New Information
Ugly duckling or beautiful swan? Photo: Jan Meeus - Unsplash
The energy healer’s hands paused on my abdomen. She furrowed her brow. “Oh. I feel a lot of emotion right here,” she said.
I was lying on her table. “Hmm,” I said, noncommittally.
“Is there anything you want to talk about?” she asked. Her voice dripped with concern.
My body tensed. “No,” I answered.
She peered into my eyes, her expression full of significance. “It’s ok if you want to cry,” she pressed.
She knew I had come to see her because a good friend and mentor was dying. It was true that I was emotional. The impending loss of my friend was a big deal, and I could feel my internal landscape rearranging itself. But I wasn’t there for talk therapy, and I wasn’t feeling the need to cry. Her invitation seemed intrusive.
She continued pressing despite my resistance, and I became suspicious of her motives. Would she feel like a better practitioner if she could elicit tears from me? I shut down and endured the rest of the session, regretting the time and money I was wasting. Finally, I was able to get off the table, put my shoes on, and pay her.
“Your friend was here,” she said as I was leaving. “I sensed her presence.”
A surge of rage ran through me. “I don’t think she’d be that daft,” I snapped.
She nodded slowly. “Well. It’s new information for the both of you.”
This lady just wouldn’t let up! I remember wanting to slam the door on my way out.
The next day, my friend, who had stopped communicating weeks earlier, sent me an email. She told me that the day before, the hospice worker who was accompanying her had sensed a presence far away who was in her corner. My friend knew instantly that it was me.
I felt goosebumps rise on my skin. Was this a simple coincidence? Or did an energetic connection occur because of my session with that meddlesome healer? I will never know for sure, and ultimately, it’s irrelevant. Much more important is the meaning I made of it, the story I told myself. That energy session, as invasive as it was, somehow enabled a connection with my friend. It assured me that she knew I was thinking of her, and that was all that mattered.
I had to wonder, had I dismissed new information because of my feelings about the person who delivered it, and because it was too far outside of my worldview? This was 16 years ago, but press me even today, and I’ll tell you what happened was a coincidence. But I have to admit that the storyteller in me prefers to believe the other, more mysterious explanation. It feels closer to my lived truth, and it’s story, not facts, that supported me during that difficult time.
After that experience, whenever I catch myself resisting something, I look for new information that might be bumping up against my worldview. I don’t necessarily like or accept what I find. I may even grumble about it and continue to believe that my resistance is justified and rational. And yet the idea of new information helps me remember that I could, in fact, be wrong.
I also learned to empathize with my clients when they are suddenly faced with new information. Narrative intelligence shows us that our stories profoundly influence our beliefs and actions. It also invites us to accept that we can’t simply rewrite those stories with the flick of a pen. Like the ugly duckling who discovers he's a swan, we cannot change our deepest narratives without changing our identity. Have I become the sort of person who believes in the supernatural? I’m not sure. But I have become the sort of person who believes that a meaningful story expands our imagination of who we are and what is possible.