I can remember, quite clearly, telling myself the story of my own adolescence, as it was happening; and assuming that, as in the stories I read, I would prevail in the end. It’s fascinating to think this may have been something more that simple escapism, after all. That on some level–not entirely, because too much happens that we can’t control, but to some extent at least–we create our stories as we tell them, through the act of telling them.
The stories we tell ourselves
One more reason story matters: The stories we tell about our lives may affect our well-being. (Original article here; may require login.)