Imagining

Imagining

Transcript for Imagining (full episode)

I bet you can imagine where I am.

You might even be listening to this show in the same kind of space.

The everyday, every man vehicle, the hotbed of radio, otherwise known as the car.

You've imagined where I am by knowing something about the reality of what it sounds like to get into a car and go.

You're in the car.

And you heard the hum of the engine.

Did you feel the rain on the window pane?

But really, I'm just sitting in a studio, stringing together a series of sound effects to make it seem like I'm recording in a car.

I'm playing make believe.

In this make believe world, why don't you try to visualize the road ahead?

You're on your way back home.

Do you envision the dashed white line to our left, or the hazy outline of the horizon in front?

That.

Truck was too close for comfort.

Great.

Good, stop reading.

The mind's ability to envision more than what is physically present in the world is an astounding fact of life.

We're always imagining, thinking, and living in our heads, so much so that we use a bunch of words to describe the experience.

Words like envision, brainstorm, suppose, conceptualize, expect, fantasy, think, to see in the mind's eye, fabricate, assume, remember, dream, picture.

Imagining is a word we use a lot.

We use it to convey lots of different states of mind.

We have all experienced seeing in the mind's eye.

Indeed, at times, it's hard to tell the difference between what's imagined and what's real.

Because that space, between the real and the imagined, that's the space where we create our lives.

Our thoughts and our imagination shape our words and our actions.

This is nothing new.

We've been doing this for all our lives, so it's easy to take it for granted.

And that's why we want to take a closer look and ask the question, how do our imagined lives shape our reality?

What happens day to day at the frontier between the worlds we imagine and the worlds we inhabit?

You're listening to State of the Human, the radio show of the Stanford Storytelling Project.

I'm Justine Beed.

Each episode, we select a common human experience, like believing or losing or teaching, and bring you stories that explore and deepen our understanding of that experience.

We have five stories, some fact, some fiction, that will explore how our imaginations can shape our realities.

Our first story tries to uncover what happened the first time we used imagination to shape the world.

In our second story, a student uses his imagination to tackle one of the biggest problems of our time.

In our third story, we'll travel the roads of France with an imaginary girlfriend and find out what happens when you have to break up with her.

In our fourth story, we venture into the land of dreams and investigate how imagination can endanger reality.

In our final story, we'll see how imagining can turn a boring reality into a dramatic adventure, but at a cost.

Today, we're exploring how our imagination shapes our reality.

The Acheulean hand axe looks like a dull arrowhead and is about the size of a computer mouse.

This tool puzzles archaeologists.

They don't know what it was used for.

Maybe it was used for hunting, or maybe it was a ritual object.

But our ancestors, three million years ago, went to great lengths to create it.

They took a rock and imagined it could be something more.

And then they made it.

This is the first record we have of human s using their minds to invent technology to shape their reality.

This is as close as we can get to where it all began.

Up next, Tamu Adumer takes us on a trip through time with Stanford archaeology professor John Rick.

Some of this stuff is almost musical.

I could make a hand axe.

My name is John Rick.

I'm associate professor of anthropology, but really an archaeologist in the anthropology department.

First time I saw professor John Rick make a hand axe was in my history of science classroom.

But instead of the traditional slides and bullet points, he sat perched on the stool with a deer antler and a black glassy piece of obsidian.

For the next hour and a half, he hit that piece of obsidian until he shaped it down to a palm-sized teardrop known as an Acheulean hand axe.

It was a meditative process, watching Professor Rick transform the obsidian.

For a second, I stepped out of the classroom and into the shoes, or I guess more like cow's feet, of a pre-human species making the stone tool.

Professor Rick hosts a flint-napping club every Friday.

In the club, he teaches students how to make hand axes from obsidian.

I tried it out one day, and after a full afternoon of hitting rocks together, the tool I made was nowhere near the shape of the hand axes found from three million years ago.

The only thing I had to show for it was many teeny bandages on my hands from obsidian shards.

I found out real quick that flint-napping involves skilled craftsmanship.

My respect for early humans skyrocketed.

I wanted to know how this painful, intricate tool-making came about.

I wanted to learn what it felt like for early humans to begin shaping the world around them.

So, I put down my deer antler and picked up my own instrument.

Check, check.

A microphone.

And set out to document Professor Rick as he demonstrated how early humans began to shape the world around them.

Okay, so let's get a look at what we're going to work on today.

I have my trusty tool kit here.

An old bag for archaeological finds.

And I'll be using it today as some sort of a piece of padding for my knee and thigh to keep from lacerating my blue jeans.

So I'll grab a stone hammer here.

Got a pretty good one here.

It's largely round.

This will be a piece of sandstone.

Okay, so we've got this chunk of obsidian.

I guess I'd say this thing's about the size of a miniature loaf of bread.

