That's My Story...
   by Drew Rozell

I sat on the couch next to my father.

"So how long will you be home?" he asked.

"Two weeks, remember?" I replied.

"Two weeks. Right. And then what? Do you have any plans for the future? Any job prospects on the horizon to get some money coming in?" he asked.

I detected the tone in his voice - it was oh-so-subtle. But it landed in my stomach immediately. And I reacted.

"Dad! I've been working for myself for 8 years now. I do just fine. Didn't you notice my car and truck in the driveway? They're totally paid for, Dad. Didn't I tell you that I've got no credit card debt anymore? And you know I just bought a beautiful new house in the country! The only reason I'm staying here with you is because I sold my house and my new place doesn't close for two weeks. Jeezus Dad, don't you remember any of this? Have you not been paying attention to anything that's been going on in my life?" 

I was yelling now, fighting back the tears as the intensity increased. The old familiar feeling of rage pounded against my heart. My head began to ache.

And then I woke up.

I rarely remember my dreams, but this one happened in the early morning. I was in and out of sleep as my mind percolated on ideas for this article. I must have drifted off though, only to be awakened from the vivid dream feeling like I'd been hit with a sledgehammer. And yet the groggy feeling was worth it because I understood the message my dead father had sent me.

Everything I'm writing is true. I have been staying at my father's vacant house while I'm in between homes. No one lives here anymore, yet much of the house is exactly the same as the last time I lived here, some 17 years ago. Spending two weeks in this space has been a surreal experience, yet I had trusted that something had led me back.

Until I had the dream this morning, I was thinking that I was back at my old home to share some story from my experiences growing up. I mean, everywhere I looked I could find a story.

For example, from where I type this I can see where my father and I stood, face-to-face, and almost came to blows. I was 21 years old and so mad at him that I came within a whisker of striking him to the ground.

I could tell you the full story, but if I chose to share it with you, I'd only be sharing it out of habit. By telling the story I'd be re-creating my past experiences into my present life. And I would have missed my father's entire point from the dream: "Enough with all the stories! They no longer serve you!"

My story about my father not listening to me was one that I repeated to myself for decades. In fact, I told the story so many times that I mistook the story for part of me.  

Not being listened to, not being understood - this became part of my identity. The thing is, when you tell your stories often enough, you believe them. Even worse, when you believe them, you re-create them in your life. 

Even as a man, in my closest relationships I would play the role of the person who was never understood. Without being aware of it, I would perpetuate my story by attracting people who did not listen to me. 

While being in my old house led me to remember my old stories, I could find no compelling reason to write about them. Each one was just my account of an event that happened long ago and I've released most of them. As with all stories, they are a relic of the past and they don’t have any bearing on my life today. This is true for all of us.

This is because we are not our stories. Never have been. Never will be.

And yet most people compulsively cling to their stories as a means of maintaining not only a sense of who they were, but also a sense of who they are today. (Notice how a person losing their mental faculties will hang onto his or her sense of self by repeating the same story over and over.)  

Consider the fact that every cell in your body has been replaced by new cells over the last seven years of your life. Literally, there remains no physical trace of the person you once were. Yet through all of our metamorphoses, we still hold onto our stories by continually retelling them ("That's my story and I'm stickin' to it..."). The old information becomes programmed into the new cells and we squander the opportunity to evolve from our past conditioning. 

Pitching legend Satchel Paige once posed the question, "How old would you be if you didn't know how old you are?" In other words, how would you feel if you chose not to tell yourself the same story about the undesirable consequences of aging? Our ability to choose how we want our lives to be extends in every direction.

So how rich do you choose to be? How happy do you choose to be? How healthy do you choose to be? How free do you choose to be? 

What are the old stories that you need to let go of (e.g., "I've always struggled with...", I've never been good at...", I don't know how to...", I can't because...", "I'm so busy that...") to make it so?

Our stories are not written by a guiding hand of fate. We choose what to write each and every day through our thoughts, words, and actions.   

Remember, the story you choose becomes your life story. Choose the very best one.

I read this story by personal coach Drew Rozell a couple of months ago and it's still resonating with me.  I hope you enjoy it, too. Learn more about Drew by visiting his Web site at http://www.evolutioncoaching.com. While there, be sure to sign up for his terrific ezine "The Drewsletter".