Few of us ever write our own autobiography. That is something we imagine for the famous, the brilliant, or those with lives big enough to fill pages. But the truth is, we are all writing our own story, every day, in our thoughts and worries. We add to it constantly, shaping the narrative of our lives in the way we tell it to ourselves. In our heads, we are the narrator and we have a tendency to tell it like this: a chain of mistakes, insults, and disasters. The bad things stand out, the good things blur. And at night, when optimism runs low, the story gets darker. For a rare moment, I wasn’t inside the story. I was looking at it. That is when I realized how much freedom I’d left unused.