Type you might get at a very classy restaurant.

And so it's thicker than I want and really needs to have a lot of flakes taken off of it.

So let's see what happens.

We'll give it a good smack here.

All right, the flake traveled fairly well across the piece.

We'll go for another one.

Step down the edge a little ways and do it again.

That wasn't so good.

But we ended up with a flake that hardly left the edge.

Okay, so to be just the angle has to be just right.

The amount of force has to be just right in the hold.

The way I'm actually maintaining the material in my hand has to be just right.

But with some good karma and good aim is a classic case.

You can hear that there were a lot of blows struck, and that suggests that things in fact didn't happen the way I wanted them to.

And that's very much the case.

Small flakes taken, but we didn't get the far end off, and that's not so good.

But it just means that we have to platform again, modify the surface to try to create a new ridge, and then try again.

Probably means a little bit more force and a slightly different angle.

There we go.

Rather excellent.

What may become apparent is that when we're flaking, strategy is a big part of it.

You don't just whack away at the stone.

You have to really think about what you're doing if you want to get a product that is in any sense shaped according to one's preference.

So to develop the skill of tool making requires a comprehension, either explicit or quite often subconscious, of when I do this, I get that.

This isn't quite the imagination I imagined.

Imagining in many ways comes from an understanding of action and product.

In other words, you do something and you get a certain result.

At first, I thought imagining was a very abstract activity.

You imagine something that doesn't exist yet.

So I asked John Rick if this is what's going on here, but he didn't think this was imagination as innovation.

Something different was happening.

I think the type of imagination that I personally do is aiming for a goal, and the hand axe form is very much thought of as being precisely this sort of a goal form.

It's what's called in anthropology a mental template that you've got in your head what you want to do and you're going to strive to do it.

Think of imagining something that you've seen, it exists, but you want one, or you need one, and you're simply creating something that is familiar to you.

My initial conception of imagination was someone sitting under a tree and thinking of stuff that doesn't exist, just imagining stuff, not actually doing anything.

John Rick is sitting under a tree, but he's not just thinking.

This is another side of imagination, imagination that is goal-oriented, grounded in a template, in a tool, grounded in goals of the mind and motions of the body.

And we're ready to give the soft hammer a try.

So I go to the long, straight, heavy elk antler.

Good.

The antler is grabbing the edge.

It's not simply smashing it.

It's literally getting cut itself.

The obsidian cuts into the antler, and that gives the antler a hold on the obsidian edge as it's effectively pulled off and down.

So it's much more effective platforming.

Get it ready, and now we're going to make a big request and say, how about a big, flat flake or a big flake that goes deeply across the material?

The answer is no.

You didn't do that one right.

Or shifting back to the hammer stone, which is probably the best idea.

When the stone says no, you say, think again.

I'm not about to give you the choice.

Sometimes you almost get the feeling like this is an aggressive activity, with you trying to win over the stone, the stone consciously trying to go against your wishes.

It probably isn't the case, but stone can be very contrary at times.

But the fact that the single shape, sort of the almost teardrop-like, elongate teardrop or pear shape that the hand axes take, the fact that that shape lasted almost a million years in all sorts of different climates and environments must have been used in many, many different ways, and it seems to have been carried mostly as a custom.

The shape is something that they wanted to make intrinsically, no matter what they wanted to do with it.

This talks about a whole new dimension of humans.

It's really the beginnings of this very human thing to make things the same way over and over again, to have our way of doing it.

For me, the most fascinating thing about the hand axe is how consistent it was.

It's hard work, but very contrary stone.

But humans and pre-humans kept gathering deer antlers and hitting rocks to create hand axes.

It's the only skilled thing that has been around for that long.

And thus, when we're dealing with something that's up in the millions of years, we can talk about there being a selective environment in which humans were probably selected for their tool-making abilities at some level across time.

And that would mean that what we are today, only a few thousand years since stone tool-making was abandoned, we still, our product and our bodies, the way our minds work, must still have quite a bit of programmed-in information, and our bodies are mechanically, in many ways, set up specifically for this sort of activity.

I think it's true that my body is programmed to do stone carving.

When I made a stone tool in the class, there was something about the feel of the stones in my hands.

That repetitive motion I made striking the stone.

It was hard, but it felt natural.

But when Professor Rick mentioned that we were evolved to do this, I could not help thinking that when we set out to shape one stone, that first time we set out to shape the world, what we ended up shaping was ourselves, our hands, our capacity to hold an image in our heads, to strategize, to make our imagination real.

So the end of a stone tool making interval here comes, obviously, with when you're satisfied with what you have.

In the case of the tool we're making here, what I want to do is just finish the outline form on it, just a matter of trimming those uncomfortable areas off that don't look symmetric.

