Small places in a large world
Both a garden and a story: San Juan Bautista, California, June 2003
“A story is a garden you carry in your pocket. The stories we tell ourselves and each other are for pleasure and refuge. Like gardens they are small places in a large world. But…we must never mistake the stories we tell for truth.” – Alexandra Curry
Over 30 years ago in a Bible class, the teacher spoke of how big the truth is. Afterward, Jeff and I had a discussion on that assertion. Jeff said he had always thought of the truth as something narrow and well-defined. He belonged to a profession based on hard science and peer-reviewed research involving lots of double-blind studies. It was also his personality type; Jeff was much more skeptical than I am. I think he would have agreed with the caveat that, if we tell ourselves stories, we must not mistake them for the truth.
But I agree with that long-ago teacher. I think the truth is a big thing, so enormous that no human mind can fully grasp it. As such, I think stories, even totally imagined ones, contain grains of truth that may often be better illustrated by fiction than by bare facts. As Curry says, the stories we tell ourselves typically serve the function of adding joy to our lives and giving us refuge. They are not meant to be didactic, but they resonate with what we know of the truth, and they bring us humor and reassurance.
However, we also could tell ourselves stories that are not helpful. These tales might make people or events more evil or destructive than they actually are. We may re-invent the past to fit narratives that cast us in a better light, or make others the villains in a real-life drama that might be far more nuanced than we describe. Worse, we may convince ourselves that this self-serving version of events is the real one. So Curry’s point is well taken.
Having said that, I am immensely grateful for the power of stories, and I really like the analogy comparing them with portable gardens. Who among us does not enjoy escaping into a great novel, a well-produced film or an enthralling live theatrical production? The best of these stay with us, like a beautiful song or favorite memory, and shine brightly in the often drab reality of daily life. We may not have physical proximity to the sort of garden pictured above, but wherever we are, we can escape into a good story.
For those who have lived many decades, our memories are full of stories, like vast gardens with a wide variety of botanical rooms. Some are more colorful and verdant, some may be overgrown and ill-tended, and there will be those that bring more sorrow or regret than joy. But always we can find beautiful settings to enjoy, especially if we are willing to venture beyond our own story gardens, into those of our friends, and those that make up the great legacy left to us by authors, poets and artists of present and past centuries.
Today, let’s make it a point not to spend more time than necessary in desolate mental places. Let’s be mindful of the stories we tell ourselves, and choose hope. Our pockets are full of stories– gardens through which we can stroll for a soothing escape from whatever may be clouding our vision and worrying our minds. In the dreary days of late winter (or the parched, dry ground of late summer), these “pocket gardens” can transform our inner landscape. Feel free to share a favorite story with us here in the comments.
This post was first published seven years ago today. The blog is not designed for viewing on cell phones, but you can get a less distorted version of the photos if you click on the “view on blog” link at the top right of the screen. The original post, comments and photo are linked, along with two other related posts, at the individual post views. These links to related posts, and their thumbnail photos, do not appear in the blog feed; they are only visible when viewing the individual posts by clicking on each one. I have no idea why, nor do I know how they choose the related posts. That’s just the way WordPress does things.
Defeat Despair 
Julia,
I took a look back at the comments from 2019. Good grief! I had forgotten our discussion of “Jerry” C. So, have you had much contact with Connie, who married Jerry’s cousin?
Blessings to you and Matt!
Hi Chris! Yes, I just spoke at length with Connie on the phone recently. She and her husband are both doing well after weathering some health scares in the past year. And she was one of the first people who contacted me (by phone, not text) after Al died. She wept with me and truly shared my sorrow, as she had known Al well during those carefree college days. It what now seems a vanished world, my friends all knew my extended families, and I knew theirs, because we spent much time in each other’s homes. Such memories are precious to one my age. And I wonder whether today’s tech-addicted generations will ever know such joy, of having many friends’ families to know and love.
Connie is among the very few friends who have stayed in my life consistently since youth. She and her older sister were at Jeff’s funeral, and every year she sends me a special treat of home-crafted candies that she and her three sisters put together for friends and family every year. It’s one of my favorite traditions…and in fact, really the only surviving tradition of the grand Christmas celebrations that were once such a special part of my life. Interesting fact: Connie grew up in the same tiny (3000) town as Jeff did, and I knew her before I knew Jeff. She and Jeff had known each other since childhood. In the early years of my marriage to Jeff, Connie and I had a tradition of getting together every New Year’s Day (when we would both be back in that tiny rural Tennessee county visiting family) and giving each other a book as a late Christmas gift.
Good morning, Julia!
This really resonated with me: “the truth is a big thing, so enormous that no human mind can fully grasp it. As such, I think stories, even totally imagined ones, contain grains of truth that may often be better illustrated by fiction than by bare facts.”
I know I tell myself stories all the time, so thank you for the reminder that I must guard against believing them to be literally true.
One recent story I’ve been telling myself is that I am doing something Good and Helpful during these crazy political times. I have been making “Diversity Dominoes” to hand out to people to celebrate diversity (no two are alike!) and to hopefully encourage people to donate to organizations that promote diversity, equally, justice and respect.
Today’s political climate is terrifying. I recognize that doing nothing but worry just makes it more terrifying and seemingly hopeless. I don’t have any delusions that I’m actually making a global difference, but I like to tell myself the story that “I am helping” the situation.
So, that is my story de jour. At least making cute, brightly colored dominoes is fun! And it seems to brighten people’s day.
What is your favorite number and favorite color(s)? I will do my best to accommodate requests.
Susan, I have too many favorites to name just one! Not only colors, but books, etc. Not to worry, though, I’ve been living diversity all my life, living with three men who were each, in his own way, totally unlike the world around them, and with a dear, best-friend sister who lived with a genetic condition all her life. Ironically, people tend to have a very narrow view of diversity. (How’s THAT for a contradiction in terms?) For example, they normally fail to include people with developmental disabilities, or the elderly, when they’re out making noise. They also typically feel quite intolerant of others who don’t share their same focus. And usually one or another group is “trendy” in terms of that focus. So, over the nearly 41 years of Matthew’s life, and really all my life (when I was always something of an oddball myself) I’ve learned to have a cynical view of such things. But remember when you made Matthew that jigsaw puzzle with the words “people love Matthew” on it? You had gone through my blog photos and lovingly put together a unique gift for him. You were celebrating diversity when you did that, and those are the sorts of unheralded acts that make a difference. And I often remind myself of P. J. O’Rourke’s wise words: “Everybody wants to change the world, nobody wants to help Mom with the dishes.” Justice and respect are almost never glamorous or outward or fun or reassuring. They are achieved quietly, continually and almost unconsciously, because the focus is always on the everyday needs of someone in one’s own world, not on a generic mass with a label beginning with “the” (the poor, the immigrant, the elderly, etc. etc. etc.) That’s my take on it, for what it’s worth.