What story are you telling yourself? What kind of protagonist are you? The one who observes from the outside or the one who dares to enter the scene? The one who stays put or the one who moves forward, even in fear?

Our life doesn't have a script. It's not a movie that, in an hour and a half, fits together perfectly with background music and an ending that explains everything. In cinema, someone wrote the plot, someone else set the scenes, and the actors performed them. Everything has a logic.

In life, on the other hand, things just happen. Sometimes suddenly, sometimes silently, and while they happen, we don't quite understand why. There's no one behind the scenes explaining the purpose of each episode.

Perhaps that's why we need to talk. Or write. Because when someone asks us a question and we try to explain, something inside us begins to sort itself out. And when we try to tell it to someone else, we also begin to tell it to ourselves. Words make visible the map that was previously blurred: they shed light where before there was only sensation. The word orders, reveals, gives meaning.

And sometimes, when we tell ourselves what happened to us, we are surprised. We discover that our story is more interesting than we had thought, that events that seemed isolated and meaningless actually do. And so, by telling our stories, we explain our own lives and understand them in a new light, with a new order, a story we didn't know about ourselves.

But words don't just help us understand the past; they can also write the future. Because we don't just narrate what we were, we imagine what we want to be. And that story, that way of telling ourselves, begins to chart the path.

If I tell myself I can't, my story closes. If I tell myself I can, something inside me begins to open up. It's not magic, it's direction. Words don't change the facts, but they do change how we experience them and where we take them.

In the end, we are the writers of our own film. We don't choose every scene, but we can decide how to give them meaning and what kind of protagonist we want to be.

So, again: What story are you telling yourself? One that confines you or one that propels you? One that repeats the past or one that begins to create the future?

Perhaps living is just that: writing, with each word, the version of ourselves that has yet to appear.