I was in the middle of explaining myself the other night at dinner.
I was telling my “story”, as it were, to a close friend. Recounting things I have experienced over the last few months since moving to New York, obstacles I have overcome, the usual.
What I was REALLY doing was making excuses. Sure, the yarn I wove was no lie, but I was telling the tale in an attempt to justify my being a horrible friend to her over the last few months. In essence, I was framing my story as if it were something infinitely worse than anything she could have been through.
It’s amazing how we can talk ourselves into situations like this if we cease to stay vigilant with where are thoughts are going. In fact, I wouldn’t have realized what I was doing unless she pointed it out.
And what she said will stick with me for a while.
She told me that my story was just my story. Not good or bad, but just a sequence of events. To these events, I apply labels and feelings. We all do this, and our associated feelings cause us to feel that our particular story is more valid/powerful/difficult than another person’s.
But that is a poor way to look at it. How we react to situations, how we choose to frame them, is completely relative. What effects one person in a minor way might be a major setback to another.
Everyone has a story, and everyone chooses to react to their own circumstances in their own way. By harping on my story, I completely trivialized things that comprised her story.
We all have a story.
Think about it.