I am afflicted with an ailment I discovered has a name: analexaphobia. It comes from the Greek, meaning “a fear of being without reading material.” I had no idea that my habit of carrying around at least one book at all times came with a title.
If I don’t have a book with me — which is hardly ever — the symptoms aren’t obvious. No panic attacks, no noticeable fidgeting. But inside, I drift slightly toward the edge of anxiety, feeling like something is missing.
My need for a book is a lot like a child’s security blanket: a physical comfort object that provides a sense of safety.
In exploring why being without a book is unthinkable for me, I’ve realized it’s because I thrive on reading about people’s lives. I am, and have always been, deeply invested in hearing and understanding people’s stories. Why? Because stories are how people make sense of their lives and change their lives — and they’re how I personally make sense of those complicated beings called humans.
We remember the moments that matter most to us through the stories we tell. Making sense of our lives through story is the ultimate creative act. Telling our stories to others is the ultimate connecting act. In them, we find threads of similarity and humanity — and discover we have more in common than what divides us.
One of the best things about stories is that when our lives fall apart — and most everyone’s does, at some point — we can create a new narrative with new possibilities. We re-story our lives again and again: when we graduate high school or college, when we move, marry, or divorce, when a new baby comes into the world, when someone we love leaves it.
Telling our stories to someone who is really listening lets us feel seen — and felt. Stories have been the connective tissue between people since someone in the first cave communities invited others to sit by the fire, under the moon, and share what they knew. A well-crafted story is a necessary step toward transformation: Order. Disorder. Reorder.
Sitting in circles and listening compassionately to one another is one way we process our joys and our sorrows. Stories teach us how to become better human beings; they bring kinship instead of judgment. The places for stories are everywhere — our dinner tables, our living rooms, our boardrooms. On trains, planes, buses, and at the checkout counter. Over a neighbor’s fence.
Stories are the owner’s manuals for the soul.
Reflection: What is one story that has stayed with you for many years?
Today’s Practice: The next time someone is telling you their story, look for the similarities.