I had two conversations this weekend that bothered me.
Actually, it was three now that I think of it. I’ll get to them in a moment.
Sometimes, when I have such conversations, my mind starts to wander a bit. Not because I’m bored or disinterested. Because I start to imagine, in a small way, that the person I’m listening to, this person that’s telling me this sad story about their life, might have been me, given the right set of circumstances, genetics and traumatic events in my life. I start to wonder, too, what this person, and this conversation might have been like had one thing not led to another, to another, and another, which eventually led them to this moment with me.
I’ll tell the stories now, and we’ll get back to that last bit down the road a bit.
Go here to read the rest.