Stories are Psychological Oxygen

Meaning is our axis point, it’s how we find our footing in the world. We are creatures of story, and a human can endure any pain so long as it holds meaning.

I remember the first time an astrologist told me I was five planets in Pisces. What does that mean? I asked. You feel deeply, and all at once. Suddenly, there was context. I’m not too sensitive, too emotional. I’m a Pisces! I accepted myself because of a narrative.

Enough people believe a story, and the myth hardens into reality.

I saw it with the virality of the fire horse. Grab those reins, baby! You’re about to take off. Now we are collectively primed for intensity. Because of the context given, we are more likely to embrace chaos and bold motion when it appears.

So what stories are we giving gravity to, collectively and individually?

I see this most clearly around death. The people I’ve witnessed transform their grief are the ones who gave it meaning.

One friend tells me death is like slipping into the next room, that we should talk to our departed loved ones like they’re still on the other side of a thin curtain. Another tells me when someone dies, all of their energy and legacy lives through us like a superpower.

At their highest, stories are psychological oxygen. Being human is one enormous question mark. And sometimes it feels like the ground and sky have switched places as we tumble through the free fall of uncertainty. At their lowest, stories narrow our window of openness to life and separate us from each other when the narratives don’t match up.

Despair visits us when we lose the pen, or write a myth in permanent ink.

If the deepest acceptance comes from the stories we tell, what story will you write this year? For yourself and for our world?