Stories of the Self

I had to take my own advice to stop and breathe, so I took a week off from writing last week. It felt like a few things aligned perfectly, so I decided to go with the flow and skip what has now become my designated writing day on Saturday.

A few years ago, while visiting the Mayan ruins in Chichén Itzá, I learned that I was born on the Spring Equinox. I thought that was a really cool coincidence, and this fact has quietly been a small source of joy ever since. Despite having pretty serious pollen allergies, Spring is my favorite season. It’s probably because the trees repopulate with leaves, flowers begin to bloom, and the weather starts to warm up—without feeling hot. In Urdu, this is what I like to call “jannati mausam,” which translates to “heavenly weather” in English.

I went into the following week with compassion for others and belief in myself. It felt good, which made me reflect on how fascinating it is that our lives can feel entirely different depending on the story we tell ourselves each day. These stories shape not only our daily perspectives but also the canon events of our short yet beautiful lives. You see, our minds are fascinating—but they can also flourish wildly when left unchecked. When I think about it, we inherit a default operating system. This OS is a mixture of what we’ve felt and learned as we navigate through life, even if we’ve never quite figured out how to express either.

This concoction of emotion and experience creates the stories of the self. Considering how many of our feelings are lost in the translation from electrical impulses to comprehensible language, it’s a miracle we don’t overheat and self-destruct. Okay, maybe sometimes we do. But my point is this: we often aren’t even aware of the stories we’re telling ourselves—let alone questioning their accuracy.

There are countless moments where we convince ourselves that we “should” do something, or that it must be done a certain way. We treat life and decision-making as if there’s an objectively optimal way to live. Of course, some things are objectively true—like how a sedentary lifestyle increases the risk of health issues. But the truth is: you are the most important person in your life, and you have every right to author a story that feels meaningful to you.

This can be incredibly challenging when what you want goes against your default operating system. It’s tempting to give in and let old patterns take over. But is it really convenience—or just a story we’re telling ourselves? What’s your definition of a “convenient” experience? Is it the result of inaction—or the fulfillment of your heart?

Perhaps you, like me, toss and turn in bed at night, engaging in contemplative wonder. I’ve been learning that most of our resistance to change comes from the identities we cling to. So what is it that you identify with? A relationship—being a son, daughter, spouse, or parent? Maybe it’s your career or title. Perhaps it’s a particular lifestyle.

Regardless, we attach ourselves to perceived expectations that come with these identities, and we rarely, if ever, question the validity of those expectations. All of this contributes—often unconsciously—to how we see ourselves and the paths we choose to walk each day. It affects everything: from how we wake up, to how we eat, to how we navigate conflict. And ultimately, these identities are just crystallized stories.

So how do we change our story? I think you already know where I’m going with this. We either have to modify the identities we currently hold or create brand spankin’ new ones that bring peace to the heart. It doesn’t matter whether I—or anyone else—agrees with your process. What matters is that you are crafting an identity that’s right for you. And as we begin to chip away at the beliefs we no longer resonate with, something beautiful begins to happen.

There’s humility in reconstruction—it allows us to break everything down before rebuilding and relearning. Over time, we begin to feel proud of ourselves—not in an overly prideful way, but with reverence for who we’ve become, and compassion for others.

What excites me is that this journey has no final destination. It’s the ongoing process of building a life large enough to hold love for both ourselves and those who matter most.

If that sounds good to you, then let me ask:

What story will you write about yourself?

I hope it’s one where your heart is full—and your mind is at peace. Much love, have a great weekend!