They’re not all good.
Some are bad, terrible.
The day you puked in class, the night you don’t remember, the day you went too far, the day you realized you weren’t happy.
The cheating spouse, the dead lover, the long lost best friend.
They’re a part of us, helped to shape us, etched into our memory, burned into our dreams. They find us when we’re trying to hide, escape when we try to purge them.
It’s easy to let them comfort us in failure, soothe us in disaster. They provide a scape goat, a direction to point our finger. They offer an excuse for the lack of success.
But they don’t have to define us. They aren’t who we are, don’t form the foundations of our souls.
They simply show others what happened to us, how we got here.
It’s not about where we are, but who we are when we get there.
A Toast: To Our Stories