Rhoda Bernard, Ed.D.

Having just returned from a research conference on Narrative Research has gotten me thinking about the ways that we ascribe to narratives in our daily lives.

Some of these are cultural or societal narratives – what the field calls “master narratives” – broadly held discourses about aspects of the way that the world works. One master narrative that was a big part of my doctoral research (and that continues to be a big part of my work in music teacher education) is the widely held notion that music educators are “failed” musicians who are “settling for” teaching because they could not achieve the “ultimate success” of being full time performers. There are many other master narratives out there, of course. Some have to do with gender roles, for example – ideas about what is “appropriate” for males or females, specific “ideal male” and “ideal female” portraits, and so on. Others have to do with what “counts” as success in our society. I could go on and on. These master narratives play out around all of us. The degree to which we allow them to have an effect on our thoughts or actions is what can be quite interesting. How do we respond to these master narratives? Do we play along with them? Resist them? Try to change them? Ignore them?

Another way that narratives play out in our daily lives is through what I learned at the conference is called “frozen narratives” – stories that are stuck with us. We may wish to have nothing to do with these narratives, but for some reason, they are frozen in place and we cannot change or eliminate them. The stories are too powerful over us. We all know someone – or have the first-hand experience ourselves – who holds on to a particular worldview or a particular narrative in his/her life. “I am a victim” is a good example. I know people who approach every interaction, activity, event, and thought in their lives from this standpoint and play out the story of being victimized over and over again.

What master narratives and frozen narratives are you dealing with, and how do you encounter them? How might you rewrite those narratives that you wish to rewrite? Which master narratives and frozen narratives do you wish to continue in your life, and how might you do so? How can we become the authors of the narratives that influence us?

In teaching, in friendships, in work collaborations, the single element that stands out to me when I think about what makes for success is lack of ego involvement.

The people I most enjoy collaborating with are the ones who are interested in doing good work, not in showcasing themselves. Their focus is on creating an effective program, writing an excellent article, or putting together a meaningful event, not on making themselves look good.

The same is true of good teaching. Interviewing candidates for the Master’s Program in Music Education this spring hit this one home to me all the more. The best teachers put their students and the subject matter ahead of themselves. They value their students’ learning and growth, and they deeply care about and are interested in their students as people. They are passionate about the material that they teach and the classes/lessons that they facilitate. They are not concerned with how they themselves appear – with making themselves look smart, making themselves more powerful, being able to “look down” upon their students, or other such ends.

This applies to my friendships, as well. At different times in my life, I have stopped getting together with certain friends who dominate our relationship. Every conversation is about them, and I rarely get a chance to speak, never mind share anything personal. Every plan we make is about them. They see themselves at the center of all that they do. These people drain me and frustrate me. Of course, there are times when our friends are going through something challenging, and they need our support. My oldest and dearest friend loves to remind me about the year during which we never talked about what was going on with me because she was going through a very, very intense personal crisis. She needed it to be all about her during that year, and I was happy to shift our focus – because it was necessary, because it was temporary, and because I knew that she would do the same for me (and she has).

Come to think of it, I can’t come up with a context where I would prefer that someone was egocentric. When would it be better to be self absorbed than to have a more balanced view? When one is very sick? When one is in a crisis? I need to spend more time with that one.