Step Out of Your Story. Kim Schneiderman
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of anxiety in my chest and an old, familiar feeling — shame. How had I managed to survive all these years while being so financially incompetent? People thought I was so together. If only they knew.
Next, write a new paragraph describing the same dreaded chore in the third person. For example:
She wasn’t particularly organized. She had other strengths — creativity, intelligence, a good sense of humor — but keeping on top of her finances, well, that left much to be desired. At least she knew the documents that needed to be saved, even if she stuck them in folders and refused to look at them until she had absolutely no other option. But April 15 came around every year, forcing her to face the spreadsheets. She could delude herself into thinking that she had done okay financially, but the numbers never lied. She’d see how much she made and what she owed, and the penalties she’d incurred from forgetting to pay her estimated taxes. It was her secret shame. Yet she took some comfort in knowing she was far from the only one. And her situation wasn’t so bad. Some people didn’t pay taxes for years, like her friend’s ex-husband — what a disaster! As far as the nitty-gritty number crunching was concerned, that’s what accountants were for, right? Her accountant would figure it all out and keep her out of the government doghouse.
When you’re done, take a few minutes to reflect on what it felt like to write in the third person. Some students have described having more positive feelings toward their third-person self than they normally do toward themselves when they write in the first person. If not, be patient. Writing in the third person is a bit like asking righties to use their left hand. I encourage you to get uncomfortable, experimenting outside your comfort zone, and see what unfolds. Next, we’ll start the process itself in the place where most stories begin, getting to know the star of your story, the protagonist otherwise known as you!
GETTING TO KNOW THE STAR OF YOUR STORY
Men go abroad to wonder at the heights of mountains, at the huge waves of the sea, at the long courses of the rivers, at the vast compass of the ocean, at the circular motions of the stars, and they pass by themselves without wondering.
— St. Augustine of Hippo, Confessions
Exposition: The beginning of a story in which the main character is introduced to the reader. Situating the story in a time and place, the exposition presents important descriptive information that is needed to fully understand the protagonist.
Now that you’ve put on your story glasses and changed your perspective to the third person, it’s time to get better acquainted with the star of your story — you. Every human story is also a journey of transformation. We start out in one place, with a particular outlook, and end up in another. Yet rarely do we explore who we are as evolving characters with the same gusto and curiosity that we reserve for foreign travel — that is, until something forces us to take a closer look at the person behind the passport. Take Seymour’s story, for instance.
Lost Globetrotter Finds His Compass
Seymour was a single, white, thirty-nine-year-old Wall Street financial professional who “loved to travel” — at least, that’s what he wrote in his online dating profile. He had toured through Australia, trekked up Machu Picchu, and visited several beach resorts in four continents. Yet Seymour was lonely, and he was dissatisfied with his career. Although he often sought out classically beautiful women, he usually got bored a few months into the relationship. At work, he felt restless and distracted. When he wasn’t stressed, he entertained himself by composing songs in his head, though his masterpieces never saw daylight.
The trouble was, while Seymour had seen many parts of the world, he had barely explored the recesses of his own heart. An only child, Seymour had grown up somewhat emotionally neglected. His kindly but stoic father, who had worked in construction, had died of a heart attack when Seymour was only eleven. His mother, a nurse, had often worked overtime to put food on the table and send her son to college, and she had suffered periodic bouts of depression that sometimes left her bedridden. With little personal attention and guidance, Seymour turned to television and peers for clues about how to find happiness, but the proffered solutions — making money and womanizing — left him feeling empty.
When he thought of himself as the protagonist of his own story, Seymour recognized where this particular character arc would end if he didn’t change: with the character becoming a lonely, rich, and unhappy man. Seymour also worried about dying young, like his father. Instead, he wanted more inspiring work that left him with the same sense of enthusiasm he felt returning from his travels. The idea arose of starting an international importing business using some of his overseas contacts. He also wanted to learn how to play the guitar. With the right woman, he could build a family of his own. But to do all this, he first needed to take charge of his story, get to the bottom of his emotional blocks, and get better acquainted with his true self. His happiness and health were at stake.
What’s Your Character Arc?
While you can’t predict your future, you can take charge of the direction of your character arc if you’re willing to explore your protagonist’s terrain with the same sense of adventure and awe you would bring to a trek through the Himalayas.
Every protagonist has a character arc, a particular way he or she matures and develops in response to the shifting tides of the story. This area of growth is the threshold between the hero’s present self and his or her aspirational self; some call this a person’s “growing edge,” a term I like and use in this book. At the outset of every narrative, the protagonist possesses certain viewpoints and capabilities that have gotten the character by until now. Inevitably, situations arise that challenge these perspectives or demand other skills the hero doesn’t yet possess, thus creating the main conflict of the narrative. After all, if the character already possessed the necessary skills or a broader perspective, there would be no challenge and no conflict in the story. Ultimately, the protagonist faces an opportunity to change in some way. The degree to which the protagonist embraces this challenge, and his or her growing edge, or tries to avoid the challenge determines who he or she becomes, for better or for worse.
Similarly, you are an ever-evolving protagonist on a journey of self-discovery with choices to make about how to respond to the stuff that happens in your life. As an ever-evolving protagonist, not only do you possess the power to adapt to plot twists, but you can view these unexpected difficulties as opportunities for personal growth and transformation. In fact, you can coauthor your own story by regarding every person and situation that shows up in your narrative as an invitation to further hone a different aspect of your character, or one of your growing edges.
That, of course, includes antagonists — the so-called villains and foils that make life challenging — as well as supporting characters and any life events, welcome and unwelcome. After all, just because your life is a story doesn’t mean it’s supposed to be a fairy tale. In fact, even fairy tales aren’t joy rides. If you study them carefully, you’ll notice that serious difficulties always beset the main characters before they get to their happy ending. Cinderella may meet her prince and become transformed, but she has to sweep a whole bunch of chimneys, and endure much humiliation, before she gets there. Jack has to outrun a homicidally hungry giant to capture his treasure in the sky. We not only expect that the main characters of stories will be challenged in some essential way, but we anticipate it.
In stories, the status quo is not just boring, it’s unacceptable. Whether we consciously recognize it or not, could it be that deep down we understand that something needs to happen to the main character for his or her own good or, dare I say, growth? If so, then why is it that it’s so easy to lose this perspective when it comes to telling the story of our own life, when our own status quo is shaken? As the protagonist of our own heroic narrative, doesn’t it seem silly not to recognize that the things that happen to us are what offer opportunities