So we've got, I think, the point we could call this finished.

It has a point, the edges draw together.

It has a rounded base, not perfectly symmetrical, but hey, very few hand axes that you'll see in a museum were.

And we don't want to be all that much better than our ancestors.

Otherwise, it's not authentic.

So I would say that we've reached the end point for this.

There's a pile of flakes at my feet, a scatter of different antlers, some raw material that wasn't used, and in my hand is a small but definite, recognizable hand axe-like tool.

It wasn't there before, and now it's in my pocket.

How wonderful.

That story was produced by Stanford Junior, Tamu Adumer, with help from senior producer, Natacha Ruck.

It features the melodious carvings of Flintnapper archaeologists and Stanford professor, John Rick.

You're listening to State of the Human, the radio show of the Stanford storytelling project.

Today, we're exploring how our imagined lives shape our reality.

We often think of imagination as a way to solve all the big problems.

John Lennon saw it as a way to solve war, hunger and greed.

In our next story, Stanford sophomore, Louis Lafair, tries to imagine his way through one of the biggest problems of our time, climate change.

So I get to Stanford, it's fall 2014, freshman year, and everything's like in the brochures.

Hoover Tower, the red-tiled roofs, and the fountains.

But the fountains are off.

It's because we're in the middle of a California drought.

I see the drought firsthand whenever I walk by Lake Log.

It used to be a lake, it's now just this brown crater.

Of course, the problem is much bigger than one dry lake.

I hear Governor Brown issue a state of emergency.

Declaring a drought emergency in the state of California.

And NASA report a water deficit of 11 trillion gallons.

For roughly 11 trillion gallons of water, just to get back to normal...

Stanford probably isn't doing as much as it could be doing to help, but at least Stanford appears to be trying.

Each day, I bike by empty fountains.

I feel like I should be doing more to help, taking shorter showers or something.

But I'm just one small person, like 5'4.

I doubt I could make a big difference.

My name is Louis Lafair, and I'm wondering...

Can a single person do anything to actually help solve climate change?

I signed up for a class called environmental literacy.

In it, we learn basic environmental facts, what the problems are, what causes them, etc.

In 10 weeks, I become convinced that we need to do more to act on climate change.

But I'm still not sure how I personally can make a big enough difference.

Hi, I'm Terry Root.

I interview my professor.

Okay, let's start that again over here.

I'm Terry Root.

I'm Terry Root.

I am a senior fellow at the Woods Institute for the Environment here at Stanford University.

And a Nobel Prize winner through her work with the Intergovernmental Panel for Climate Change.

It's hard to get people to understand what the problem is.

They don't see how big it is.

We have increased the global average temperature by about 0.9 degrees Celsius.

When we go up 2 degrees, which is only 1.1 degrees farther, we could lose as many as 20 to 40 percent of the species on the planet.

When we get to 4 degrees Celsius, we could lose as many as half the species on the planet.

In Terry's office, I asked my question, can a single person do anything to actually help?

It seems like I'm incapable of shaping reality.

I don't feel as though I can do anything personally.

She tries to convince me otherwise.

She uses this analogy.

I always use the analogy of paying taxes.

Not the analogy I was expecting.

It's a lot of money for our own pocketbook, but it's not a lot of money when you're talking about the budget of the United States.

Yet, you put all of the taxes together that people are paying all over the country, and you can fund the government.

Okay, maybe not a perfect analogy, but with the government almost shutting down like every few months.

But the government does fund roads and schools and a bunch of important programs.

And Terry's message holds.

Each person is really important, and each person can make a huge difference.

So maybe I can make a difference.

But how?

Terry says I can shape reality in lots of small ways.

Using as little fossil fuels as you possibly can.

Turning off lights, keeping your heat down a little bit.

You can put on a sweater.

I can fly on fewer planes.

Plant native plants.

Drive my golden Honda minivan less often.

Go out and make five friends and sit down with those friends and talk about climate change.

And maybe that will create a snowball effect.

Or not.

These methods all still seem kind of insignificant.

I still feel like I can't make a big enough dent on reality.

Until Terry shares one crazy thing.

See, he suggests I become a vegetarian.

Or at least that I stop eating red meat.

Because here's what I learn.

Producing a single pound of beef takes around 1,000 gallons of water.

Later, I do the math, a single hamburger is about 50 showers worth of water.

With this fact, I can begin to imagine that my actions matter.

I can operate at a larger scale.

Not just one shower at a time, 50 showers at a time.

Not just a few gallons, 1,000 gallons.

I finally feel like I, as a single person, can make an impact.

It's not that hard, right?

All I have to do is eat less red meat.

It's the following Wednesday.

I'm walking through the dining hall.

They're serving hamburgers.

I get into line.

It's a long line.

