The First Solution

I sometimes think of storytelling as describing the difference between holding my breath for an extended duration and exhaling for the first time. The tension and discomfort of the held breath is the story’s problem, the exhale’s release is the story’s resolution. Just as I choose to hold my breath, so too as a storyteller I must choose to create this tension in my story and in my readers. Why? So, they can enjoy the experience of the release. The greater the tension, the more gratifying the relief when it releases.

Much of my time as a storyteller is spent describing the discomfort of holding my breath. This has its challenges, as when I wrote a piece about how I, a lifelong picky eater and no fan of seafood, had to taste an oyster for a new job. I was aware that if you are someone who likes oysters, this might not seem like such a problem. A greater challenge, however, is describing the release of the tension. After all, breathing – what I am returning to – is natural and unconscious. It is the moment I breathe for the first time that I appreciate what I otherwise do every moment of every day.

Fortunately, I get a lot of practice. I am constantly telling myself stories without realizing it. Every time I think something incompatible with my life and my natural desires, I begin to grow uncomfortable. Often, I keep thinking it anyway, as if I have perceived a problem I must fix, since that’s what adults do. Problems don’t solve themselves, do they? The more I think I’m not good enough, or I’m wasting my time, or no one is interested in what I’m interested in, the worse I feel, and the more real seems the problem that I must keeping thinking about.

The only solution to this problem is to stop thinking what I’m thinking. This can seem unsatisfying. If I think I’m not good enough, then I want to know I’m good enough; if I think I’m wasting my time, then I want to know that everything I’m doing will lead to something valuable. All that comes later. I can’t leap in one thought from despair to excitement. However, I’ve noticed that if I pay close attention to myself, the very moment I stop thinking I’m not good enough, my tension releases. It’s often subtle, the way the relief of a first breath is quickly subsumed into the normalcy of breathing. I might not even notice it.

But the relief is there nonetheless. I must let that feeling be my goal and my solution. Eventually, I’ll get excited about something, will get back in flow and forget entirely about all my worries, but first I must return to my normal, unworried self. The more I practice noticing this, the more it feels like success, like the opposite of fear and pain isn’t the heights of joy and strength, but simply breathing.

If you like the ideas and perspectives expressed here, feel free to contact me about individual coaching and group workshops.

Everyone Has What It Takes: A Writer’s Guide to the End of Self-Doubt
You can find William at: williamkenower.com