We all have stories we tell ourselves, consciously or not, about who we are and what our place is in the world.  Stories that give meaning to our struggles and our achievements.  Stories that tell us how to know we are good people.

We need these stories as much as food and shelter and basic human connection, so is it shocking that we so often cling to them longer than is wise?  Is it surprising that we suffer when they fall to pieces in our hands?

I lost more than one of my most precious stories last week, smashed to smithereens in a matter of hours.  Maybe you did, too.  It hurts like hell.

Or maybe you’ve been watching your stories slowly crumble, worn down by the changing times.  Maybe you saw someone holding out a tube of the strongest glue, marked “GUARANTEED FIX”, and grabbed it with relief, telling yourself not to mind the “CAUTION: FLAMMABLE. MAY CAUSE RESPIRATORY DISTRESS, BURNING EYES, DEATH TO SOME IN THE VICINITY” emblazoned on the other side.

What if we had a way to grieve our disintegrating stories instead of desperately pouring on glue?  What if there was somewhere to look for help constructing new stories when our old ones were blowing away?