My mom relates an incident that I was apart of. I was there. She is telling it to my Aunts. And it is not how I saw the occurrence at all. How she tells it surprises me. Because I didn’t get what she did from it.
I don’t remember the first time I recognized this. But I know there was a point that I did. Because ever after that, I was at the very least, the slightest aware, of the relation between stories and their tellers.
I find it interesting how perception is. It is.
My mother wasn’t wrong telling that story the way she did because it was the way she saw it. And how we see things make up who we are.
When I hear stories I often get wrapped up in the story of it. I can forget that it is coming from someone who has perspective too, different from my own. The stories people tell, that you and I tell, are all told from the person we are. From our eyesight and brain sight and even our heart sight.
So when people tell stories, no matter what they are about or whether they are true or false, they are telling stories of themselves.
So when you meet someone in which from the beginning their stories grab a hold of you and make fascination spin a few wonders, there’s a good chance you’ll like who they are.
And when a person tells you that you’ve become apart of who they are, which is something that you like, you will begin to like that person more than a friend.
But this is all just my perspective.