[originally published as newsletter on 9/30/2025]
There’s a good deal of talk in self-development circles about the stories we tell ourselves. That we have the choice to tell ourselves a good story (“my life is charmed”) or a tough one (“I don’t have enough”), or nearly any other self-identifying lore.
And, no matter what our story is, so goes our felt experience and perception.
I keep finding the everyday stories matter most.
Yesterday my Dad and I spoke on the phone. Because of his age and connection, we do lots of repeating ourselves, exploring misheard words, and shouting louder (and flipping louder) for understanding. When I asked him about a shoebox-sized mobile phone he had back in Philly, it set off a signal of stories I’d never heard before.
My dad and I lived apart since I was 6, and I only saw him a few times a year. And when we talked, it was rarely everyday lore. He was an executive, “points on the board” kind of guy. If you couldn’t point out an impressive accomplishment inside a container of under 4 sentences, there was little reason to share. That’s when you watch sports together, marveling at athlete-titans and their coaches careers.
And as my Dad and my time together runs short, I realize how much I yearn to hear more about his every day: those stories he thought didn’t count.
Yesterday, I found the key question, and one story emerged after another. Most begged more questions than gave answers. Like why his old high school girlfriend turned portraitist called Russia from his government phone. “Personal calls were on the honor system,” he said and chuckled about trying to explain it to his superiors. And hos she had to pay customs to smuggle her own painting commission back out of the country.
This is the stuff of the day-to-day. Had we lived nearby, I probably would have asked him to elaborate. Maybe he wouldn’t have been at liberty to do so. So now we parse language between RI to PA about getting a decent cup of coffee. It’s what matters to him now.
And, I’m still striving to write a heroine’s journey for you all.
Yet, my actual days include walking in the woods, photographing rocks, roots, leaves and sky, sketching on top of them, hiding nature with my personal concerns and loves. At dinner, I have conversations about sports, school, music, and car rides. And digital marketing, and my attempts to provide esoteric healing via selling stuff online. (Right?! Yeah, it’s not going that great).
James Bond-worthy splashy moments happen all over, but what gets shared is usually of a different order. Maybe that’s as it should be? It’s definitely the way of understated society.
Dinner conversation, ordinary experiences, talk about school and work are what cue the next generation where to look, what to wonder about, and what stories we can weave into our futures. Relationships and getting along.
It’s also how we keep kids moving forward, finding love, and wearing deodorant. Society is how us mythic creatures can live inside the mundane.
And everyday mundanities is where my heart needs to be these days. Here and now, listening to Keb Mo and David Bowie and writing this from a table I call the “Family Hearth.” Figuring out WTF to make for dinner.
I told my dad I was sad that I had missed these everyday stories. He didn’t understand what I was talking about. That’s okay. That’s a story in and of itself.
How about you? What’s your story today? How mythic would you like it to be?
With love and gratitude,
Elizabeth
