Recently, you may have heard or read the story about a 13-year-old surfer whose arm was bitten off in a shark attack in Hawaii. But the real story, I think, is about how this young woman—Bethany Hamilton—has handled what would be a traumatic incident for anyone, under any circumstances.

Here are her circumstances: In addition to being an age at which most of her peers are painfully self-conscious about any physical characteristic—even a pimple—that might physically differentiate them from others, she had even more to grieve than her lost arm. An accomplished surfer who already had sponsors and who was going to turn pro, Bethany also faces the loss of her dream.

Any one of us, in the same situation, would no doubt feel that he or she was the victim of a terribly unfair fluke. Add to that being a teenager—a teenage girl—and having a rewarding career plan dashed, and you have a lot of reasons to feel sorry for yourself. But in an interview just three weeks after the horrifying event, you couldn’t note a trace of self-pity in the face or voice of Bethany Hamilton.

Evidently Bethany has a strong faith, an unshakeable belief that what happened to her is part of God’s plan for her. Already she is active again, wearing her wardrobe of sleeveless tops naturally and self-confidently. When asked by an interviewer if she thought she would surf again, she said sweetly yet firmly, “Not 'think.' Know.”

Here is a person who has chosen to live a New Story, a story still being created out of a horrific event that included pain of every imaginable sort: physical, mental, emotional, professional, financial. And perhaps in her words lies a key to the difference between living an old story and living a New Story: to hold your vision and what you stand for at all times, in all circumstances; to say sweetly yet firmly, “Not 'think.' Know.”

I have been thinking more about what distinguishes one’s New Story from one’s old story, and sometimes that distinction can be complexly defined. Due to the 40th anniversary tomorrow of the assassination of President John F. Kennedy, we have been inundated with a number of television specials on different aspects of that shocking event, one of which I watched last night.

One of the things I found interesting about it were the parallels between two key figures—Lee Harvey Oswald and Jack Ruby, his killer. Both men probably would have argued that their actions were motivated by ideals; Oswald had been a Marxist dismayed by the American system, and Ruby had been a fervent admirer of President Kennedy’s who passionately felt that justice needed to be served after the president was slain. So, in both cases, these men did what they thought was the necessary and appropriate course of action, according to their beliefs; in both cases they could be said to be acting out of their values, their ideals…and yet they were coming from old stories, not a New Story.

Why, other than the obvious consideration that murder is wrong? Because in both cases they were still being driven by personal needs wrapped in the raggedy guise of an ideal. According to Oswald’s brother, Oswald had been very isolated as a boy and was constantly striving to be known, to stand out, to be special—even if that meant taking someone else’s life in order to make his own life seem significant. And Ruby too—conspiracy theories aside—seemed to have been driven by his personal grief over President Kennedy’s death. So it seems to me that there’s a marker here worth musing about: that a New Story isn’t defined solely by ideals, because ideals can be twisted even when they evoke the needs of a larger community; but by a willingness to include others, to get beyond one’s personal scope.

A New Story, then, would include ideals that are in service of others and which don’t allow for unethical or immoral self-indulgence. A New Story framework would always keep the human family in mind, not just one’s own whims or passions or unhealed drives. As I was reflecting on this, I received an e-mail quote for the day (written by Earnie Larsen, from a book published by the Hazelden Foundation) that seemed to speak to the examples above. Though it focuses on recovery, the idea could also be expanded to the concept of living from our New Stories:

“Failed recovery is responding to present-day situations with yesterday’s emotional package—which you used back when the situation was totally different. Serenity or living in a state of recovery is all about letting yesterday be yesterday and today be today. Recovery is training ourselves by practicing daily disciplines to act in the present as the present and not from the emotional stance of a thousand past yesterdays.”

What do you think? What constitutes a New Story to you?

Over the weekend I saw two movies that both demonstrated the power of stories, and which spoke in different ways about how one lives—or attempts to live—a New Story. The first film I saw was Shattered Glass, a true-life account of a talented young journalist named Stephen Glass who eventually was fired when it was discovered that he had completely fabricated many of the stories for which he’d won such acclaim.

The second movie was The Matrix Revolutions, the last installment in the sci-fi Matrix trilogy (on www.thematrix.com, click “Mainframe,” and search for the panel that’s titled “Philosophy & The Matrix”). Without giving too much away, there’s a point in the film in which the main character, Neo, is challenged by another for his fight for “feeble” human constructs, such as love and truth. When asked why he pursues being the champion for them despite great odds, Neo says, “Because I choose to.”

Both of these movies are intriguing to examine for their commentary on motivation; what motivates one to create a New Story. In the first film mentioned, Glass wanted to be living a New Story—in fact, developed an engaging and entertaining persona whose livelihood was made as someone who understood the power of stories—but his motivation, his choice for being that, was deeply skewed. In a novel that Glass later wrote detailing that time in his life, his character offers up a suggestion of his motivation with these words: “What I truly wanted was to be well regarded by the people around me—actually, to be loved by them.”

The character Neo is also motivated by love, but love of others, love for others, a love that—unlike Glass’s—has little regard for the regard of others but for their well-being. Joseph Campbell once wrote that “We must be willing to get rid of the life we’ve planned, so as to have the life that is awaiting us.... The old skin has to be shed before the new one is to come.”

Glass was still operating from an “old skin.” The character Neo—“neo” being a prefix that literally means “new”—acts from choice; he chooses the ideals that he is willing to live his life from and to die for if necessary. Interesting questions arise: Where in my life might I be acting from an “old skin”? And, What do I choose to make my life—my New Story—about?

What about you? Have either of these movies sparked thoughts about your New Story? Or are there other movies, or stories, that have motivated you? Do share!

I’m very excited to announce the launch of The New Story Book Club; each month, I will be recommending a book that I believe is helpful for creating—and living—a New Story for one’s life through my monthly e-zine, “Renewal,” which you can subscribe to at my main website for The New Story, www.thenewstory.com.

This first month’s book selection is a deeply inspiring guide to remembering all that we have to be grateful for—what the author calls our “sufficiency”—and to taking a stand to use all of our resources in service of our highest commitments. Best of all, we’ll get to talk with each other about it; just call 413-370-0333, extension 237, at 6 p.m. Pacific time (9 p.m. Eastern time) on Monday, November 24, for the first New Story Book Club discussion!

The book is titled The Soul of Money, by Lynne Twist, someone I’ve had the pleasure to meet and spend time with and who is one of the strongest models of feminine power I’ve ever known. Since my last entry focused on questions, I’d like to pull out a few of the questions that Lynne poses in her book, as they are some of the very questions we must ask ourselves as we create a New Story for our lives:
*Who do I need to be to fulfill on the commitment I’ve made [to a higher vision]?
*What kind of human being do I need to forge myself into to make this happen?
*What resources do I need to be willing to bring to bear in myself and my colleagues and in my world?

And here’s a question posed by Buckminster Fuller, which remains one of the most potent questions I’ve ever sat with, and which stays in my day planner as a constant nudge: “If success or failure of this planet and of human beings depended on how I am and what I do, how would I be? What would I do?”

What about you—what are some of the questions that you have found powerful for your own life? What question pulls you forward into your New Story?