Telling Our Story from Simon Walker's book Finding the Still Point.
Last weekend I watched the film Australia with my wife (a good tip for a Friday night in...). Hugh Jackman plays a cattle drover - a loner, brawler but general good bloke who, in defence of his behaviour at one stage declares "All we have is our story - I'm just trying to tell a good one."
All we have is our story.... that line made me think. I wonder whether I would or could say that of myself? Is all I have my story? When I think about myself, my life, who I am and what I have, I suspect I would include quite a lot of other material things: all I have is a house, wife, kids, car, job, PC, etc etc. I realise that, alongside relationships, I would include lots of stuff. I'm quite attached to my stuff. I spend quite a lot of time earning enough to purchase it, maintain it and upgrade it. I realise that I don’t actually accept Jackman's statement - at least not practically. I am deeply committed to a view of myself that incorporates the accumulation of things within my self definition.
All I have is my story. I'm deeply drawn to the freedom of that statement however, because of course all my stuff can be taken away from me. As was once said 'A person's life does not consist in the abundance of his possessions.'
At a time like now, when our stuff seems less secure than it used to, maybe we have an opportunity to forge a new clarity about who we actually are.
So, what kind of story am I telling? If I were to depict it from start to finish, would I be proud of it? What have been the major events in my story? What are the emerging themes? Is there a great plot line? And who are the characters? Where do I want my story to go? Do I have any sense of its direction - am I an author with or without an overall narrative shape? What meaning will emerge from it and will it stand the test of time, being told and retold? Ultimately, will my story enhance or reduce the world in which I lived it?
It's interesting to reflect on what it would be like to be left with only our story. Nothing else. No possessions, no money, no status, no influence, no relationships. Just us, our story. Period. This is the approach of death isn't it? This is the confrontation of our mortality, in which we are stripped of all our assets and reduced to the bare man or woman we have been.
And will this be a reduction? Will this be us diminished? If so, then perhaps we have invested ourselves in the wrong things.
But is it possible that us, just us and our story, stripped bare, could be a revelation of who we really are? Could it be like the cleaning of an old, apparently worthless object to reveal a beautiful, invaluable, precious treasure? I remember visiting an elderly and very sick man as a priest; in those moments we shared together, his calm demeanour, his courage, his joy, spoke of a deeply rich life - a quality of heart and soul somehow refined, prepared for the absolutes of life. It was, truly, awesome. Could it be that, at this point of death, we will consider any rush to have accumulated stuff in our life - money, objects, power, status - as little more than the dross which blackens the beauty and lustre of the gold beneath?
All I have is my story. I'm just trying to tell a good one. What's your story? What are you trying to tell? Will my friends, family, children be able to say of me "Simon told a good story"?
Here are some very serious, but funny things leaders have said in the past.
from Russell Wardrop
“Debating with Geoffrey Howe is like being savaged by a dead sheep.”
Denis Healy, Labour, speaking about his Conservative adversary.
“I must be the only minister in history who has resigned because he was in complete agreement with government policy.”
The underwhelming and quietly savage Geoffrey Howe instigating the toppling of Margaret Thatcher with a devastating critique of her attitude to Europe. This line elicited a loud laugh in the house, as it was being put about that Geoffrey was just having a minor strop. He put them right, and How(e)!
“Politics is supposed to be the second oldest profession. I have come to realise that it bears a very close resemblance to the first.” Ronald Reagan used humour a lot (and speech writers, too) during his time in office. He famously almost started a major incident by saying he was going to bomb Russia, thinking his microphone was off.
Another great Reagan line, which contrasts Republicans of the day with Democrats is "The most terrifying words in the English language are: I'm from the government and I'm here to help."
“An empty cab drew up outside 10 Downing Street and Clement Atlee got out of it.” This is attributed to Churchill, and is about as cruel as it gets. He may not have said it, but it is typical of the kind of thing he said.
“You turn if you want to: the lady’s not for turning.” A play on words, and Margaret Thatcher playing to the Tory conference at the height of her powers. Never the best speaker, but it shows what you can do with good material.
“Senator, I served with Jack Kennedy. I knew Jack Kennedy; Jack Kennedy was a friend of mine. Senator, you're no Jack Kennedy.” Senator Lloyd Benston said this to Dan Quayle when they were debating as Vice Presidential candidates and the last five words have gone into political currency for someone who is not the sharpest tool in the box. Quayle, of course, is the man who put an “e” at the end of the word potato when visiting a school, while the cameras were rolling.
“At least she won’t run off with the guy next door.” Tony Blair used humour a lot and, according to Alasdair Campbell, was always on the look out for laugh lines. This was the day after his wife Cherie was criticised for a spat with Gordon Brown; it brought the house down.
"Making a speech on economics is a bit like pissing down your leg. It seems hot to you but never to anyone else." Can you say “pissing” in a speech? Of course, though perhaps not your inauguration. Lyndon Baines Johnson used this one and it speaks directly to real people, who might be bamboozled by the experts.