The friend in front of me picks up a hamburger.

I hesitate.

I remember what Terry told me about all of that water.

I pick up a hamburger anyways.

I know the facts.

I believe I'm able to make a difference.

But something is stopping me.

How can I shape reality if I can't even change my own behavior?

A month passes.

Sometimes I avoid hamburgers.

Sometimes I give in.

An environmental filmmaker comes through campus.

He might be just the guy I need.

His name is Louisy Oyas.

His first movie was The Cove.

It's about dolphin slaughters in Japan.

It won an Oscar and a bunch of other awards.

More importantly, it changed people's behavior.

Now they're killing 65% less dolphins and porpoises in Japan directly because of this movie.

This is C.Oyas talking.

The whale and dolphin conservation reports similar numbers.

Of course, I'm not killing dolphins.

But I am eating red meat.

This guy might be able to help me change my behavior.

I go to a prescreening of C.Oyas' newest documentary.

It's called Racing Extinction.

In the movie, they filmed some scenes using a carbon dioxide camera, like an infrared camera, except it allows you to see carbon dioxide.

On the street outside my dorm, there's carbon dioxide coming out of tailpipes.

I can't see it, but the cameras can allow me to see it.

The cool thing about a film like this, once you see it, you can't unsee it.

It's there.

You know, it's like it's stuck in your head.

Really what we want to do is make everybody in the audience feel culpable in this big problem, because that's where it needs to be solved.

It's not just the big guys that need to change behavior.

Not just the big guys, but little guys, like me.

It's not the Koch brothers necessarily.

It's not the head of Exxon.

The bad guy is really us.

After the film, an audience member asks, what should we do about climate change?

When he responds, Sirius doesn't say to stop driving cars.

Instead, he says, a Prius driving meat eater is far worse for the environment than a Hummer driving vegetarian.

I realize that my Golden Honda minivan can make a small dent on reality.

The red meat I eat can make a huge dent.

It's the following Wednesday.

I'm walking through the dining hall.

They're serving hamburgers.

I get into line.

It's a long line.

The friend in front of me picks up a hamburger.

I hesitate.

I reach towards a hamburger.

I imagine all those gallons of water that went into it, and I imagine all those tons of greenhouse gases, methane from the cow, CO2 from the transportation.

I pick up a quinoa burger instead.

It tastes better than I expect.

A month passes.

Mostly, I avoid hamburgers.

Sometimes, I give in.

And then something strange happens.

Three of my friends watch a movie called Samsara and decide to go vegetarian.

The movie isn't about climate change.

It's about the circle of life, etc.

And I realize that what I've been struggling with isn't just climate change either.

I've been trying to figure out how I can change my behavior.

Sure, imagination might be able to help me change, picturing these things that aren't right in front of me, looking at a hamburger and seeing those gallons of water, those tons of greenhouse gases.

And maybe I can change my behavior by remembering that all of my actions, that everyone's actions, add up.

That my own actions contribute to this larger fight against climate change.

That there's something else that changes my behavior that's perhaps an even more powerful tool than imagination or than thinking about scale.

This other tool is other people.

This last thing I'm going to say is obvious.

I'm going to say it anyways because it took me a while to realize.

We shape reality, 7 billion people, 300 million Americans, 40 million Californians, 7,000 Stanford students, one individual, a single hamburger at a time.

That story was produced by Louis Lafair, a sophomore at Stanford.

You're listening to State of the Human, the radio show of the Stanford Storytelling Project.

Today we're exploring how our imagined lives shape our reality.

Our next story is a live story night performance.

Wang Yizheng uses his imagination to invent the person he felt was missing from his life.

And then he takes her on a trip around the world.

Along the way, he discovers the trouble in traveling with an imaginary girlfriend.

When you are writing a fiction for the first time, you think it will become a historical masterpiece.

And that's how I exactly felt five months ago.

I and my friends were traveling around Europe for a month, and I decided to exploit this opportunity to write something magnificent, something beautiful, something amazing, and something romantic.

I decided to write this fictional travel log, and my wild imagination led me to create this fictional character, a Japanese girl named Sayako.

And strangely, that fictional character resembled the actual girl whom I had crush on in my high school.

I mean, all the physical description about Sayako perfectly matched with her, and the only thing different about them was their personality.

The girl in my school tend to conceal her emotion from other people, but Sayako was more frank, more straightforward about her emotion.

Just as if I wanted to hear from Sayako what I wanted to hear from that girl in my high school.

On June 28th, I met Sayako in the Port of Patras, a coast city in Greece.

We talked about our favorite literature, our favorite movies, our favorite artworks, and it felt great.

On June 30th, I decided to part with Sayako briefly in the city of Rome because I thought every relationship should have its own ups and downs.

And that day was one of the few downs in my fictional travelogue.

