The Story We Tell Ourselves

A dry time in writing, a rich time for Goodnight Gorilla. I work full time and though I head a department full of artistic kids and I oversee artistic teachers, and teach a couple theatre classes, I am not engaging in my own art. This is a challenge because I often have more to give to ChiArts when I’m learning and growing in writing/improv/theatre as a companion to teaching and administrating. I also get endorphins from creating - even if nobody sees my work. I do NOT get endorphins from Goodnight Gorilla. No matter how thankful I am that it has no words and is the shortest board book in Solly’s collection.

Solly is in a screechy phase and it is not for the faint of ears. He is passionate and knows what he wants and screams to get it. You can’t reason him out of screaming to touch light switches or eat crushed ants. This time period of toddler rearing is LOUD.

Brene Brown came out with a Netflix special recently and a major thread was this concept of “the story we tell ourselves.” For example, if someone brushes you off, the story we could tell ourselves is that this person is annoyed and doesn’t care about your thoughts or feelings. She encourages you to have vulnerable conversations with the person so that you can uncover the truth instead of the story you’re telling yourself - which could simply be that the person had just gotten a phone call from their ill parent and the perceived brush off had nothing to do with you. 

The story I told myself when I flew with my toddler on a plane by myself last week was, “this large man next to me hates being in the middle seat and hates that his vacation is over and hates that he is next to a lap child who just wiped crumbs on his sleeve.”

The man started sleeping as we took off, so I couldn’t fact check my story like Brown says to do. But I was positive it was true. It was all I could do to keep Solly from entering into others’ personal space around us. We went through my bag of tricks quick. Food, stickers, car, books, little electronic light up thing, scrunchies in a bag he puts on his arms and legs...food again…

As the guy woke up he got his snacks out and Solly started to eye his pretzels. Right before he started screeching for them, the man said, “Hey man, here ya go,” and held the bag open for Solly like a friend would do. Solly went to town. I breathed a little easier. The story I had told myself starting to crumble like the pretzel Solly couldn’t fit in his mouth. Later in the flight the guy was face timing a buddy and was like “Yeah, I’m just hanging here on the plane with my people” and turned the phone to let his friend see Solly. I’m almost certain Solly fell asleep leaning on his arm when I had my moment of drowsiness and didn’t hold his head properly. He never said a word, just took the weight. 

The story I had told myself was smashed, except for the part about hating his vacation was over. True story, “this larger guy on the plane is quiet, chill and kind.”

Even though I didn’t have a vulnerable convo with the guy like Brene may have wanted me to do, at least he spoke words. The story I’m telling myself at home right now is, “my son is a creativity stealing tyrant,” and it can’t be fact checked because he doesn’t talk. This is hard! I wish every day with him was like those “right before the natural disaster strikes” moments in movies where the family is playing happily and hugging as they roll toys across the floor and eat fresh strawberry shortcake from the berries they picked in the montage just before. If it was non-stop these moments, I could rationalize the time away from my writing and theatre and the story I would tell myself would be, “I’m giving up art, but I’m creating this beautiful sugar drop of a human being.” But I don’t think this is true…

I had to invent a dialogue with Solly in order to check my story due to his lack of words. See below. 

Mama: Solly why do you have to scream every time you see my purse (which is all the time) based on that long trip where it constantly produced raisins for you?

Solly: I want them.

Mama: I KNOW. That’s clear by your scream. Can you try “please”?

Solly: Screaming works fast.

Mama: I’ll always love you, but this makes it really hard to like you.

Solly: I wasn’t born to make you happy, I was born to be me.

Mama: You sound like a teenager. 

Solly: Maybe we’re all the ages we’ve ever been and will be before and after we reach them.

Mama: The story I’m telling myself is that you’re a creativity stealing tyrant, which sounds pretty harsh, and I’d like to come closer to the - 

Solly: I am.

Mama: What?!

Solly: I am because I love you and I want ALL your attention ALL the time especially cuz you work everyday. 

Mama: Oh. So the story I’m telling myself is correct.

Solly: Yes. AND you’re my favorite.

Mama: So it’s more like “my son is a creativity stealing tyrant who also loves me very much”?

Solly: Yes. 

Mama: I seem to have gotten less intelligent with you around. Are you stealing brains also?

Solly: Yes.

Mama: Why is Goodnight Gorilla so important to you?

Solly: I like that balloon that keeps showing up. It reminds me of you.

Cue gratitude.