The Stories We Feed and the Stories We Live
Lately, I find myself asking:
What the hell is going on?
Not in the casual, tossed-off way—
but in the kind of way that knots the gut and tightens the throat.
Because something feels… off.
I scroll past post after post that leaves me stunned.
Crass remarks, bitter name-calling, memes crafted not to uplift but to mock.
There’s so much energy being spent tearing others down.
Is this what speaking your truth has become—shouting louder than the next person?
Is cruelty now the cost of conviction?
Reach out and touch someone.
And I wonder:
What is it that people actually believe in anymore?
I was raised to believe in kindness. In showing up.
In lending a hand before pointing a finger.
I live in a place that feels safe. My neighbors wave.
They shovel each other’s driveways. Share garden herbs.
Offer a hand, a tool, a smile.
But the stories we hear—loud, relentless—tell us we’re unsafe.
That strangers are out to harm us. That communities are failing.
That we must fear, fight, defend.
And still, I ask:
Whose story is this?
Because it’s not the one I live.
When Power Claims Victimhood
And then there’s the loudest grievance of all lately:
Some of the wealthiest, most influential men in the world are claiming they’re being taken advantage of. Victimized. Silenced.
It’s a curious thing to watch.
When billionaires position themselves as martyrs of “cancel culture” or government overreach, it reveals something deeper than just media spin—it’s a story being fed to us. One that asks us to feel sorry for those with the most insulation from harm.
We’re told they’re the underdogs. That their “freedom” is under attack. That they alone can stand up to broken systems—even while they benefit from those very systems at every turn.
This isn’t just ironic. It’s strategic.
Because while we’re busy arguing over whether the richest man on Earth is being treated fairly, we’re not talking about the people who are actually struggling to be seen, to be fed, to be safe.
The noise distracts from the real questions:
Who holds power?
Who shapes the story?
Who is quietly left out?
This moment is asking us to pay attention—not just to what’s being said, but to who’s saying it, why, and who profits from the chaos.
We can reclaim the narrative.
We can resist being manipulated by outrage dressed as justice.
We can feed a different story.
Feeding the Story That Matters
We still get to choose where we place our attention.
We can pause before we repost.
We can speak clearly—not cruelly.
We can model discourse that invites—not divides.
We can ask better questions.
We can tell better stories.
We can live better stories.
Not every story deserves our energy.
But the ones rooted in care, in connection, in collective healing—
those deserve everything we’ve got.
Practice: Choosing the Story You Feed
Before you scroll. Before you speak. Before you share—pause.
1. Find a Quiet Moment
Step outside, or sit near a window if that’s all you have.
Close your eyes. Breathe in slowly through your nose.
Exhale through your mouth with a soft sigh.
Repeat 3–5 times.
2. Ask Yourself Gently:
What stories have I taken in today?
Which ones felt true?
Which ones left me tense, bitter, or disconnected?
3. Notice What You Feel
No judgment. Just observe: the pace of your heart, the tone of your thoughts, the tension in your jaw or shoulders.
4. Shift the Channel
Now breathe into your belly. Let your exhale drop your weight into the earth.
Choose a different story to feed.
Maybe it’s a memory of kindness.
A neighbor who showed up.
A stranger who smiled.
A cause you care about, deeply.
Let that story fill your body like sunlight.
5. Affirm:
"I choose to feed what connects.
I choose to live what I believe in."
Take one more breath. Let it settle in your bones.
