The stories we tell ourselves
We need to talk about Scrappity.
Scrappity is a one-eared stray. A steel-grey cat with bright green eyes. He has two tales (not tails, tales). He can’t keep them both – they’re not compatible with each other. So he must decide which one to believe. Can you help him choose?
Tale 1: I’m angry and confused. My family has rejected me. Clearly, I’m not worthy – an ugly, waste of space, good-for-nothing mouser. My misshapen head is hideous, not to mention my auditory disfiguration – people point and stare in horror. I’m GROTESQUE. No wonder I’m abandoned. I don’t deserve to be happy. Ever. Whatever, I’m just going to loiter around this desperate neighbourhood until someone tells me to shove off.
Tale 2: I’m freeee! I can write my own rules. I was loved by my family at one point, but their own story led them elsewhere. Anyway, that wasn’t about me, and I forgive them now. You know what? I could start my own family if I wanted! I can design any life I desire. I am FIERCE. My uniqueness literally makes people stop and smile. What would this neighbourhood do without me? I’m like their hero! I have peace in my heart. And I’m happy to be alive.
If Scrappity wants to live as an expression of his truest, highest self, which tale do you think he should choose? …
… The stories we tell ourselves have magical Jedi powers. They are quite literally how we make meaning out of the ocean of chaos we call life. What’s your narrative? Notice it. Choose it. Say it. Repeat it.