Wasting Time

Don’t think “liar” when I state the obvious here: I am a storyteller. Lying is not the storytelling definition I’m referring to. Instead, I speak of that quality many have: we enjoy the art of the story. Is there embellishment? Yes. Is there exaggeration? Yes. Storytelling couldn’t exist without either. However, what I’m underlining here is the source of this compulsion to tell. Storytellers must tell.

But not tattletales. Or braggarts. Nor gossip. Although juicy, those stories don’t satisfy because of one very “telling” flaw: they don’t appreciate the audience. Real storytellers turn to look at you with glinty eyes, and say “See that path? The twisty one through your imagination. Go ahead. Wait until you see what’s down there. I’ll show you the way. (But you go by yourself.)” Storytellers take us nowhere and everywhere simultaneously; the campfire fades away while the audience leans in closer, closer…. It’s the safest magic. Pure alchemy. And that sort of nonsense just makes me giddy, both the giving and receiving.  

So where does that quality come from? That urge to entertain? To preserve life’s moments? To caution? To teach? To inspire thought? I suppose, like everything, it’s a combination of nature and nurture. My nature theories lead me to an unlikely source: my Dad.

My Dad wasn’t the type to tuck us into bed with a story but he was my prototype, my original storyteller. Now, years later, he’s also the subject of some of my favourite stories. So what was the very first story he told me?

I warn you. It wasn’t long. But it said everything it needed to. It made my heart race. It left me speechless. It completely delighted and horrified me at the same time. It even taught me something. And I can still hear my Dad’s voice as he shared that first story (and quite likely my favourite shortest story) one day while driving me home:

“David. If you pick your nose and eat it, do you know what happens? Flies grow in your stomach.”

I thought about that for years. Years.

At the end of the story all we have left is the story. Eventually, not even the storyteller. Thank goodness stories are like living things. They survive for generations. So stop wasting your time doing so-called important things so much. Go tell some stories.

What does a man want? What does a woman want?

     I was talking with some colleagues this past summer at a conference and during a break, one of the women, divorced and now considering dating again, turned to me, the only guy in our group, and asked this question: what exactly is a man looking for in a woman?

     Yeah. I know. Awkward. How did I end up in that conversation? And why ask me? I’m totally out of that single loop. But I gave it a go, commencing, as usual, with the first pea-brained ideas that entered my head. What do I think men are looking for in a woman?

1.      You should try to smell good.

2.      You should try to look good.

3.      You should try to be good.

     At that moment, this was all I had. But to be honest, I think most guys don’t have a huge list of criteria and I told the woman that. I added that some guys have a very detailed list of criteria for #2 but those guys are usually single and lonely or in high school.

     Anyway, my colleagues discussed this for a while and then one of them asked the woman her criteria for a man. Her reply seemed reasonable to me, basically all the things essential to any relationship: trust, honesty, respect, humour, cake, and to eat the cake too (at least sometimes). It made me wonder, if most people know this stuff, why do so many relationships fail? I guess it’s because what we think and what we say is often quite different than what we do.

     But it’s what another woman in the group said that I remember the most. She explained that she knew her husband met all her criteria because of her Dad. She revealed that as a teen, her Dad took her on “dates” to model for her how a man should treat her. To me, that seems like an excellent way to teach healthy relationships.

     Everyone wants love, everyone is seeking a healthy, fulfilling relationship, right? It’s only natural, but as the saying goes, “Love is like a booger. You keep picking at it until you get it, and then wonder what to do with it.”

The Marshmallow Test

Ever wonder why you’re not more successful? Maybe it has something to do with the marshmallows.

Researchers have determined another measurement for success based on a self control test. Scientists placed four-year-olds in a room by themselves with a marshmallow and a surveillance camera. Children who did not eat the marshmallow were promised a second marshmallow reward after fifteen minutes. Two-thirds of the children ate it, some immediately, some after fourteen and a half minutes. Then the real experiment began.

Later, these children were studied as adults. Overwhelmingly, the children who did not eat the first marshmallow had higher intelligence scores and were significantly more successful in their adult lives in terms of career, finances and relationships. The conclusion? The ability to deny self-gratification makes for a successful individual and a successful future.

This makes me wonder several things:
1. Why am I craving marshmallows?
2. What, at age four, would I have done? (I suspect I may have sucked out the marshmallow’s core then convinced myself that the scientist wouldn’t be able to detect my obvious ruse despite the mangled marshmallow and tell-tale white powder around my mouth.)
3. Can someone’s entire future really be determined by one marshmallow?
4. Why do people volunteer their four-year-olds for science experiments?
5. Just how many scientists out there are doing experiments on their own children?
6. Will I be more successful in life from now on if I abstain from marshmallows?
7. What if they had used chocolate chips?
8. What if there had been a campfire?
9. How many things do I deny myself for at least fifteen minutes?
10. Why am I so weak?

I don’t mean to be flippant. Scientists are smart and I like them. I do indeed see the importance of limits and self-control. But here’s something else to consider: no disrespect to four-year-olds but even if they don’t eat the marshmallows, most of them do eat their boogers. I think success is a by-product of doing what you do with love, enhanced by choices and challenges and it can’t be measured one way. How do you measure it?