If you per chance follow the Gaines family empire in any capacity, you may know that they are launching their own television network. Although television generally does not interest me, even though attributing to only a portion of the screen pandemic, there are a few show trailers that I have taken the time to view given that I rather respect the colossal name Chip and Joanna have made for themselves all while being extravagantly committed to faith and family. Two pillars that I find myself overwhelming drawn to and so ready to receive inspiration in.
Although as I am sure this couple very quickly discovered, whenever you are in the spotlight, so are the critics. Perhaps such criticism ensures the general publics safety with regards to personal failures by emphasizing that everyone has them. Or maybe criticism, if ever well placed, could serve to promote a necessary accountability to those who should be prompted to live above reproach given the many number of eyes that take highly their every move. Whatever the motivation, we are quick to find error with those who inspire us yet are distant from us. A thought perhaps for another writing. Though I too am familiar with the temptation.
Yet if it might be possible to bring an observation, perhaps inherent criticism, to the table without demeaning the character of people with which I am not, nor will ever be, familiar, then may I do so as a way to bring a perspective contrary to the one presented. The latter being what many will internalize because of where, or rather from whom, it comes. Certainly you have better reason to swallow the words of two down to earth, accessible, wildly successful, lovable design stars turned authors turned chefs turned whatever other endeavor they would like to pursue. I do not hold onto much that would convince you my opinion is one of the wiser, and seeing as this last year has me holding on to very few tangible friendships, you probably do not know me well enough to believe that my words hold merit. Though I will share them nonetheless, for perhaps you might still find a morsel of truth there.
After a handful of show previews in anticipation of the Magnolia Network launch, my thumb stopped tapping to the next Instagram story when it landed on the words that read “Stories worth telling.”
Stories worth telling.
I held my thumb down for a few moments, long after I read the words, as though to see if I had indeed read that correctly, but equally as though my mind wanted to absorb the implication of the statement. Indeed the stories I had only moments ago witnessed seemed inspiring, daring, courageous, even covet worthy. Stories that I would presumably enjoy following, even in my very limited encounter with anything current. (An occasional episode of Seinfeld and I find myself satisfied.) And of course stories such as these lend well to more than dinner table conversation with friends. They are bigger than that.
They are the stories surrounded by aesthetic beauty, journeyed by emotive artists, and involving just enough risk to prompt internal questions speaking to the very purpose of life and self. The very stories that camera crews are eager to document and with which we are so readily tantalized.
Culture is not shy to admit that we have shortened our lives with an eagerness to document them. Taking time to ensure that we have posted the right photograph to either elicit beauty or the perfect caption to engage likability. No matter the motive, and even no matter the frequency with which we service social media, we are familiar with this subconscious urge to communicate our lives in a way that tells our story, simply because we are sharing of ourselves, and what you share is personal even when its shallow. Our stories are playing out no matter the number of followers, no matter the accomplishments made or the failures documented.
Yet have we convinced ourselves that there is some measurement, some numerical gold star, or perhaps greater than that, a feeling that others will undoubtedly receive that makes them long to hear more. Those that will command an audience. Those that are documentable. Those that have a following. These are the stories worth telling.
I disagree.
Maybe I am just trying to make myself feel better. Certainly one reason we criticize readily those that have seemingly journeyed farther and grander than our simple, mediocre selves ever will. Far be it from me to excuse myself from a touch of self-justification. Yet even in my attempt to check the lens through which I look, I seem to come to the same conclusion. A conclusion that has my stomach slowly slither into a knot when I consider the intrinsic design of each human soul.
You may never attract a camera crew, where instead only your distant cousin in Jersey will incessantly like your posts. You may never risk it all for the sake of a start up, while your concerned Father looks on in loving support. You may never inspire more than close friends and your children may be all that lives beyond you. Yet in all that you have understood to be valuable, even as deemed by those you adoringly admire in their hard earned stardom, politely decline when they say anything differently than this:
Yours is a story worth telling.
EXPOSITION: Have you ever based the value of your story on its follow-ability? Have you considered making certain choices or even major life decisions because you found you had little to document? Have certain responsibilities lost their luster because they appear monotonous or overtly common place?
RISE: The motivation for your story should not be for the sake of the story itself. Practice telling your story, not documenting it. Gather with friends and family members that will inquire of you with great interest without the accompaniment of a photograph and caption. Do the same for others so that the stories you are following are not solely ones that are filtered.
DENOUEMENT: “You search the Scriptures because you think that in them you have eternal life; and it is they that bear witness about me, yet you refuse to come to me that you may have life.” -Jesus (recorded in the writings of John, chapter 5)
This text may feel a bit out of place, but the reason it struck me as fitting is because we have done the same with our stories and we miss life itself in our confusion and even stubbornness. “You search [for stories] because you think that in them you have life; and it is [your story] that bear witness about me, yet you refuse to come to me that you may have life.”