Afterwards, I ranted, fumed and gestured. It put me off balance for the day. I forgot myself. It took me twenty-four hours to regain equilibrium.
In hindsight I know that the person's behavior was not a personal attack but a private story acted upon. My anger stemmed from my own acquired stories and meaning making. Our stories clashed in a meeting room. Extract those stories and the event was only words that missed each other across a table. A damaged but shared act of unheard phrases and broken dialogue. Something fixable.
When we throw the private stories into the scene our worlds explode into unsolvable riddles. Menacing words are dropped like missiles at war; disrespect, uncaring, rude, prejudiced, incompetent, horrible, unjust, unfair, unsupported all punctuated by expletives.
These personal stories, the private reality we build in which good are good, bad are bad, we are victims, they are aggressors, all the reasons we or they can’t change, all the explanations why we can’t have our dreams. All the ways we draw lines around ourselves, our society, our workplace, our family. These stories are the destructive force. None of it is true.The truth resides when we turn to each other and engage. When we deeply listen, we dialogue and freely enter into a conversation that explores the biggest questions, they whys, the things that matter, the passions, the humanness of existence. We leave the stories behind, suspend limiting assumptions and open ourselves. These connections trigger meaning, creativity, innovation, deep paradigm shifts and ever deeper appreciation of being.
This is the life force.I have a lot to learn about it.