We tell ourselves all sorts of stories. The problem is, our stories are often wrong.

The other day when a friend asked me how I was I had the disquieting experience of hearing my response. What I heard was a well-worn repetition of a tired story–how I am (okay), how my husband is (not so okay), what the kids are doing, where my book is in its publication odyssey (otherwise known as Limbo)–and I thought, “I’m really tired of this story; it’s boring.” Then I thought, “I need a new story.”