If we took a break for honest reflection, we may discover we've gone through periods or seasons of life where we felt a control high. We didn't need anyone's help or advice. We had it all figured out.
Until we didn't.
This is, of course, the point where we make a mental backtrack to see what went wrong. How did we not see this relational, physical, or career pothole coming? When our pride is in recovery, we may even open ourselves to the possibility that we did have some outside warning but ignored it—you know, because we knew better at the time.
Pride is a wretched thing when we allow it to drive. Pride is also present in some form in nearly every piece of literature ever written. What drives the villain or antagonist?
Greed? A derivative of pride—the belief that something is owed to us. Anger? Also a form of pride—we feel we have not gotten our way.
Revenge? Pride again—someone hurt me, so I deserve to hurt them back.
Only adversity such as forces of nature get an unbiased pass.
And what prompts a protagonist to do something such as run away from home, steal money from a corrupt business, or drop in penniless on a distant relative? Most of us can probably imagine several plots loosely following those lines. Each character's motivation and chosen path through their circumstances have the power to enrapture us with their decisions.
A pregnant teen runs away because her parents try to force an abortion. An old man loses everything in a fire and has nowhere to go but his estranged daughter's. A loyal worker gave everything to their job only to be fired with no severance package.
Without further details, these topics connect with our compassion and internal fear of losing stability. So, turn it around and make the individuals more relatable:
A teen wants an abortion because her boyfriend left her, but her parents won't allow it. An old man cut his daughter off years ago, but she now has the only remaining photo of his departed wife. A hard worker was fired because they stole money to help pay for their brother's surgery.
Why do the additional specifics increase the impact? We can relate to rationalizing even the most wretched or juvenile behavior because we've all had to make difficult choices. Failures inspire more stories than success. Conflict or tension helps us connect to a character's plight. We should want conflicted characters to succeed and overcome just like we hope we can in our own life stories. The result is even better if we're feeling just as conflicted:
We want the teen to make her own choice, but we may hope she chooses to give the baby up for adoption. We want the old man to apologize and hope his daughter accepts. We applaud the worker's love for his brother, but we hope he finds honest ways to support him.
If we allow ourselves that honesty, we wonder: would we have made the same choices the characters have, even if we know they won't end well? But what is more likely to inspire a younger audience? A story told of a flawless life by a perfect rule-follower (who would also be a liar), or a tale of struggles with temptation in its many forms?
Without rough patches, we would have fewer regrets but also fewer engaging stories.
The most touching tales, at least for me, are about individuals who have lived through the closest version of hell this world can provide and still exude a grateful and kind heart.
Usually, these people are older. They have been around long enough—seen enough grief—to know that we'll never have it all figured out. Every one of us can benefit from the wisdom of those who came before us. This is why, in recent years, I worked harder on connecting better with my parents. For extra sources of wisdom, I have an abundance of older ladies around me where I volunteer at our local charity.
When I struggled with losing a close relationship, these fine ladies were there with advice, encouragement, and prayers. They willingly shared their own stories of loss and family drama, and it reminded me to persevere instead of allowing bitterness inside my heart.
Another realization struck me more recently. I am better equipped to identify when pride is in the driver's seat of those around me. I don't want to follow along with that "Minie" (everything and everyone exists for my use) mindset, and what better way to avoid it than to observe how it behaves?
Even when my life is in a placid place, I know I can benefit from other perspectives. Even when a friend has a different background or religion than me, I will strive to listen and understand. When I fall short, I will humble myself if necessary and try again.
We are all imperfect people with dreams, goals, and every possible hurdle in our paths. Wouldn't assisting each other be preferable to adding more obstacles? If telling the stories of our greatest regrets could help someone make better decisions, should we not share them instead of piling on unsolicited advice?
As an author, I already do this in the form of fiction. Each character contains a piece of my own struggles. If their stories could inspire others to be kind and thoughtful, I will keep writing as my own way of being the light I hope to spread in the world.
Keep on smilin'!
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