The Stories We Tell

“All of us are made up of the stories that we listen to, the ones we disagree with and the ones that we agree with.” — Stanley Crouch 

I was saddened to read of the recent passing of Stanley Crouch last week and first came to know of the celebrated poet while binging Ken Burns’ phenomenal documentary series Jazz many moons ago. Reading his obituary in The Times however helped me to understand a deeper truth to the California native.

Crouch developed a reputation for being an abrasive personality, an Afro-American who castigated his community for viewing themselves through the lens of victimhood. While such claims fall outside my understanding, I found much solace in his fiery rhetoric and his wanton desire to rise above the limitations of our unique histories. For while I’ve never known injustice, I am deeply familiar with objectification, being boxed in to limiting identities by friends and strangers alike. 

The open secret is that we choose to define ourselves through the prism of our existence. We blithely accept the confines placed on us by others and limit our very potential in the process.

When we have the temerity to listen to our inner voice, we soon discover that our value is not finite. We’re more than a speck on the colour spectrum; we’re the very wheel itself.

We are iridescent.

Xo