By Lanette Smith

When I was a little girl, asking to be told a story became a two-fold nightly routine in our home.  First, I wanted to hear mom and dad tell me true stories about their growing up years.  And afterwards, I also wanted to be read to from a book of tales.  Both of which I learned by heart.

At age fifty, my desire for story has only grown.  Recently it took the form of films about famous women doing great things.  I watched everything from Marie Curie discovering in the realm of science and Emily Dickinson writing poetry to Beatrix Potter publishing her books and Widow Clicquot making what would become the most famous champagne in the world.  

Seeing the musical Hamilton live, I am pondering how it ends, with composer Lin-Manuel Miranda’s words sung, “Who lives, who dies, who tells your story?”  After Alexander Hamilton dies, his wife Eliza ends up living fifty more years putting into place so many of his dreams and visions.

Mid-life can be the most powerful season of life for story:  the stories others have deposited, the narrative we tell ourselves, and the legacy that will outlive us.

I find myself reflecting on all that others have invested in me.  This season of life finds me wanting to   give back by telling their stories as well as living out the character qualities and passions they so generously instilled.  In this way, they live on in the world.

For example, when someone experiences a loss, the two questions I ask are, “What is your loved one’s name?” (present tense intentional) and “What is a character quality you most admire to live out in their honor?” 

To perpetuate lines of good, true, and beautiful influence, I find it of key import to take care with the story I tell myself.  How, as Ignatian wisdom bears out, can I take a long and loving look at reality?  In what ways can I acknowledge challenges while also being grateful, carrying both truths simultaneously?  Personally, am I willing to examine and edit the “tapes” that play automatically about self- worth?  Community-wise, am I able to be in touch with societal needs without becoming paralyzed?

I’ve long wondered how it is that two people from similar backgrounds can go through the same situation and one person gives up while the other thrives?  Victor Frankl, in his book “Man’s Search for Meaning”, writes about it not being what happens to us as much as how we think about what is happening to us that makes the most impact.  While we may not be able to change the circumstances, we do have power to change our narrative.

Within these personal and collective narratives lives potential for action in collaboration.  As much as we tend to remember individuals, Emily Dickinson dwelt alongside supportive family and Widow Clicquot oversaw a team of winemakers that helped carry out her late husband’s legacy.

Real life for these women was also daily.  There was no soundtrack and, like us, they were busy navigating in real time.  Not only that, but with every life transition a shake-up of identity waits for us all.  How do we find and faithfully hone our calling?  Who are we when people need us differently than before?  How do we transition phases of work?  To what plot line do we turn when any number of life aspects don’t go according to plan?

Whether tempted to feel invisible or enjoying times of strength and consolation, we can ask, “Will you tell me a story?” Perhaps we can ask a woman we admire.  We can read books and watch films.  And we can join collaborative community efforts to nourish something bigger than ourselves.

Women can instinctively remind the world that true strength lies in being willing to be invited into the stories we wouldn’t necessarily have chosen for ourselves.  We know it is found in speaking up for others.  While earlier life decades are like a fire that is all flame, mid-life is the time of white coals.  While there may not be as much to see, there is now an even more vital heat for tending that which keeps us human.

So let’s intentionally stoke that fire and, as my Islander friends would say, “Talk Story.” You never know, the action that comes from such circles may just change the course of history. 

Lanette Smith’s journey spans education, hospitality, wine, and the arts in Oregon’s Willamette Valley. A poet, musician, and artist, she’s also been a pastor, mentor, and professor, guided by curiosity, kindness, and hardy elegance. Now the Gallery Coordinator at The Erin Hanson Gallery in McMinnville, OR, she spends her time gardening, kayaking, and raising chickens on her Dundee homestead—always seeking the next good and true thing.