego, my hometown, to start my new life with my new husband, my new career as a novelist. But still, I was back in San Diego. My migration had always been north, but I wound up south and there was something just not quite right.

We walked into Powell’s and I stood in the fiction section and felt pure, white-hot hope.

We drove to the coast for the wedding. I wore a dress and nice shoes. Everyone else wore Tevas and it seemed no one at that wedding had seen the business end of a razor. The desserts were so pretty and so chocolate-looking. I bit into one and nearly wiped my tongue on a napkin. It was my first vegan experience.

The groom tapped a keg of home-brewed Barleywine. I drank my glass and my husband’s and went to the groom, begging for more. There was no more left. It was the single greatest glass of any liquid I’d ever consumed.

We left Portland and I knew I needed to move there. I talked with my husband about it. He was a surfer, from a tropical island. He said he’d never move to Portland.

We divorced a year later.

I moved back to San Francisco, had a baby. Published a couple of books. Taught school.

I had two friends.

We moved to Malibu to be closer to family. South, again, rather than north.

I was content in my relationship. Not thrilled. Not burning in love. I was fine. I got a few more friends in Malibu.

We lived in a trailer, on four acres in the middle of an orchard. I remember saying, “the constant sunshine is depressing me.”

It was a fine life. Everything was fine. I taught writing classes. I sold books. I had three friends. I had an adequate relationship. But I felt drawn north. Portland was calling.

I decided that I would figure out a way to move there. By hook or by crook. Within six months I’d bought a house and moved my family to Portland.

I’ve lived here for two years now. It’s been a rough two years. My ex-partner moved out. I get no child support. My career is mystery, though it’s becoming clearer daily. I have more friends than I can count. I’m in a relationship with a man who has redefined love for me. I produce events that make hundreds of people happy. I’ve lost all the weight I gained from my pregnancy four years ago. And did I mention my friends? What about my relationship? How about the fact that I spend my days surrounded by people I love.

It’s fall and the leaves are changing. I still can’t believe those colors occur in nature. I’m knitting and keeping warm.

And I miss California. I miss baking in the sunshine. I miss driving my car fast.

But what I don’t miss is the restlessness. I don’t miss always turning north. I revel in the comfort of putting down roots. Daily, I feel that same white-hot hope I first felt in Powell’s bookstore.

I still, however, wipe my tongue on a napkin at the thought of vegan dessert.

Narrative Actualized : Prince Charming Isn’t Coming

bridget_pilloud — Fri, 06 Nov 2009 05:10:47 +0000

By Bridget Pilloud

On December 31st, 2001, at 10:30 pm, I met my life partner at the Portland airport and told him that our 10-year relationship was over. He was coming home from the first Christmas we had spent apart.

Our break-up had been a long time coming, and yet, I was devastated. I thought I was going to spend the rest of my life with Alec. It didn’t turn out that way.

I was 32 and alone. And I didn’t know what to do.

Honestly, I’d been a relationship of one kind or another since I was 18. I hadn’t been single before, and at 32, with two kids, it was daunting.

But I tried. I waited a few months and then I had a date, and it was a disaster. I found myself saying things that weren’t even me, just to be liked by a stranger. I went on a few more, and each one was a complete, laughable failure.

During this time, I worked out a lot. I lost 80 lbs. I read a lot of great books. I figured out what I liked to eat. I painted my bathroom. I spent a lot of time getting to know me. I liked me. I liked my life. I wanted to share it with someone.

And then I’d go out and try to find a sweetheart, and it just didn’t work.

One night in August, I cried myself to sleep. I thought that no one would ever love me again.
I remember thinking, “Where the hell is Prince Charming?” and bawling and bawling and falling asleep exhausted.

I woke up around midnight, and I heard the words, “Prince Charming isn’t Coming” the last snippet from the dream I was having.

I woke up completely, and I started to write in my journal. I wrote this little poem:

Prince Charming isn’t coming

But my open-hearted companion

makes his way to me,

guided by microscopic bits of Fate,

too small to see with a Naked Eye.

(My soul is a magnifying glass!

The signs of love are everywhere!)

My heart is supple from its tenures

In love.

(My soul(!)

Glistening membrane(!)

Thunders the boom roll of

Good Fortune!)

I won love’s lottery.

(No limits! For life!)

Prince Charming isn’t coming

But my open-hearted companion

Makes his way to me.

(He wears a green wristwatch!)

Remember, I was alone when I wrote this. I was alone after a 10-year relationship that made me soul-sick. I had little proof that I was ever going to have a great relationship. In fact, I had 14 years of proof that I was going to have a lifetime of crappy relationships with people who weren’t right for me.

But, at that point, I knew it. I felt it! I knew he was coming!

After I wrote these words down, I felt peace. I felt peace because I knew that I didn’t have to try to find him. I knew that he’d fall from the sky if he had to. I don’t know how I knew this.

The Power of Narrative Actualization

So here’s where Narrative Actualization comes in. Instead of thinking about how I was going to get my new man, I started spending time thinking about how I’d feel when I was in a relationship, and what my sweetheart would be like.

I thought I’d be at peace. I thought I’d be excited. I thought I’d laugh a lot. I thought I’d get to act like a total nurd without judgment. I’d get to feel real, good love.

I wanted somebody smart. I wanted somebody who was discerning, but not judgmental. I wanted a big guy. I wanted somebody who was good with kids. I wanted somebody who liked to cook, who had a good job, who was generally easy-going. I wanted somebody who would celebrate my unique nature.

I didn’t care where he came from. I didn’t care about the time frame. I figured I’d just have a good time until he got here.

I went out on a few dates. I went to the movies. I flirted. I didn’t get to a third date with anybody because we mutually could tell that we weren’t a fit. Each time, it was easy. Each time, there were no hard feelings. It was fun.

And then, on Dec. 17th, 2002, I walked into the Black Cat Tavern and met Brian. We talked about our lives, and I thought, “Oh, you’ll be fun, but you can’t handle my life.” I thought he was cute, almost too cute.

Brian, December 2006

He thought it was funny when I nearly skunked him at shuffleboard. He didn’t get too competitive and he didn’t let me win. He came to play.

I didn’t even kiss him good night. But I liked him.

And then we took our dogs hiking together, and we had a great meal, and a fire in my fireplace. And then things got quiet, and then I kissed him, because he’s a mechanical engineer, and there was no way he was making the first move.

That was nearly 7 years ago.

Bridget and Brian, 2004

It turns out, Brian is exactly who I asked for. And when I stopped worrying about the how, and just dreamed about the what, (and kept enjoying and improving my life in the process), he showed up.

We’ve had our ups and downs. Our lives aren’t perfect, of course not.

But, 7 years into it, I’m not bored. I wake up with Brian’s arms around me. He calls me his Sugar-Pie. He teases me. We laugh a lot.

Bridget and Brian, August, 2009

I never doubt that I am loved. And I never had to make myself less than what I am to make that happen.

That’s the power of Narrative Actualization. I made my story the way I want it. And now I share it with my best friend.

Narrative Actualization is something that anybody can do. You can bring the right person into your life, the right job, the perfect place to live. You can write your story.