The Tales That Really Matter

We are a race of storytellers.

It goes far beyond mere entertainment, far beyond indulging in escapism to distract ourselves from the stifling, menial lifestyles we have been forced into by circumstance and necessity. It’s more than that. We tell stories to inspire each other. We tell stories because we glean deep (if sometimes intangible) meaning from them. We tell stories to discover the heroes and villains within ourselves, to find out what drives us, what we identify with. We spin great tales in complex universes to remind ourselves that the possibilities are limitless. Sometimes we tell tales of betrayal and loss to experience tragedy in a safe environment, so that we may be tempered and prepared for trials to come. We tell stories for many reasons.

We are a race of storytellers because stories are how we define who we are as a culture and as individuals. We discover our values, fears, joys, and dreams. I try to keep that storyteller’s essence in all aspects of my own life, whenever possible. Life is a story, and we are all main characters.

”It’s like in the great stories, Mr. Frodo. The ones that really mattered…”

Heck, lately I’ve even been seriously considering adapting Final Fantasy VI into an epic novel (or series of about 4 shorter books). It has been one of my favorite tales for about fifteen years now, and I believe I could do it justice. Of course, this magnum opus would essentially be just another “fan fiction” endeavor, which I loathe more than you can imagine. Fan fiction is the worst of the worst. So what makes my adaptation any better? Well, it’s an adaptation, not a sequel or crossover. But I digress. It would be a satisfying creative experience for me, it would be excellent technical practice, and I would hopefully capture everything about it that I find appealing and be able to show that storytelling magic to others. In the end, perhaps, it would just be garbage with a built-in fan base.

But I’m a storyteller. Maybe not a writer per se, but I have always been a storyteller.

Aren’t we all?

In my first year of living in Kansas City, living at Stonewood Apartments, I had established a solid routine. Sometimes, when my free time allowed it, I would venture out to Chipman Road and go to Borders. I would order a hot beverage and read for a while. Sometimes, I would go to Atlanta Bread Co., just around the bend. Usually on a Sunday afternoon or a Wednesday evening is when this was most convenient. I read several books while sitting in the café at Borders and staring out the window at the horizon. There was nothing quite like watching the sunset after finishing a book and wondering what would happen in the next book.

The following are excerpts from the mission statement on the Borders website, their vision being “to create richer, more satisfying lives through knowledge and entertainment”:

Locally, each Borders store is an integral part of the community; it is where people come to seek knowledge, insight, and enjoyment. It's also where they meet others who share their values and with whom they have a sense of community.

Borders understands that books, music, and movies help shape and define us all, making us individuals—original and unique. What people read, listen to, and watch are integral parts of who they are and who they aspire to be.

Despite its flowery presentation (bordering on gushing self-congratulation), I can identify with this mission statement completely.

I was talking with the indomitable Herr Vogler about how I could feasibly achieve satisfaction even working at Borders in Lee’s Summit. Why not? After all the avenues I’ve explored, it’s hardly an unappealing environment to make a few bucks. If I believe in the product, I can do customer service without compunction. And considering I used to make the store my sanctuary, I already like it enough to spend a third of my time there.

I’m not likely to do much inspiring to anyone anyway with my music, so why not consider a long-term job at Borders? Look at my last job. Locked in a windowless basement doing data entry with coworkers who generally refused to care about anything. In my free time, I’d search and build, search and build. Maybe at a bookstore I could at least find the sort of quiet dignity I have such need for. I’d still be able to do all the things I want to do. And ideally speaking, my coworkers wouldn’t suck so much. We’d probably have more common ground. Interaction. Sharing ideas. Inspiring. Cultivating. Nouns and verbs? The?!

Everyone has “bad days” at work. Everyone has dull and boring and arduous and soul-sucking days. Those days can be quite frequent, really. And very few jobs are “life-giving” on a constant basis, but it’s those rare moments of connection that provide an oasis of affirmation in a desert of drudgery. Or something like that. Life is hard, so you have to take what you can get. There’s a slow moment with no customers, and you and your coworker talk for a minute or two about an idea you have. Then a customer appears and the moment is gone, but it fuels you for the next few hours until you get off work.

If nothing else, I would like to be in a situation where I could give people perspective, whether by insinuation or by straight conversation. Maybe I have an Obi-Wan complex. Maybe more of a Balian complex. I could work with that. Well it’s definitely some sort of complex. I guess we’re all so desperate to apply meaning to a meaningless life, but maybe working at a bookstore would turn out to be a perfect fit for a warrior and a bard. I’d certainly bring a lot to the table in terms of diversity and perspective that Borders claims to value so highly among its employees.

Also, think of the discounts!

Then again, I wasn’t hired to work at Borders, so the issue is strictly academic. I’m just saying that I could make it work for me. I could tell the tales that really matter. My life has lost its meaning and I want it back.

Dang it, now I want to work for a Borders in the KC area. There’s one on Metcalf, too. Barnes & Noble would be essentially the same thing, but good luck getting a job on the Plaza. It’d be a heck of a lot more life-giving than being a telemarketer, that’s for sure. And since I’ll never get a gig teaching Music Appreciation or anything, I have to figure something out.

Maybe I can better explain what this post is all about with a deep and meaningful quote from a wise friend of mine known as the Captain. Yes, as the good Captain explained to me one time, after a hard day, “Nothing says ‘classy woman’ like a garish pink tee two sizes too small with ‘Gold Digger’ emblazoned across the chest in glitter and Bedazzler-fu.”

I think my quote generator is broken.