And the funny thing is, even though it was me who chose that solitude by not making her appear in my fictional travelogue, I felt lonely.

I started to miss her and I started to miss her as if I would have missed a real girl in a real world in my real life.

And that was strange.

It was really hard to bear that sense of solitude, so I decided to meet her again in Prague on July 2nd.

In Prague, I talked about my favorite author, Franz Kafka, and that dialogue, to say the truth, was the best dialogue I've ever had in my life with another person.

And the more I write, the more I fell in love with her.

But then I just suddenly realized that I am using her, the fictional character, Sayako, as a medium to satisfy my innermost desire to talk with that girl in my high school.

And I felt guilty for my imagination because I knew that that fantasy was never going to come true in my life, in my reality.

And I was just fooling myself by telling these lies to me.

I was embarrassed, but I decided to continue writing because I thought I had to finish what I started.

We arrived at the last destination of my journey, Paris.

I and Sayako were sitting on the bench in front of the Eiffel Tower.

Yellow and white lights were glittering everywhere, and I thought this is the perfect place to end my fictional travelogue.

I started to write the very first sentence of the last paragraph.

Have you enjoyed the travel?

She replied, will you remember me?

She replied back.

And now I just had to write this very final sentence, the very last sentence to conclude my 70 pages of fictional travelogue.

But I wasn't able to.

I didn't know how she would feel and react to my confession.

And it was strange because I was the one who created that fictional character.

And I always knew how she felt and how she thought, because I was the writer.

But at that very moment, I was struggling to figure out how she would react to my confession.

And I just asked myself, is it okay for me as a writer to make her say yes, just because I'm in love with her?

No.

And at that very moment, I recalled all my past relationships that ended without an ending, because I was always frustrated to make a decision about my emotion.

I was always figuring out how other people might feel and react to my raw and wild emotion.

Will they despise me?

Will they feel uncomfortable about me?

And will they distance themselves from me?

And will I be left again in this solitude?

And I didn't want to be left again in solitude, so I didn't say anything.

Even in my fictional world, I wasn't able to conclude my relationship with Sayako.

My novel ended without an ending, and I came back to Korea with my friends because I had to.

Five months later, I'm standing on this stage, and let me just try to conclude that story, even though I'm so sure that she cannot listen to me, what I'm saying right now.

I apologize for what I've done to you, but Tachal, I loved you.

Thank That story was performed by Wang Yizheng at Story Night, a quarterly live show of Stanford students hosted by Dan Klein and Michelle Darby.

You're listening to State of the Human, the radio show of the Stanford Storytelling Project.

Today, we're exploring how our imagined lives shape our reality.

Our next story, a fiction piece, explores one man's failure to share his dreams.

Sharing the products of our imagination, that is our dreams, hopes and fears, with others is one way to cope with our realities.

What might happen though when we fail to share our dreams?

Particularly, the nightmares.

Austin Meyer reads his short story, A Double-Banded Dream.

Craig was fascinated by dreams.

Every morning at 4 a.m., he would awake to the shrill ring of his vintage alarm clock and reach for his dream journal.

His journal was small.

It fit in the palm of his hand.

The cover was black and had the letters zzzz edged haphazardly into its leathery skin.

The pages were thick and fossiled like limestone.

Craig would sketch pictures of the demons and the mythical worlds within his head.

He would shade in rivers and cloudy skies, space expeditions and gallant spies.

The illustrations came with a caption and a brief synopsis.

At the top of the page, he wrote classifying keywords, anxiety, nightmare, or dreamy.

Then, with the click of his book light, the room would cut to darkness.

The first time Craig told Sarah about his nightly routine was on the night they moved in together.

They sat on the apartment's white carpet floor dining on takeout sushi.

Every night at 4 a.m., Craig said.

You mean every morning, Sarah said.

How come you never told me this?

I haven't told you a lot of things.

Well, that's cryptic, she said.

Craig laughed and finished up the last bit of his miso soup.

We will learn each other's quirks quickly.

The first time Craig drew a picture of Sarah in his dream journal was the morning after their wedding.

At 4 a.m.

in the honeymoon suite, Craig awoke still wearing his tailored charcoal pants.

Sarah, his bride, lay beside him with her eyes closed.

White covers blanketed her slender body like bathwater bubbles.

Craig's sketch of Sarah didn't look like her at all.

His black pen bled, staining the limestone pages with an image of tangled hair, big feet, and violent eyes.

Sarah's darkened lips snarled to reveal a missing front tooth.

Her hands had sharp claws and jagged lines traversed the page every which way, like cracks in the pavement.

From behind a veil of eyelashes, Sarah spied on Craig with half-closed eyes.

She sympathized with him.

As she watched his pen tangle hair and sharpen claws, she felt sorry that such a creature would crawl into his dreams on such a joyous night.

