No Such Thing as a True Story

I’ve been reading that most everyone reconfigures their personal narrative as they proceed through the experiences of living. Personal interactions that may have been emotionally intense may be viewed differently in the calm of later years. Reckless behaviors in one’s youth as reaction to societal (or parental) pressures may later be realized to have been mistakes that interrupted character building constraint so necessary to a stable grounding in reality.

Where once we may have found truth in the absolute freedom of choice as a path to an autonomous independence, we may later realize a shallowness, a superficial misunderstanding of the deep-seeded need we have for the care of others, a dependence on those dear to us. So, the narrative changes; the way you thought things to be were not, upon reflection, truly the case. Motivations, ambiguous desires altered the truth of the experience.

I guess it’s fair to say narratives are interpretations which lie somewhere between fiction and non: stories being told by their possessors.

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