Life's candy: Finding and capturing the moment

My counterpart (Peace Corps speak for colleague-type person) came back from a trip to France today. With her she brought French candies (when people travel here they always bring back candy to share - it's a nice tradition and it brings people in to hear your stories) along with small gifts for the department staff. And, of course, stories.

I've spent some time, I admit, making fun of how Bulgarians tell stories. They're not actually stories - they tend to be a statement of fact about something or a retelling of a thirty second exchange. My counterpart happens to be a great non-storyteller. Even with my limited Bulgarian I know that she's damn funny. She gets really excited and builds up to the end. She has the right timing and knows her audience. All traits of a good storyteller. As I'm listening to her non-stories I'm thinking: Well, these are good. What's wrong with the other ones? I thought that maybe there are just a lot of bad storytellers here, but that seemed really narrow-minded. Then, I though about it and realized there aren't very many good American storytellers either (see, I'm not narrow-minded - just snotty... and yes, your stories are TOTALLY interesting, really). Hearing good non-stories forced me to ponder what was in them - there's something there that they are conveying. And then it hit me: they are sharing their moments, not their stories.

We Americans, even if we understand nothing else, understand marketing. We understand the buildup and the punchline and attaching descriptors to every aspect. We dress things up. We make it look meaty. I think Bulgarians don't quite get the marketing aspect of stories. But just because it doesn't come out with all the right bells and whistles doesn't mean nothing's there. Her stories were about fighting with a waiter. About how she knew they spoke English, but wouldn't (and she's a Bulgarian - so it's not just us). About how someone brought cheese on the bus and everyone assumed someone hadn't showered. Lots of little things. Moments. As the moment-telling realization hit me, it also hit me that these things were really personal. They were entertaining, sure, but moreover they were the snapshots she took in her head - the moments that she fully remembered and that she really responded to. The simpleness of these non-stories went from feeling really distant to being really intimate. It said: this is what happened. You know how I feel. It was pure...and unmarketed.

After lunch, I went to my other job with a package I got today. They asked what was in it and I ripped open a bag of Jelly Bellys (thanks, Diana) which was among the lot of snacks and things in the box. They insisted that I not share - that they were for me and that I missed those things. I insisted back (something I've learned here) and poured them some. They each took one politely and bit into the JB. Instantly their eyes lit up and big smiles came across their faces. They loved them. They were so happy. Each one, a different and wonderful flavor - as you know - provided them with renewed joy. They told me how great and inventive my country was. That I was so kind and giving to share with them. Somehow the JBs were like a fruity, slushy beverage which greased the conversation enough to allow them to tell me that Taureans (my sign) are the best lovers - that you'd never know it because they don't advertise it, but they are incredibly attentive and exciting. Perhaps all the unexpected yumminess of the JBs started the conversation, perhaps it just came from no where. Having your colleagues suspect you of being a great lover though is quite a moment indeed.

That last bit: that was a fully marketed story. Seeing the explosive flavor of a Jelly Belly in someone's eyes who is tasting it for the first time, that was a moment. Knowing that I was sharing something common to me, but that was really grand to someone else...that was a moment too. Having your co-workers talk about the sex life of your astrological sign only to pause, scan you and conclude "yep, you too" was, of course, another.

Listing those three moments was much more personal than telling the story. And they said more, if you really took them in. It's easy to conclude that Bulgarians are distant and closed, but I think their willingness to share their moments is evidence of the contrary. If we shared our moments more openly - more simply - we'd show a lot more of ourselves. We'd put it out there in a really naked way, but only for those thoughtful and insightful enough to see it. Are we afraid of being naked? Or that people aren't tuned in enough to see it? Perhaps that we'd be expected to tune in right back?

Moments, unlike stories, are purely accidental, or at least unplanned. They come and go quickly, but leave a lasting impression. You can construct a situation enough to get a story out of it, but will you get a moment? A moment is a connection - be it with your heart, your mind, your soul or just your funny bone. Knowing that people here cherish the moments makes me like them more. It makes me connect with them more. It also makes a few things make sense. If you cherish moments, changing situations and constructing a new way of life can seem pointless - the good things come when they come. I don't live that way - I think making changes creates more moments, good and bad - but I see how people could, especially people who are avoiding bad moments.

I tell lots of stories (and, yes, they are good - thank you), but to be sincere, my fondest and most important memories are moments. You'll know what they are when I tell a story. I'll dwell on the details. I get glassy-eyed as I remember the sounds and the scents and the textures around me. Some I don't share - they'd be Bulgarian non-stories...I just can't imagine cloaking them in anything or connecting them to conversation in some meaningful way, so they remain private. Private treasures. My secret stash of candy. I'd share, but I don't know what you'd do with unwrapped candy.