Sarah watched as he wrote, Nightmare at the top of the page.

Before he closed the journal, Craig looked over at Sarah.

She let a slender smile come over her face to let him know she was awake.

But all he saw was a bride lost in her own, more pleasant dreams.

How obvious do I have to be?

Sarah wondered.

Just as she was about to say something, Craig sketched one last image onto the page.

A double-banded ring, broken in two on the cold cement ground.

That morning, Sarah never fell back to sleep.

She lay awake, staring at the two faint red circles imprinted on her ring finger.

Sarah remembered the first time Craig had ever seen a truly dark night sky.

It was the time she first brought him from LA to her parents' home in Aspen.

They all spent the day hiking and getting to know each other before returning to the cabin for dinner, where they dined on roast chicken and mashed potatoes and debated their favorite board games.

It has to be the game of life, Sarah said.

I'm more of a monopoly guy, Craig responded.

Sarah's father dropped his fork and exclaimed, now that's a man's game.

They spent the rest of the night holding hands, snug and cozy under a fleece blanket in the backyard.

Sarah pointed to constellations he had never seen in a Los Angeles sky, and Craig invented stories for the passengers on airlines passing overhead.

United Airlines, Indianapolis to Las Vegas.

A cool cat named Billy is sitting window wearing a suit and reading Skymall.

He's inspecting the Lord of the Rings collector's items page and just decided to use his eventual gambling winnings to buy his girlfriend back an Indy the ring of Aragorn.

That'll make her trust him.

Sounds like cool cat Billy is headed for pleasure rather than business, Sarah said suspiciously.

Agreed.

Don't give me that look.

Don't worry, I don't like gambling or Skymall, Craig said.

Sarah laughed.

See those stars right there?

Sarah asked.

That's Orion, a skilled hunter.

Legend says that one time Orion killed every animal in the forest to try and impress the hunting goddess Artemis.

Turns out she was not pleased.

She conjured up a scorpion that stung and killed Orion.

Whoa, harsh, Craig said.

He should have just asked her out to dinner.

But I guess not everyone can be as smooth as me.

Right, not everyone is smooth enough to ask someone out over a text.

Cool cat.

Sarah looked over at Craig and kissed him on the cheek.

Craig blushed.

They fell asleep in the backyard that night, under constellations, speeding jets, and the darkest sky Craig had ever seen.

Some days Craig didn't have dreams.

On those days he would leave a journal page blank.

Sometimes, I'm convinced that everyone dreams every night, he would say to friends over a couple beers, as they rolled their eyes at more dream talk.

People don't realize it because they forget them.

But other times, I think there are nights when you don't dream.

It's like the mind shuts off, it needs a vacation.

Cool man, that's great.

Yeah, that's really philosophical, dude, they would say in return.

But on the night Craig and Sarah decided to separate, neither of those theories was correct.

Because that night, Craig never went to sleep.

On that night, Craig and Sarah sat out on their apartment balcony, sneaking nervous glances at each other, like actors waiting for their partner to remember a forgotten line.

The black sky glowed.

Finally, Craig broke the silence.

Isn't it crazy how clouds keep the city lights in?

I feel like it should be darker at this time of night.

I'm thinking about playing on the office softball team, Craig said, staring off into the distance.

Figure it would be good to get some exercise after work.

Sarah couldn't believe what he was saying.

You wanna have a real conversation about this or what?

I'm sorry, Craig said.

I told you that I want a divorce, and you're telling me that all that's on your mind is softball?

Craig remembered the first time it dawned on him that Sarah had found someone else.

She had called home late after work.

She should have been back by now.

Hey, honey, I'm gonna stay at my sister's tonight.

It's been a long week at work, and I need to get a good night's rest.

I can't wake up at 4 a.m.

Craig told Sarah he could sleep in the living room, but she said that was too complicated.

Found someone else?

You kidding me?

Sarah was shocked.

Oh, come on, here.

I will pretend to be you, and you can be me.

Craig, honey, remember those Friday night work calls?

I was actually with another man.

Sarah couldn't believe it, but she was obliged to play his game.

Sarah, baby, I know you were actually at your sister's, because it must be maddening to wake up at 4 a.m.

every day.

Craig scoffed.

Right, so this divorce is about my alarm?

Sarah, who's the guy?

That question doesn't even deserve to be answered, Craig.

Why don't you ever show me your dream journal?

Because it's private.

It's my journal.

See how I don't deflect questions?

Now who is the guy?

There is no guy.

I sleep at my sister's house because I can't sleep with you anymore.

Because when I do, I just lie in bed awake, afraid that at 4 a.m.

I'll have to sit there pretending to be asleep as I watched you draw me as your own nightmare.

