What Are You Telling Yourself That Isn’t True?

Now that worry has proved such an unlucrative business, why not find a better job? – Hafiz

I’m writing this in the midst of a week long vacation on a friend’s farm in the rolling hills of North Carolina. My wife and I are spending our days reading, napping and walking the numerous trails on the land. Every morning, I wake up early and hike the farm’s perimeter. By the time the morning mist lifts, I’ve encountered quite a few forest critters.

Over the first few days, I saw a wild turkey, a herd of deer, a turtle, a toad, a raccoon, and more birds and squirrels than I could count. And upon each encounter, I was reminded anew of something:

Wild animals are freaked out by me.

I scare the wits out of them! When I came upon them, the turkey flew into the woods screaming, the deer dived into the dense forest, the turtle closed the doors of his shell, the toad backed quickly into his hole, and the raccoon shimmied up an oak tree.

After a while, I began to get my feelings hurt. I wanted them to know that not only was I a nice guy, but I also didn’t carry a gun. While I was quite willing to be Francis of Assisi-like, having chats with them and rubbing their little backs while we talked, they in turn saw me as a menacing mortal threat.

Our perspectives couldn’t have been more different. I was intrigued by their beauty and their place in the natural world, but in their imagination, if given the chance, I was certain to do them great harm.

In fairness to my animal friends, I understand them.

I, too, make up things about people, and most of the time, what I make up is neither accurate nor true.

For instance, I’ll write someone an email and suggest we get together for coffee. If I don’t hear from him for a day or two? No big deal. But by the third or fourth day, I begin to wonder what’s going on. “Was it something I said? Did I do something wrong?”

And by the fifth day, I’m convinced he won’t give me the time of day and he doesn’t like me, but is afraid to tell me. By the sixth day, I imagine him throwing darts at my photo or sticking pins in a little doll with a striking resemblance to me.

All of this I have completely made up.

In reality, I have no idea why my friend hasn’t written back. He may be out of the country, on a social media fast, or simply forgot to return my email. It happens. For all I know, he could be in some deep crevasse with his arm trapped under a huge boulder, trying to decide whether or not to use his dull Swiss Army Knife. Meanwhile, I’m wasting an inordinate amount of time making up a story that has a 99.9% chance of being untrue.

Let’s face it – we all make stuff up! While we have legitimate questions — Why didn’t they call back? Why wasn’t I invited? I wonder why I wasn’t chosen for this or that? — we often answer them with a negative and active imagination.

How much more interesting would our lives be if we lived the story we knew to be true rather than engaging in an imaginary story where paranoia crowds out the truth.

Let’s commit to living the real story we know, leaving fairy tales to folks who write fiction.

Have you been “making up” anything this week? If so, try to step out of this part of your imagination and step into what you know to be true.