As soon as we learned to speak, we started telling stories. We told lies about how big that fish was, that of course, got away. We told stories to explain the stars, to explain life and death, to explain love. From the earliest days in our human evolution, we gathered around the warmth of the fire to share our experiences through movement, voice, and song. In the dark around us, we sought other bodies to connect to, to hear a voice in the gloom, to feel the laughter thrumming our parents' chests as they held us. We shared a knowing grin, when catching on to the meaning of a subtle joke, and felt invited into some shared understanding. The next day, gathered around the watering hole, we probably told stories about the stories we heard the night before.
Sharing stories has always been our way to experience more connection, to learn not just about our experiences, but to experience the world through each other. Stories are bridges into the hearts of the other.
Stories have passed down generational knowledge, sometimes wisdom, sometimes superstition. But thankfully, stories are not stagnant and can evolve.
We are all story listeners and storytellers, interpreters of our experience, sitting around the communal fire. Only nowadays, the modern-day equivalent of the communal fire is probably Netflix.
As summer's long days head off to bed earlier, and summer's green goes out in a blaze of glorious browns, yellows, oranges, setting off the last fire before the gray of Vancouver winter, I think of how much (human) performers add to our lives, those storytellers of the fire.
And yet, when I ask clients what they do to destress and hear the sheepish confession-like admission, that goes something like: “Well, I'd like to get into (insert, yoga, meditation, gym…) but I usually watch some shows on (insert streaming of choice). I know. Is that bad?”
It’s like there's an underlying comparison trap: if we were better, more enlightened human beings, we'd be spending what free time we have engaged in the pursuit of higher consciousness.
But actors can help us connect to our own experiences, explore other possibilities, and extend our imagination. Stella Alder, one of the most beloved acting coaches of the 20th century, believed that acting was a noble profession; actors had the noble task of elevating our understanding of the human condition. And I agree.
I mean, how do we define what “productive” self-care is? If self care is about intentional practices that, in part, foster resilience against stress, why can’t watching a tv show, a film, going to a movie, a dance show or theatre event be considered a mental health practice? Who hasn't secretly been delighted on a rainy, gray Vancouver day by the comfort of the couch and the promise of an evening watching Battlestar Galactica again? Or felt some sense of connectedness, some sense of hope for humanity, after going out for a night of theatre or dance?
Stories, however they are presented, be it through the screen or the stage, help us imagine, idealize and fantasize, feel into another, empathize, and connect with each other. Watching a show at home or in a theatre can be a valid way to experience emotional catharsis through the story, to destress, and release some dopamine. Many of the folx I work with, would consider themselves on the introverted side, as I am myself. Socializing, although important for tending to relationships, is often exhausting for introverts. It’s can feel even more draining when going through depression. Sitting in the expectant darkness with other people, can offer a sense of togetherness when other social activities may feel too strenuous during low times. Cinema Therapy is an expressive arts therapy that uses carefully selected films or TV shows to support mental health aims. As a therapist, I may sometimes recommend movies or shows to clients to help them explore their own dilemmas, feelings, and values.
Exposure to the diversity of human experience builds our understanding and clarifies our values. I recently read an article in which Alex Haley, the author of the 1970s classic Roots, described still being thanked by people who were moved by his work. To all you storytellers, performers, actors, writers, dancers, singers, and content creators, know that you are part of a community of care, with the power to change minds and hearts.
The skills you use in your crafts, the ability to connect with your breath, explore your inner worlds, transcend the barriers of your own worldview, imagine, and express vulnerability, are sweet skills that can be applied to your own healing and well-being. In fact, as a therapist, I've often been surprised at how frequently my theatre training has been a valuable resource I utilize with clients. I frequently incorporate imaginal work, role play, breathing exercises, and gentle movement in my sessions. Know that you have value.
So as the cold night chills our bones and we huddle together for warmth…as we face our private and public battles and our hearts call out "tell me a story" like a child at bedtime, perhaps we can be kind to that yearning. Watch a show. Choose a movie. Check out a play. This desire is as ancient as instinct.