A beast with missing teeth and claws, a beast that's undeserving of you.

Sarah removed her double-banded wedding ring and placed it on the cold cement ground.

Craig stared at the ring.

He remembered his own mother giving it to him years ago.

It was on a cold December night.

Craig sat in his room hearing the muffled arguments of his parents, the soundtrack of his teenage years.

That night, Craig was awoken by his mother.

I'm going to stay with my sister.

Here.

Craig's mother slipped off her wedding ring and handed it to him.

I want you to have this.

Why?

Craig asked.

Because your father's turned me into someone I never wanted to be.

I feel like an animal.

I feel like I have claws.

I'm cracked and broken.

But look at this ring.

It's perfect.

It deserves to go to a bride that will always be loved.

From inside the apartment, the shrill sound of Craig's vintage alarm clock could be faintly heard, like a distant fire alarm.

Craig and Sarah looked at each other, letting the sound of their separation wash over them.

I think there's something you should see, Craig said.

He disappeared into the apartment.

Sarah heard the alarm turn off.

Moments later, Craig returned, holding a small black journal that read Zzzzz 2009 on the cover.

Page 29, have a look, Craig said.

It was the dream from their wedding night.

The sketch that was imprinted in her mind was right in front of her.

Tangled hair, big feet, missing teeth, claws, and a double-banded ring split in two on the cold cement.

On the bottom of the page in small print was a caption Sarah had never seen.

It read, I'm afraid, afraid that I am my father, that I will never be able to give Sarah the love she deserves.

Thanks.

That story was produced by Austin Meyer with help from Josh Hoyt.

It featured music by Alexander Desplat and Erik Satie.

Our final story is a fictional radio drama about a people watcher who uses her imagination to meddle with reality.

We all break down what we see in the world around us so that we can put it back together in our heads.

Sometimes it doesn't fit together easily.

Sometimes it's a puzzle.

This last story is about someone trying to put together that puzzle.

A coffee would be nice, pancakes, or a hot chocolate on a morning like this.

A croissant would be lovely.

Perhaps I'll have a mocha.

Or do I want an omelet or pancakes?

Goodness, decisions are difficult.

I'll go to Rio's diner and see what I feel like when I arrive.

So many happy couples around.

Oh look, a recently married couple gazing into each other's eyes.

Lovesick puppies.

He's rather good looking.

Why can't I have someone like that?

Speaking in such soft voices.

Both teachers, by my analysis.

She's biology and he's English.

High school romance in another sense of the word.

And all the students are crooning over the relationship.

The work's been piling up.

I've received notice of a few new cases that I could take up.

The most recent case involves a dispute over a coffee bean farm in Guatemala.

The locals don't have enough money to hire a lawyer.

I think I'll take this as a pro bono case.

Whoops, lawyers.

Oh well, teachers, lawyers, helping other people, pretty close.

I'll help you with the case.

We can order sushi, work on the case, and then watch a movie.

I'm thinking dirty dancing.

How's that sound?

Yes, very much in love.

Ma'am?

I'm spot on.

Ma'am?

Hi.

May I get anything for you this morning?

Ooh, I think I'll have a spicy hot chocolate.

Wonderful.

Yes, Pippa, you deserve it.

And I haven't got a chance to look at the menu yet, but I'll just put my finger somewhere on the menu and choose.

Fluffy chocolate chip pancakes.

Hmm, no, not quite feeling that.

Let's go with smoked salmon eggs Benedict with avocado and goat's cheese.

Yes, that sounds lovely.

Thank you.

Wonderful.

Lots of different characters here today.

Mother and daughter at a special brunch together.

She must be a university student that's just come home for the holidays.

They're very close.

This holiday has been so lovely and dad and I will miss you a ton when you go back to school.

You only have one quarter left, one.

One.

And then you're graduating.

I want you to consider your future very carefully.

I know that sounds scary, but it's coming around the corner and it's time you started thinking about jobs.

Yes, mom, I know.

But I'm thinking about doing a second degree.

You know, perhaps I can get a scholarship or something.

Score.

Oops, did not mean to say that aloud.

But yet again, Pippa is correct.

Where are our cheese omelets?

We've been here for at least half an hour.

Cheese omelets?

I see two behind the counter.

Ma'am, ma'am, I'm sorry, but customers can't be in the kitchen area.

Are you looking for something?

Oh, I just overheard that they hadn't received their meals and saw their dishes right here.

I thought I'd save you some time and make everyone happy.

I appreciate your concern and I'll send their meals right over.

Please, take a seat.

Now, how about these two?

They look rather shady.

Brawny muscles, both heavily tattooed, partly shaven heads, deep in conversation.

No, we had agreed, $5 per gram.

Now, this is interesting.

I told you I couldn't confirm on the price.

That was a rough estimate.

