The investment in our story, what you call a narrative, is one of the reasons it can be hard to grow, heal, evolve, develop and address very real issues. There can be so many layers and filters and perspectives that whatever a truth might really be, it can take an enormous amount of work to find it. That’s such a private journey. It is also, I believe, why so many of us are so willing to accept someone else’s “truth” about who we are so readily. Or a religious “truth” which in fact is dogma. We can medicate the emotions, but our emotions are among the most honest parts of us. True grief, or true sadness, or true joy are untrammeled, gorgeous and honest in their sincerity. I’ve never had kids, but that’s about as honest a set of emotions as anyone could ask for. They feel what they feel right here, right now, for as long as it takes, then done. Can we go play now?
Western society in general has a terrible time with emotions. Yet that is as searing a truth as any of us will ever have: true fear, true love, true and genuine joy. You cannot fake what rises from the heart. You can try to lie about it, but those emotions are among the most honest aspects of our collective humanity. Sometimes I think that denying our feelings has a great deal to do with our sickness as a society. Depression is unexpressed anger, for one. We are so often afraid to dip a spoon deeply into the rivers of the heart, which reveal layers that we’ve never explored. Therein lies a greater truth than anywhere else. It’s ever so much easier to deny, avoid, lie, dance a pretty dance, than look at ourselves deeply.