I'm telling my brain a new story.

Photo by Natasha Connell on Unsplash

Last week I had a funny interaction with a friend.

Not funny as in ha ha (I love me some those) but funny as in odd.

It wasn’t too tremendously off, but awkward enough it gave me pause.

I invited my friend to do something in June and she declined saying she was busy that month.

I embraced the NO.

I appreciated the NO.

I’m a believer in notion a misplaced YES is a bad thing.

I went on with my day and didn’t give our chat a second thought.

I was disappointed she couldn’t join me for an event. I knew there would be other times.

The next morning I learned the date of the activity had been moved to November.

I’ll call my friend, I thought. I bet she can come now! This is great!

I called. I shared the plans were now for November. I asked, more kidding than not, if she was still busy.

She said yes, her plate was full.

As silly as it seems in hindsight (and after telling my brain a new tale) I felt quite sad.

I didn’t feel down because my friend was busy (life happens).

I felt sadness and surprise as it became clear during our exchange I’d overestimated our friendship.

I’d assumed I was a make-time-for friend when, in actuality, I was not.

I sat with my emotions the rest of the day.

I embraced them.

I questioned how many other women whom I considered Friend with a capital F might view me simply as friend.

I told my brain the wrong story.

In an effort to not distract myself from my feelings I began to tell myself the wrong tale.

A story of needing new friends, of not being good at “reading” people and, thanks to working from home, of having few opportunities to meet women in my city.

I told my brain the wrong story and started to feel myself make it my own.

Until a few days later.

The Austin rains stopped, the Doodle and I headed out for a walk, and life conspired to refute the tale I’d told myself.

In the course of our amble I met 3 women who were all friendly, initiated conversation, and were clearly interested in creating friendships.

When he and I returned home I felt better than I had since the “conversation” days prior.

People like me, I thought. People are attracted to my energy and want to get to know me.

Your brain believes the story you tell it.

I told myself this new narrative as I went through my day and, not surprisingly, I witnessed evidence re-enforcing my story everywhere.

I couldn’t not see it!

Text messages received and time spent with old friends who reminded I was a capital F  for them.

I met even more new women at a spontaneous gathering which reminded me I was someone people enjoyed spending time with.

This experience, as painful as it was to endure, turned out to be a gift.

It reminded me all of life is merely information and I have the power to interpret and process the way I choose.

Instead of shutting down or cutting myself off I chose to make myself vulnerable with friends new and old.

Instead of pouting or hiding away I reminded myself being authentic fosters the deepest connections with others.

Did I make myself wholly vulnerable and tell my friend she’d hurt my feelings?

I did not.

As difficult as it was to hear I took in the information she provided, redefined our relationship, and moved forward.

In the end I’m immeasurably grateful for the lesson she unknowingly taught me:

Your brain believes the tale you tell it—be wary the stories you choose to share.