Stories of Being

Autumn vine maples in the Cascades, October 13, 2018.

Autumn is finally arriving in Oregon today, after an extra month of summer.  Spring also arrived a month late this year, and farmers who were forced to delay planting until the mud finally dried found that their gamble paid off.  This is also the one-year anniversary of the Dendroica Project, and I intend to continue with the monthly writings and perhaps eventually compile some of them into a book.

This month’s essay is a bit different – part philosophical psychology and part personal reflection.

---

I have been thinking recently about the stories that make me me, the stories that make us us.  Our conceptions of ourselves.  Those self-narratives that define meaning and purpose, that create shape and solidity and individuality out of the tapestry of thought and experience and time.

Identity is almost a synonym for this, and is a word that I will use interchangeably throughout, but I am referring not to our demographic datapoints – race, sex, gender identity, sexual orientation, wealth, etc. – that are frequently included in “identity politics” but that do not always play a major role in our stories of being, our conceptions of ourselves.

As an example, I am white and male, but neither of these attributes plays a starring role in my conception of myself.  I accept that race and sex can serve as axes of distinction or axes of oppression, and that this can affect the way I am treated by others and the opportunities presented to me, but I do not know that my core stories of being would be greatly different if my body were female or if my skin color and ancestry were changed.

These stories are also by no means limited to the “identities” most frequently discussed.  A story of being can be as a mother, as a midwife or doctor or teacher, as a spiritual guide to others, as a member of a particular community, as belonging to a particular place, as having skills or attributes that others find valuable, as possessing a particular cosmology or moral compass.

A story of being is the answer to the question, “Who am I?”  Not “How do others see me?”  Not “What boxes would society put me in?”  But “What stories do I tell myself about myself?”  “How do I define myself, know myself, understand myself, value myself?”

Before I describe my own stories of being – my own central identities – and tie back to the ecological spirituality that is central to this blog, I want to present a conceptual framework for categorizing identities that has recently taken form in my mind, and that may be helpful for understanding some of the broader conflicts and crises of our time.  As I am admittedly not well-read in the field of psychology, I have no idea if I am following in others’ footsteps or perhaps proposing something new.

Innate and comparative stories of being

Innate stories of being define self only in reference to the spiritual and physical and human world.  “I follow the teachings of Christ and experience the love of God.”  “I am a part of my family or human community.”  “I am a father to my children.”  “I feel a sense of belonging in nature.”

Comparative stories of being define self in reference to some other.  “I am a good Christian” (as opposed to all those fakers and unbelievers).  “ I am uniquely intelligent” (compared to all those dumber people).  Or the more obviously troubling, “I believe my race, ethnicity, etc. is superior.” 

I think it’s fair to say that comparative stories of being – comparative identities – often form the roots of bias and inequality.  This is true whether one believes the other is better or worse, oppressed or dominating.  Having at our core a story of ourselves in comparison to some other necessarily forces us to define another identity in contrast to our own, and our definition of that identity is almost certain to be incorrect.  It is, in a sense, projecting stories of being onto others in order to solidify our own.

Resilient and fragile stories of being

Resilient stories of being do not require effort or validation to be sustained.  If I derive purpose and meaning from a deep knowledge of place, that will continue until I die, move away, or the place is destroyed.  If I derive meaning from a deeply-held belief, or a connection to family or close-knit community, that is likely to be stable and to survive through times of crisis.

Fragile stories of being require continual effort or validation.  If I see myself as exceptionally intelligent, I must continue to receive top grades or awards or praise to validate that identity.  If I see myself as a talented writer, I must continue to have my writings published and reviewed positively.  If I see myself as outwardly beautiful, I expect to receive compliments on my looks.

If comparative identities form the roots of bias and inequality, fragile identities form the roots of insecurity.  Any story of being that requires ongoing effort and validation risks not being validated.  I might bomb an exam, or a reviewer might pan my writing, or someone might tell me I look fat, or someone might fail to use my preferred pronouns.  To the extent that I perceive those actions as invalidations of my core stories of being, those feel like attacks against which I must either harden myself or react in anger.

---

Those who have followed my writings for some time will be aware that I have long been seeking to understand the problems with the modern conception of social justice.  Specifically, why does a movement full of good people with intentions of pursuing a more harmonious existence end up creating more division, anger, and hatred?  Those who are believers in the movement would say that the negativity comes from outside, from those who do not understand or who are unwilling to “do the work”.  Those who are detractors – on the political right – project a certain sort of veiled selfishness and grasping for influence and personal gain onto the movement.  Neither of these explanations seems correct to me.

In part, as I explored back in 2020, I think some of the failure comes from ignorance of several important axes of comparison and oppression that are relevant to the lives of most people. 

Viewed through the lens of stories of being, however, it becomes clear that the modern social justice movement supports the development of comparative and fragile identities.  Any story of being that defines oneself as on a spectrum or as one among multiple categories must necessarily define the alternatives.  So it is that in order to define blackness as an identity, one must define whiteness.  In order to define transgender as an identity, one must define cisgender.  And the people onto which these comparative identities are projected – often with assigned negative traits – do not appreciate being thus defined and react accordingly.

