Truths and stories
Real, but also an illusion.
Maine is currently experiencing one of the worst Covid outbreaks in the United States.
The new case rate is third in the nation, behind only Colorado and Michigan.
But hold on a second. Maine is also one of the least populous states. It’s number 42 out of 50, with only about 1.3 million people. So the total daily average of new reported cases is only 238. That’s actually 32nd in the nation based on the raw numbers.
The case rate per 100,000 is certainly an important measure of the prevalence of Covid. But my tiny county, which has been worryingly orange for months on the New York Times’ map of “hot spots,” has less than 100,000 people in the first place—less than 50,000, in fact. Our seven-day average of new cases per 100,000 is above ten. But do you know how many new cases were reported yesterday? Zero. And two the day before that. And zero the day before that. The rate of new cases is going down fast, which is great. However, it was never all that high to begin with, and with such a small county, it will have to be effectively zero before our county can earn the lightest color of yellow on the map. There’s still reason to be cautious, but no one needs to panic.
I don’t mean to downplay the seriousness of Covid or the tragedy that it represents, individually or collectively. Rather, I’m pointing out that even numbers, objective and inarguable, can tell different stories based on how you organize them and what you pay attention to. And if numbers can be manipulated, distorted, or open to interpretation, how much can we trust our perceptions and assessments about ourselves, our lives, and the world around us?
It might be comforting to believe that there is a single reality that we are all participating in. In this reality, there are bad guys and good guys, dark chocolate is better than milk chocolate, and your son is the bookworm while your daughter is the athlete. Your business failed because it wasn’t the right time, and your watercolor paintings aren’t very good.
Of course, these truths aren’t truths. They’re stories. Some of them are missing depth and nuance and shades of gray. Some of them are purely opinion. And some are based in a selective curation of the available data—in other words, seeing what you want to see.
You can get very woo-woo with this idea that we create our own reality. I’m not suggesting that everyone is responsible for their own cancer and that you can will your team to make it to the Superbowl. No, this is more practical: If we can tell various stories with the data, we might as well tell a story that is helpful to us—ideally, one that makes space for possibility.
Recently, I was talking to a woman who helps artists to promote their work. She claimed that she doesn’t know how to approach prospective clients because she’s inexperienced and unqualified. But she also mentioned that she has spent a decade in this field. Huh?!?
This happens all the time. People hang onto incompatible stories or willfully dismiss facts in favor of whatever story makes them feel most comfortable (even if it is the one that makes them miserable). One benefit of talking to a therapist, a coach, or even a friend is that they will point out these inconsistencies and help you to move forward with a more charitable, beneficial take on your situation.
We all have filters that we’re not even consciously aware of. They help us to simplify our sensory perceptions to a more manageable level of chaos. This means that we will miss things that we’ve trained ourselves not to see, and we’ll pay inordinate attention to what we’re used to. If we are tired of the stories we’re telling—about ourselves, our work, our potential, our traits—we can start looking for evidence of a different story. With practice, this story can become our new truth.
Adopting a new truth could theoretically lead us all the way to delusions of grandeur or paranoia, but other truths (like gravity and mortality) will help keep us in check:
In practice, the new stories we develop are usually pretty basic and unglamorous but nonetheless helpful. “I have what it takes to learn the trombone.” “If I set the time aside in late February to organize the info and get it to my accountant, I can file my taxes on time.” The old stories were actually the sillier, delusional ones: “No matter how hard I try, I will never learn this.” “I’ll always be a procrastinator. It’s just who I am.” There’s nothing “true” about those stories. All they are is handy-dandy excuses for avoiding discomfort.
We can respect science. We can keep up with the news so that we know what’s going on. But we don’t have to live in fear. We can keep an eye out for the stories that are keeping us stuck, unfulfilled, or anxious. We can’t change facts or bend reality to our will, but we can change the way we react to what’s in front of us. We can be intentional about the filters we use to engage with the world and thoughtful about the actions we take and the beliefs we carry. Truth is not subjective, but our perception always is. We might as well make it work for us instead of against us.
