Stories

I remember a line from the beginning of a book I read in high school.
We were supposed to be reading a book each quarter and doing a report, and you could pretty much read any book you wanted.

One of my books was a biographical sort of narrative tracing one Jewish man's path into the Holocaust as he tried to help himself and others to survive. He succeeded, and if I remember right, the book was largely, if not entirely written by his wife.

There is a line in the beginning as she explains some of their background in which she says that they told their stories to each other so often that his stories are her own, and she can tell his stories as if they belong to her as well.

I was thinking today about how we experience things in so many different ways, and how our past individual experiences color our interpretations in ways that influence and direct how we give meaning to future experiences.

Maybe we can understand each other
when we know each others' stories well enough,
and they belong to all of us.

please tell stories