My boss is telling me $7.

Here's your hot chocolate and eggs, Benedict.

Thanks.

My crew can't afford that.

This is the very best.

Look at the whiteness of the skin.

Is that what I think it is?

You're just as expensive as Federico, and I know his goods are reliable.

How can I confirm that this isn't fake stuff?

I've heard all sorts of things about fake products from China.

Dumplings made out of cardboard, walnuts filled with cement, fake chicken eggs.

Gord knows what you could be selling me.

That is an insult.

I am highly reputable and you know it.

This is just a ploy to get me to lower my prices.

I doubt you're selling me fake products, but I'm willing to go $6 tops.

Is that a deal?

$6.

Agreed?

Agreed.

Great, let's get out of here.

Dude, we have to pay the bill.

Oh right, shoot.

Hi, hi, hey, could we get the bill?

Could you split it between us?

On its way.

Thanks.

Oh my, I'm pretty sure they're dealers.

Hello?

Hi, I'd like to pay the bill.

Thank you.

Yes, I see them.

Standing in an alleyway?

Should I call the police?

911, what's your emergency?

Hi, my name is Pippa, and I've just witnessed a serious drug deal.

You've got to come quickly before they get away.

Thanks, Pippa.

Let us know your location.

I'm standing at the corner of Cypress Avenue and Huckleberry Lane.

There are two men that I followed from Rio's Diner standing in the alleyway here, and they've been discussing a cocaine deal.

Thank you for letting us know.

We are dispatching a crew immediately.

Thank you.

Please be quick.

I'm quite afraid standing here.

They should be there in five minutes.

The local police station is on the next block.

Hi, are you Pippa?

Yes, the dealers are right down there.

You're under suspicion for drug dealing.

I'd like to take you to headquarters in order to carry out some questioning.

Wait, hang on a second.

Where's chefs?

Our restaurants are right here.

We've been trading white truffles, completely legal.

Nothing to do with cocaine.

Cocaine are the taste buds, but nothing more.

We may have to carry out a search just in case.

Oh no, the French ambassador is coming tonight, and all the critics will be here.

That's why I needed to buy the truffles today, when they would be fresh.

A report has been filed.

I need to take you both to the station and follow the protocol.

Thank you, Pippa.

You may go.

Were you just at Rio's diner?

Better safe than sorry, right?

They could have been the high-profile criminals.

Is that a man scaling the outside of that building?

Oh my goodness, he's rubbing at the window.

It looks like he's trying to break in.

Bel Air Residences, luxury apartment.

He must be a thief.

I need to call the police again.

That story was produced by Amabel Stokes and myself, Justine Beed, both juniors at Stanford University.

It featured the voices of Alec Glassford, Max Whitmeyer, Nina Donaldson, Maria Doerr, Liam Bhajan, Jeffrey Abidor, Emma Fisher, and Jackson Roach.

If you want to hear about the music and sound effects we use, check out our website, storytelling.stanford.edu.

Thank you.

Somebody's heart.

George Jamming with the Honest Disc Jockey.

Disc Jockey.

We're back where we began, me playing sounds in the studio, you imagining the space of a car.

These little feats of the imagination, as we've seen today, are constant, automatic, so much so that we don't even recognize them.

And yet, they're huge feats, leaps of the mind that bring together our past, present, and future.

Our imagination fuels our reality, just like our reality fuels our imagination.

They drive along the road together.

Together, they make the road we travel on.

They shape our journey.

We use imagination to grow and evolve, not only changing ourselves in the process, but also changing the world we live in.

And now, sitting in this car with the radio on, we're back to where we've always been, inside our heads, making up stories as we go along.

Bye.

Today's program was produced by Justine Beed, Natacha Ruck and Jonah Willihnganz.

Special thanks to John Rick, Terry Root, Louis Sohoyos, Alec Glassford, Max Whitmeyer, Nina Donaldson, Maria Doerr, Liam Bijan, Jeffrey Avedore, Emma Fisher and Jackson Roach.

Thanks also to Tamu Adumer, Josh Hoyt, Louis Lafair, Amabel Stokes, Wong Yi Zheng, Austin Meyer and Jake Warga.

As well as Claire Schoen, Christy Hartman, Will Rogers and Albert Gehami.

If you wanna hear about the music and sound effects we use, check out our website, storytelling.stanford.edu.

For their generous financial support, we'd like to thank the Vice Provost for Undergraduate Education, Stanford Continuing Studies, the Program in Oral Communication and Bruce Braden.

Remember that you can find this and every episode of State of the Human on iTunes.

You can also download them and find out more about the storytelling projects, live events, grants and workshops at our website, storytelling.stanford.edu.

For State of the Human and the Stanford Storytelling Project, I'm Justine Beed.

Thanks for tuning in.