A Broad Definition of Story

If I were speaking as a teacher, writer, historian, psychologist, media scholar, or in any one of a number of other roles, I might define story differently. As a human being, though, I think we know in our innermost being what stories--good stories--are: creative expressions, narrative in nature, that somehow sustain us. Our best stories have incredible power.

I believe our ancient ancestors knew this. Gathered in communal circles in the darkest night times in the most isolated spots, carefully tending the embers of fires that kept them safe and warm, our ancestors also carefully tended their stories. Stories were safeguarded, valued, and shared; survival depended upon it. I believe our survival still depends on our sharing of meaningful stories, but with all of our modern shelters and insurances and weapons and "conveniences"--all of our so-called "protections"--we often forget this. We forget that what really guarantees our survival and allows us to thrive is something that comes from within... and our best stories honor this.

We need the kinds of stories that inspire us and lift us up, that give us guidance when we venture into unknown territory. We need stories that impart knowledge, and more importantly, wisdom. We need stories that entertain us and lighten our loads in the midst of chaos, confusion, and turmoil, allowing our spirits to sing even in the midst of stress, anxiety, fear, and darkness. More than anything else, we need stories that bring us together, that provide a basis for intimate human sharing in a world that is increasingly impersonal, disconnected, and fragmented.

So where do we find these stories? Everywhere! We need only look and listen, or, more precisely, "see" and "hear."

I define "story" broadly. As I see it, meaningful stories can emerge from "classic" literature and popular literature, biographies, memoirs, journalism, and history. Meaningful stories can also emerge from myths and sacred texts, movies and television episodes, songs and symphonies, photographs, paintings, rituals and dances. Finally, of course, some of our most important stories are the ones embedded in our conversations, letters, e-mails, and journals--the stories that we share with our friends and family members, and the stories we tell ourselves.

The kinds of stories I'm interested in--the ones that have power--are the ones that reach us in that "story place" we all have. You know the "story place." It's what makes your ears perk up in a public setting when you sense an earnest conversation is taking place or what draws your undivided attention to a certain relative who starts to speak at the Thanksgiving dinner table. It's what makes you stop dead in your tracks when that movie is on television (you know the one!), even though you've seen it a dozen times before. It's what creates a hush when a certain poem or scripture or tribute to someone is read aloud; it's what makes people sink into a painting or photograph or musical score. These reactions don't occur when we are listening to instructions or reading our cereal boxes or watching the stock ticker. Nor do these reactions occur when the stories before us--the tales and sounds and images--are just "filler," a distraction, a reader's, listener's, or viewer's version of "empty calories."

We need robust, meaningful stories that feed our souls and spirits. I believe many of us are starving for them. We don't need just any stories right now; we need our best stories. Our best stories provide connections between what we feel deep inside our most tender hearts and what we experience as we face the challenges of our daily lives. Our best stories--whether written, spoken, displayed, or danced--tell us something about who we are.