i woke early this morning and got to thinking about the stories we tell ourselves. one of the benefits of getting older is understanding that we tell ourselves stories to soften our lives. it’s true. but there comes a time when you have to look at the evidence.
what’s strange to me is the amount of people who do not look at the evidence and it is this fact that got me thinking this morning. why do we not face the facts? why do we create stories that distract ourselves from what actually happened?
it’s a whole thing, lying to oneself.
i wonder if it’s akin to the romanticization of a person in the immediate aftermath of their death. but, for some, we tell these stories for our whole lives, accepting them as truth when they are not.
but why? is it because it’s easier? is it born of superstition? are we inherently immature? do we need to forget, and, is it better to forget the difficult things?
it’s hard to know. in the individual, i choose evidence.