“Our stories are who we are.” Bill Richardson, Haida artist

I thought I would write about eclipses, as one passed through the area a few days ago. Then I thought I would write about storytelling, as universal events are natural drivers of stories, enveloping the known and inspiring the unknown, invoking meaning and trajectories to explain our own existence. Religion, the news, politics and power struggles, the broader entertainment industry. Then I thought, well, write about meaning itself, what is it that our minds needs to lock something down, to label and file it, to place in a longer chain of experiences and events and knowledge. As a movie editor, I’m very aware of it. Categorizing shots, making files and folders of the story, subject matter, close-up, wide, good, bad…just to make sense of the material.

Storytelling is a great tool of the human brain. I heard a coworker ask another the other day, what do you do with your mind when you’re standing at the cash register with nothing to do? What do you think about? She seems distressed. I didn’t offer any lessons. I wondered, what do I think about?

I tell myself stories, constantly encorporating every moment into various arcs and patterns, whether I want to or not. The fresh open-ness of the beginner, the perfect zen mindset without dualism and judgement, seems largely impossible. But in labeling there is some freedom.

Where stories once were information passed on, histories in disguise, important stuff told in memorable ways so future generations can remember and benefit, today’s stories and histories have given way to stories of power and class and heroism and villainry. And stories of the self. This is probably what our minds occupy themselves with at the register with no customer. It’s our imagination which goes as far as we like to take it.

The ‘smart’ phone has been a challenge for our imaginations, an alternative in so many cases. Getting lost, trying to figure out what something is without knowing, leads to unexpected places.

You can either come up with your own story or you can swallow somebody else’s.