This past weekend I was in Wales for a storytelling festival.
Storyteller Abbi Patrix sharing a beautiful story about why we tell stories on the opening night of the festival.
This was the 4th storytelling festival I've attended with my father -- we have a shared passion. And it was such a delight to share a bit of storytelling magic with my husband Akram and our daughter, Laila, for the first time.
But the story I want to share, a story that sparked some reflections on creativity, happened the morning before the festival started.
The festival took place at a historic location, the beautiful grounds surrounding the ruins of Dinefwr castle and the stately home of Newton House.
Newton House, originally built in 1660 with a gothic facade added in the 1850s.
Right in the entrance hall we saw a comfy sofa invitingly placed in front of a table of books for visitors to browse through.
Laila was immediately drawn to the sofa. Perhaps it was the novelty of a sofa with removable cushions (unlike the one we have at home). Or perhaps it was the inspiration of the Good Morning number from Singin' in the Rain (her current favorite video and one of my all time favorite films).
The iconic sofa from the finale of the Good Morning sequence in Singin' in the Rain (1952).The iconic sofa from the finale of the Good Morning sequence in Singin' in the Rain (1952).
Regardless of the reason, she kicked off her yellow wellies and climbed on the sofa to play.
Now, I faced a dilemma. On the one hand, one of my core values is independence of thought and I want to raise Laila as an independent thinker with a healthy degree of irreverence for unnecessary rules. (Coincidentally a characteristic that research shows is also highly conducive to creativity).
On the other hand, I also want to raise her to be a functioning member of society with a healthy degree of reverence for rules that should be respected. Oh the paradoxes of parenting!
It seemed sensible to assume that in this 17th-century manor house they would have a “no jumping on the sofa” policy. It seemed like the kind of place where people would be told off for such shenanigans. I imagined Prof. McGonagall suddenly apparating and deducting 10 points from Gryffindor.
But Laila was having fun and there was no risk of damaging the sofa, so I said to myself, “better to ask forgiveness than permission” and let Laila carry on.
Then in walked employee Steve.
My whole body contracted and I scanned his seemingly friendly face for any micro-expressions of disapproval or disdain.
But rather than dampen our fun he joined in and amplified the experience. A beautiful embodiment of “Yes, And!”
He smiled at Laila with a twinkle in his eye. “Do you want to see a magic trick?”
He left for a moment and returned with a simple brown paper bag. He proceeded to play a little game where he would give Laila an imaginary ball and ask her to throw it and then he'd "catch" it in the bag. I managed to capture a small moment of their game and her giggles.
After a minute or two we thanked Steve and we went our separate ways.
As we walked away, we were all glowing from the encounter.
And I was overcome by a wave of deep reverence for the value brought to us by the rule breakers. The laughter, the lightness, the fun, the play, the ease, the enjoyment, the nervous system regulation.
It would've been so easy for Steve to simply tell us to get off the sofa. He wouldn't have risked anything. Nobody would have questioned his behavior or judged him in any way. But instead, he took the risk of playing while he was "on the clock". (Which I also take as a testament to the healthy work environment that made him feel safe enough to do so.)
It's left me thinking about breaking rules.
I realized that breaking the rules is a key feature in most stories. Without some kind of transgression, many stories would never get off the ground. Little Red Riding Hood's tale would be terribly boring if she didn't disregard her mother's warning not to take the short cut through the wood. And arguably humanity would still be stuck in the garden of Eden if Adam and Eve didn't decide to engage in some rule-breaking behavior.
I'm currently re-reading Ego and Archetype and in it Edward Edinger offers a Jungian interpretation of the story of Adam and Eve. He argues that breaking the rules is a necessary act of individuation, to "sacrifice the passive comfort of obedience for greater consciousness." With this lens, rule breaking is an essential part of personal growth.
And it's true, our brains naturally push us to break rules when we're toddlers and teenagers. But it seems we otherwise generally settle into an attitude of obedience or at least compliance. Perhaps we need to give ourselves permission for another period of rule-breaking later in life. To shake off the shackles of all those "shoulds" we've accumulated. Or perhaps that's part of what a mid-life crisis is for?
Regardless, I'm feeling inspired to reevaluate my relationship with rules. To continue to weed out all those unnecessary irrational rules that still lurk in my mind and can crowd out my creativity.
What if I wasn't just a secretive stay-in-the-shadows, "these aren't the droids you're looking for", rule-breaker, but could become, like Steve, a joyful rambunctious irreverent easy breezy rule-breaker?
What kinds of creative concoctions could I cook up with that kind of irreverence for the rules?
Stay tuned to find out ;).
What a legend! I love her so much.
PS - If you want to learn Steve's paper bag trick YouTube's got you covered.