I was having a great conversation with my mom on Christmas Day about perspective. The more I share my story the more my own parents are learning about me and my experiences. While they were right there for many of them, this is the first they are hearing about it from my perspective.
The funny thing about relationships, memories, and basically everything else in our human experience is that we all have our own perspective on it. No one person can know what it’s like from another persons shoes. Every experience is colored by our thoughts, perceptions, beliefs, and emotions. Two people taking part in a single experience will see it differently, notice different things, remember it differently.
If that’s true…which it is, of course…then when I’m telling my stories (to myself or to you) shouldn’t I be considering the fact that those are my stories from my perspective?
And if that’s my perspective isn’t it possible that I’m coloring the experience with my own guilt, fear, anger, etc.?
And wouldn’t all of that change my memory of the event?
And if I’m adding all of those layers onto the memory aren’t I effectively making some shit up?
And if the story is at least partially made up why is it so damn important?
The simple truth is it’s not. At least not in the way we let it seem. Yes, of course, our experiences in life are important. They shape us and our lives, at least partially. But if we stop and think about the fact that perspective changes everything then can’t we cut ourselves and others some slack?
I think we should.