In my late teens, I discovered the wonderful world of gossip.
At the time I had no idea that that was what I was engaging in, but it absolutely was. I had friends who told me things, in private, to be kept secret, and I had other friends who asked me things about those private conversations. And when I shared these little details, my listeners became deliciously attentive. A sinister and attractive connection arose between us, where I would share information, and they would respond in wonder and delight.
“Nathan, you’re good friends with Beth, hey? Has she told you who she has a crush on? Is it Michael?”
“Uh, yeah, she’s been flirting with Michael, but he’s not the one she actually likes.”
(Gasping) “Oh reeeeally? Then, who is it? It’s so cool that you know, when none of us do!”
“Well, it’s Ben. She actually loves Ben, and is just using Mike to get closer to Ben.”
“OMG! Wow. Isn’t that so interesting? And gosh, poor Michael, because, doesn’t he like her??”
“Yeah, he does. He’s in love with Beth, but she’s in love with Ben, and.. you know what?”
“Yes? What?”
“Ben just told me he's is in love with Kate.”
“Noooooooo!!!”
“Yeah.”
And so on. I didn’t even consider the moral fallout. At 16 years old, I was still new to this world, I was still learning, I was naive. I was firmly in the present moment, and every other moment was just collateral damage.
These conversations went on for months, I’m ashamed to say. Beautiful faces with nice-smelling hair were paying me so much attention, actively seeking me out, pulling me aside, asking me what I know about others. And every time I shared something, their eyes would grow wide, their delicate hands would stroke my arm, and I felt warm feelings everywhere.
I had no idea that with each interaction, I was building an identity for myself. That I was becoming someone untrustworthy.
Anyway, with all the attention, and the warm feelings, and the pretty faces, I was never going to change. I was a wide-eyed deer enjoying all the shiny headlights. Until Maddie-day.
It was a weekend, and we had just finished our usual catchup: my friend Maddie is innocently asking me all about my friends’ secrets, and I'm spilling the beans. But then, instead of giving me the warm eyes and arm-strokes I’d become accustomed to, she goes dark. She pauses, with this smug smile on her face, and says bluntly,
“Nathan, you know that none of us girls would ever share our own secrets with you, don’t you?"
And it was my turn to go wide-eyed. I didn’t know what to say, but my foolish 16-year-old face forced a smile, and I asked “Why is that?”
“Because, dear, you are a gossip. All the girls just talk to you because you tell them your friends’ secrets. No one here actually trusts you at all.” She smiles again, gives a little “and that’s that” shrug, and trots off.
I was stunned. Every conversation from the past six months crowded back into my brain, and I started piecing together the looks, the hugs, the interest, and all the words I spoke so foolishly. She was right, of course, but in that moment all I could think was “Maddie is so mean. So rude. I hate her.”
I walked away, and stopped talking to her. But, I also stopped talking to everyone else too. The next time someone asked me to share some secrets, I would simply say “ah, that is a very good question, and one that is not mine to answer!”
For a long while, I didn’t get the excited looks from the pretty faces with nice hair. I didn’t get arm-rubs and eyelash-batting. I just wasn’t interesting anymore.
After another long while, things started to change again. New faces would lean in, and whisper their confessionals. I would nod sometimes, and cry with them sometimes. It became my hand that rubbed their shoulder, my eyes that grew wide, my head that would shake slowly. A soft trusting connection would form, and it was now me trying to make them feel warmer.
I really don’t know what made Maddie say what she did. I despised her for saying it, but in hindsight I see a deep intuition that neither of us were old enough to own. As painful as her words were to me, they were true, and they saved me.
I realise now that what I was doing was what story theorist Robert McKee would describe as “flexing emotions.” He explains that stories resonate in us because we all want to "visit another world, and be illuminated." We want to "use our minds in fresh and experimental ways, flex our emotions.” A story is a safe place for us to exercise all of the feelings, because in the end, it’s not really happening to us, but we can hold the feels for a while.
What the naive 16-year-old me was trying to do was really the same thing: I was holding other people’s relationships, feelings, lives. I was flexing my emotions vicariously through other humans' stories, like a commentator at a football game who never actually picks up a football. What Maddie did was force me into my own story. I had to experience my own emotions, with all the highs and lows that go with them. It was far more difficult than running commentary, but also, more rewarding.
Reading a great book, or watching an engaging TV series, or scrolling through everyone else's social media stories, all help us to flex our emotions. We visit another world, and try to find some illumination. Spending time listening and retelling each other's stories is exactly the same: we are in another's world, and vicariously feeling what they feel.
Our challenge, in fact one of our greatest challenges in life I believe, is to know what to do with the story once we have heard it.
A below-the-line response to a story is passive, reactive, gossip. We sit back and enjoy it all, and then we might perhaps reshare it, someone else's moment, and pretend that their feelings are ours.
But, an above-the-line response is entirely different. It's active. It seeks meaning and connection and illumination. It makes it personal. When it reshares, it doesn't need to share the story verbatim, but the insights gained from the story.
Stories are not meant to provide an ESCAPE from life. They are meant to help us FIND life. To find new perspectives and emotions and insights for our own lives and relationships. The goal of the storyteller has always been AUDIENCE TRANSFORMATION, and in our real lives, we can actively choose that path: every story we hear can transform us. From cinema hits to heart-journeys of loved ones, we can visit these other worlds, flex our emotions, and bring back some illumination.
And that illumination is ours, it is truth, and is exactly what the world does need to hear from us.