We all live by telling stories. Sometimes they are stories we tell others, but more often are stories that we tell ourselves — stories about who we are, what we value, and why we make the choices we do. Most stories are never written down, but the stories we tell and the ones we hear shape every aspect of our lives.
Growing up, Command & Conquer was my favorite computer game. Before the Internet made it easy to connect with people around the world, and before I could drive, I would load my home-built computer into a wagon and pull it down the street to my best friend’s house. Along with some smarter friends on the Chatterbox chat board, we figured out how to connect our computers with a null modem cable, creating our own two-person LAN game. We were on the cutting edge of technology.
Fast forward a few years: the Internet was becoming more common, though dial-up modems and grocery store Internet CDs were still the norm. One evening, I was sitting on the laptop I’d bought with my wife’s student loan money, playing Command & Conquer. My GDI forces were about to breach the NOD base when a thought occurred to me: there’s a beautiful woman sitting in the next room alone, and I’m here, playing a video game!
I don’t have a problem with video games — they’ve brought joy and connection to my life. I play simpler games with my youngest son now and bond with him by talking about what makes them fun. He teaches me a lot about the other games he plays. But in that moment, more than 23 years ago, I realized something important: I valued time with my wife far more. To this day, one of my favorite things to do is sit on the couch holding her hand. I’m incredibly blessed in my relationship with her. Those moments are more important to me than anything.
Self-identifying as a gamer wasn’t something you heard back then, but I played my fair share of video games. That evening, however, I stopped and questioned my own story. The “gamer” narrative, in one moment, stopped serving the person I wanted to be.
This isn’t about video games, though. It’s about small moments of self-awareness that cause us to evaluate where we are and decide whether it’s time for a rewrite. Over the years, I’ve reevaluated other stories I’ve told myself, most recently, about my career.
A few weeks ago, I quit my job with a company that I helped found (as the smallest percentage owner) to pursue something I’ve been talking about doing for more than fifteen years: start a software development company and consultancy. To most outsiders, it’s not the smartest financial decision — in the short-term anyway. What has happened since quitting, however, is that I’ve been more energized about my work than I have been in several years.
Don’t get me wrong: I still believe in the mission of the company I left, but it doesn’t fit the narrative of what I want to do professionally anymore.
The realization that I wanted to move on came a long time ago, but it took years to work up the courage to act. I’m almost fifty now, but the experience of quitting a stable job to pursue something that’s exciting to me is a good reminder that our stories aren’t set in stone. To borrow from the Bible, Paul wrote about things being written “not in tables of stone, but in the fleshy tables of the heart,” which is a great reminder that we are responsible for shaping our own lives, and that it’s okay to push back against rigid external expectations.
Maybe the story you’ve been telling yourself for years isn’t about your career choice. Perhaps it’s about being healthier, devoting more time to a hobby that brings you joy, or revitalizing cooled relationships. Maybe it’s about learning something new.
Whatever it is, the hardest part of questioning our own narratives is giving ourselves permission to do it. Most of us get stuck feeling like we need to stay where we are or how we are because of the real and perceived expectations of others.
I believe strongly that I have a moral, ethical, and societal obligation to provide for my family as long as I’m able. There are, however, myriad ways I can do that. I’m extremely blessed to be in a position to move on from one job and start something I’ve dreamed of doing for many years.
We’re all living stories — sometimes by choice, sometimes by habit, and sometimes by sheer inertia. The hardest part isn’t necessarily knowing when a story needs rewriting. It’s giving ourselves permission to pick up the proverbial pen and write it.
Maybe your story feels stuck, or maybe it’s been humming along just fine, but you’ve started to feel a seismic shift disguised as as quiet pull that something needs to change. It could be as simple as spending more time with people you love, pursuing a hobby you’ve been putting off, or finally admitting that the story you’re living doesn’t fit who you are anymore.
I’m not saying it’s easy. Change comes with uncertainty, risk, and often with more than a little discomfort. But I’ve learned that the cost of staying in a story that no longer fits is far greater. If a 23-year-old with a laptop purchased with his wife’s loan money could realize there was something more important than a video game, and a nearly-50-year-old could leave a stable job to chase a dream, maybe there’s room in your story for something new, too.
It’s not about perfection or figuring everything out. It’s about taking that small step toward the life you know you want to live. The story isn’t set in stone. You can rewrite what’s written on your heart, one word, one moment, and one choice at a time.
No comments:
Post a Comment