I don’t mean to suggest that there is anything wrong, per se, with adopting a story of being based on race or gender.  And there is certainly nothing wrong with fighting against oppression and bias in pursuit of a more equal and harmonious world.   That said, in order for those goals to be met the project must presumably also facilitate the development of innate, resilient identities that allow people to feel confident in themselves, to find commonality with all of humanity and all of existence, to relax rather than accentuate the differences on which oppression is sometimes based.  Encouraging people to identify comparatively, rather than innately, can perhaps only increase the divisions the social justice movement seeks to rectify.

---

Viewed through the lens of stories of place, the five-stage process by which people and communities can become rooted to their part of the Earth that I introduced last month appears as a means to develop an interwoven network of innate and resilient identities.  In a community that has reached stage four or five, individuals belong to both place and within the larger group of humans, and the group itself belongs to place as well.   While there are certainly some ways in which such a world can be limiting to personal expressions of individuality, my sense is that it would provide a much stronger basis for human thriving than the largely disconnected (from nature and each other), atomized world of the present.

---

I mentioned at the beginning that my exploration into stories of place, into identities, was spurred by a personal reflection.  In particular, I was pondering why I have seldom been able to belong to a community of people in the way that I would like.

If I ask myself what my main stories of being are, I have two solid answers.

The first is that I belong to the Earth, to my place and ecosystem and home.  I know the scents and sounds of the seasons and feel an emotional relaxation in response.  I tend a garden, nurture the seeds, reap the harvest.  I acknowledge the birds and plants and insects.  Even just writing this I feel calmer, more at peace.  Although the desire to develop such an identity may be part of my soul, I know that I owe it in large part to my childhood, exploring and becoming a part of the natural world in the Minnesota River Valley, mentored by my father who had also developed such a connection to place.  It is what drives my Dendroica Project writings, in the hope that I might help others to develop a similar story of being for themselves.  This is an innate and resilient identity, not dependent on comparison or validation.

The second is that I am a Smart Guy, a problem-solver deserving of respect for my ideas and contributions.  This story of being arose during childhood as well.  I had few consistent friends and multiple consistent bullies, different as I was from the expected boyhood norm.  But as I struggled to belong, I did not struggle to succeed.  Straight A’s came easy, and academic awards, and top test scores, and college admissions.  The confidence boost delivered by each successive achievement came to substitute for the community belonging I was lacking.  Thus was born a fragile and comparative identity.

It is fragile in the sense that I felt that if I failed to keep up the achievement I would lose my value, I would lose an important part of what made me me. In the constant-evaluation environment of college I remember being strangely anxious before exams: not because I actually thought I might fail or because I needed an A to reach some career goal but because if I scored lower than last time I would take it as a sign that my Smart Guy identity was at risk. 

It is comparative in the sense that my performance was always assessed relative to others, whom I would need to equal or surpass in order to validate this story of being.  I didn’t actually view these others as intrinsically inferior in any other way – belief in human equality has always been a core value for me – but when it came to the specific matter of evaluation on the basis of academic achievement, identity validation required that I get the top score.

This identity has followed me beyond schooling, and I have come to realize that it imposes a structure on most of my interpersonal relationships.  When I meet someone, I tend to ignore them and assume they are uninterested in me until they validate my Smart Guy identity by offering praise or appreciation – for my mead, my garden, my work, my ideas, my inventions, or anything else.  This works out reasonably well in the professional realm: I seek to be of service to others, and they in turn appreciate what I contribute verbally and financially.  It works much less well when what I really want is to establish friendship and community, to be invited over for dinner, to go for hikes and share heart-feelings and offer support through hard times.

Furthermore, I have come to suspect that this particular comparative identity has undesirable effects on those around me.  As others appreciate me for my intelligence and planning, they seem to begin to doubt their own competence

, to become less confident in their own abilities.  Although this is certainly not my intent, perhaps there is a subtle way in which I see opportunities to take action such that I am rewarded and others are diminished or overshadowed by comparison.  Perhaps any comparative identity must necessarily project a lesser value onto others in order to assign a greater value to oneself.

So…I think it is time for me to let go of that particular story of being.  Or perhaps it can remain but transition to being innate and resilient rather than comparative and fragile.  I could still know and value myself as an inventor and problem-solver but without the need for comparative assessment or validation. 

For that to happen, I will need to lean into my other identity: spend more time in nature and in the garden, sleep under the stars, take long walks in winter rains, poke my nose into mosses, be still while the wrens and kinglets seek tiny insects around me.  And I will need to consciously build the community that I seek, perhaps finding others with a similar sense of place.  I will need to be more aware of my interactions: neither seeking validation for my fragile identity nor validating the fragile identities of others, but seeing and appreciating others’ innate and resilient stories of being.  Who are they, really?  What brings them joy, meaning, purpose?  How might we collaborate, share, connect, acknowledge, be present for each other, sowing the seeds of a new resilient story of community?