I’m not that great of a story teller. And those long jokes where the details have to be in just the right order for the punch line to make sense, forget about it. I’ll mess that up in a heartbeat.
When I’m telling stories, I get lost in the weeds of how much information needs to be included for the story to flow. Maybe the person listening to the story doesn’t need to know that the story’s main character is the same person who had a flat tire 3 months ago. It’s probably not relevant to the current story. But maybe it is.
This line of thinking causes me to insert all sorts of random facts into whatever yarn I’m trying to spin. 99% of story listeners are inclined to let those random facts just continue to pop up when they aren’t necessary. Thank you 1% who don’t mind the pain of asking me “Why did I need to know the part about the hamster’s physical therapist for a story about you ordering Chipotle?” You didn’t. My Applicable Details filter is more than broken, it simply doesn’t exist.
When I get is story mode, it’s like a runaway train. You know it needs to stop, but all you can do it keep your eyes peeled for the inevitable wreck. By the time you hear my story out loud, it’s probably already been told in my head or told 8 other times to poor unsuspecting souls who may have thought it was safe to say “good morning” without it turning in to a immovable stream of words.
I use stories for too many things. Sometimes they’re intended to be cautionary tales or ways to help normalize someone’s experience. Such as: you’re beating yourself up about a thing you wish you’d done differently, I want you to be easier on yourself, I tell you about a stupid thing I said to my kid in 2012. I’m sure sometimes it is genuinely helpful. Other times, I know people are like “what the f is wrong with you? Can’t you see my eyes glazing over? I’ve heard this one already.”
Even if I can, I can’t stop.
When I get going on one of the classic hits, there’s just no redirecting. It’s similar to on South Park when Cartman has to sing the entirety of “Come Sail Away with Me” every time he hears just the beginning of it. I’m not proud to be Cartman-like, but at least I’m self-aware. They say that’s an important step in the solution. I’m sure repeat listeners to the some of my story chart-toppers have calculated that it’s easier to wait it out than to try to stop it.
There was a story recently that I shared too much. I thought it was hilarious and enjoyed retelling the events in specific order to try to maximize the impact of the mechanical bull rental. I still think it’s hilarious, and will gladly tell you, but spoiler alert, it ends with the rental of a mechanical bull.
I didn’t want to share the story via text, it’s just not the same. I went to tell it to one of my favorite quads in the social-work-iverse. Kim was gone, but Eletra indulged me. She laughed accordingly. I was pleased. As I was getting ready to go, Kim came back. If you don’t know Eletra, she’s really smart. She remembers details well. She re-enacted my story for Kim. It was as though I was a playwright watching oddly exceptional talent in community theater. I listened in, waiting for the delivery of all the details, hearing the unneeded add-ons that I thought helped explained the story’s main character like how he’d wanted top ramen hair one time which actually meant a perm. (Not needed detail. Not needed at all!) The story still killed, and I’m thankful I got to see my script. Buuuut, like that the brave have told me,….too many details and side roads in my story.
In classic fashion, hearing someone else tell my story has become a story of it’s own. I clearly can’t help myself. Also, I’ve found loosely associated ways to infuse that story in other conversations since that time. Have I eliminated one detail? Not a chance!
Thanks for listening to my story (ies)!
Bifocals and Barbells 