Would You Rather Be a Parent During the Holidays or Fly Rescue Missions During Wartime?
24-Hour Story #1
I was bleeding from multiple wounds
My 13-year-old had already captured two pawns, my horse, and my rook. I had nothing.
It's been less than 3 months since we started playing chess and this young mind of my own making—my progeny—barely north of a decade in age, is already beating me at a game I've been playing for decades.
Gheesh.
In my defense, I was handling it fine, with aplomb even, as I was slowly losing crucial assets and personnel (plastic chess pieces), but trying my best anyway so my kid could enjoy the actual win.
Suddenly, a few blunders by my opponent allowed me to claw my way back into being a contender!
Hooray, the fun had returned.
But wait!
Now my kid wanted to stop playing! What? Just when I was about to rally back, and in true Rocky fashion, actually go the distance with my opponent—perhaps even win.
So what did I do?
With all my decades of adult experience, I wisely consulted my inner four-year-old to assess the situation. It promptly informed me that “This wasn’t fair!” and with that exact indignant mood aflame in my scrunched up face I pretended to be morally superior and told my kid they were being a poor sport and should finish the game. (So I could win.)
I proceeded to be surprised and bewildered by the poor reception this received, the disconnection it caused, and my wife’s gentle observation that I had just given my inner four-year-old the keys to my emotional car.
What’s that, you ask? Am I little over-competitive?
I assure you, the foam around my mouth is just a little lather from this morning’s shave and has nothing to do with my resting pulse rate being in the triple digits.
The point is, we're only days away from Christmas and we've been spending more family time together, the intention being to enjoy each other's presence and feel more connected.
The problem is, I usually tend to manage my sense of connectedness by having ample time to myself.
For me, boundaries protect the distance at which my relationships can thrive.
But during the holidays I feel guilty about protecting those limits for myself, so I agree to a generous abundance of time with my family, which results in an unattractive reverse emotional aging process that leaves me with the social maturity of a hungry stray animal.
It's so damned ironic to me that closeness always involves getting more of my emotional landmines tripped.
Does anybody else experience the double-bind pain of holiday time and the pressure to manufacture postcard fireside cheer out of your own psychic inferno?
I can see in retrospect that the real problem was this. I lost sight of the game I was playing. Briefly, I thought it was chess.
If I were keeping the real game of connection in my sights, I'm sure I would have done something other than allow my snippy competitive self to get so hooked by winning or losing at a board game.
In actuality, I'm playing the game of family, which is infinitely more complex than the game of chess.
By losing view of the real game and trying to win at chess, I was trying to win the battle at the cost of losing the war. Of course, equating family life with war is a grim pairing, but honestly, it just feels like that sometimes.
I've heard that in Vietnam the helicopters were so busy rescuing and deploying soldiers in the field that the required maintenance and repair was done in flight by mechanics while the choppers were airborne.
The attempt to remain stable and functional as an adult strikes me as being much the same. Sometimes you have to do the maintenance and self-care on the go. But that’s some advanced skill as a mechanic.
Are there any other parents out there who feel like they've suddenly found themselves holding down eight fulltime essential jobs on the battlefield, none of which they feel prepared or qualified to fulfill?
It's really only me I'm at war with, obviously, and it makes me sad when I draw my family into the gravity of my own inner conflicts.
Norman Rockwell is famous for his heart-warming renditions of family holiday meals and the good old American spirit. He also had three sons, and unless Norm was also a saint, I’d have to assert that he didn’t cover the full range of ordinary family life in America. He showed us ourselves at our best, for sure.
But honestly, even one Rockwell painting of an ordinary dysfunctional family—and specifically some dad hurling a stupid board game across the room—would lift my spirits more than anything right now.
I’d like to say that I’d give up ever winning at chess again if I could just win the game of being a grownup. But I just had the chance an hour ago and made a different choice.
Sometimes self-honesty, authenticity, and the courage to tell the truth about oneself is the only win you can claim. And if you can have a sense of humor about yourself in the process, that’s even better.
Alright, I’m going to sign off and see if anyone wants to play something less likely to produce confrontation. You know, like Monopoly.
Happy Holidays.
24-Hour Stories
This article was inspired by
and this most recent post.Arman makes an eloquent case for the necessity of storytelling and it spurred me to take a shot at an idea I’ve been nurturing, which is the art of 24-Hour Stories.
A 24-Hour Story, I’ve decided, is a story that occurs, is written about, and is published within 24 hours of its happening.
I literally have about 15 more minutes to hit the publish button on this post to qualify.
The reason I’m drawn to this challenge is that it forces me to refrain from overthinking and over editing my writing, focusing instead on sharing authentically and not worrying whether the communication could be more perfect.
I’ve made my living as a storyteller for decades, and I’m noticing that when I tell stories that are about immediate issues and challenges in my life, audiences are much more highly engaged with the aliveness and spontaneity of that kind of sharing. I’d suggest that if you’re wanting to build credibility, connection, and influence with your own audience, 24-Hour Stories are worth practicing.
Imagine if more of us developed that skill. The ability to tell, at any time, a compelling, inspiring or humorous story about something that happened within the last 24 hours of our life.
Arman claims, “The ability to tell a good story pushes humanity forward.” I whole-heartedly agree! He then invites us all to tell our story, concluding with, “You have the right to remain silent, but I hope you won’t.”
This 24-Hour Story, and lack of silence, is dedicated to
. Looking forward to more of your own stories, Arman.Courage Writer Is My New Name
You’ve perhaps noticed the name change of my newsletter from Storytellers Academy to Courage Writer.
The direction I’m intending for the project has a large focus on using writing for personal growth and authentic expression.
Storytelling is definitely a key feature of the project, but specifically I’m passionate about personal experience storytelling. To avoid confusing the craft of storytelling in general with the specific practice of courageous personal expression, I’ve changed the name.
Thank you for being a subscriber!
A book of the same name by James Carse.
Great story, Rick! I really like how you connect chess, war, family and boundaries all into a cohesive narrative. What comes to mind while reading is Finite and Infinite Games and how our emotional state influences our capacity to keep playing the infinite without devolving into the finite. Well done on the 24-hour time constraints!