How the Stories We Tell Shape Who We Become →

“How you arrange the plot points of your life into a narrative shapes who you are and is a fundamental part of being human.”
— Life’s Stories, The Atlantic (2015)

That quote opens an insightful article by The Atlantic, which explores the powerful role storytelling plays in identity. In the piece, Monisha Pasupathi, a professor of developmental psychology at the University of Utah, adds a simple but profound truth:

“To have relationships, we’ve all had to tell little pieces of our story.”

We do this every day. In casual conversation—whether we realize it or not—we offer tiny glimpses into our narrative. When someone asks, “Where are you from?” or “Which school did you attend?” they’re really asking: Tell me a piece of your story.

Recently, I watched a small moment unfold in a mall. A salesperson stood at the entrance of a store, smiling and making eye contact with passersby. One woman smiled back. They entered the store together, and I overheard their exchange. The salesperson asked where the woman was from. She answered, naming a town in California. As it turned out, the salesperson knew the town well. They recalled a shared street and began reminiscing. Both women relaxed. A connection had been made—one built simply by exchanging pieces of their life stories.

We all connect the events of our lives into a kind of internal narrative. The way we link those events—what we choose to emphasize, what we leave out—forms our sense of identity. In a very real way, we are the stories we tell about ourselves.

Over the past two decades, I’ve had the opportunity to tell my own story at least twenty times to a group of men at my local church. Each time I shared it, the story changed slightly. Sometimes I added new insights. Sometimes I left out older details. Sometimes I remembered the same event differently. With time, memory and meaning shift.

I’ve also heard dozens of other men tell their life stories—some more than once, years apart. Their stories evolved, just as mine did. The emphasis changed. The tone softened. New perspectives emerged. It wasn’t the facts that changed—it was the framing. The meaning.

Life stories are like books. They have plots, themes, timelines, and characters. But unlike novels, we’re both the authors and the main characters. We decide which chapters matter. We choose what to emphasize and how to connect it. Our identities are not fixed—they’re revised, updated, and rewritten over time.

The influences on our life stories go beyond events. Art, music, poetry, relationships, heritage, service, even food—these all shape our narrative. And just as characters in books can fade in and out of focus, so can the people in our lives. Some who once felt central eventually play only a small role. Others remain part of our core storyline forever.

An anonymous poem that opens one of my books says it well:

“Some people come into our lives for a reason, some for a season, and some for a lifetime.”

Some say those people are sent by God. Others believe they appear by coincidence or challenge. Either way, we are the ones who assign meaning. We get to decide what we carry forward. We choose how we make sense of what’s happened—and in doing so, who we become.

To deny that power is to accept a deterministic view of identity: that we are nothing more than the product of our genetics, our upbringing, and our environment. That’s because we didn’t choose our parents, birthplace, or early experiences, we’re locked into a path.

But that view doesn’t hold up.

If you don’t believe people change, try this simple test:
Tell your life story today. Write it down. Then revisit it a year from now.
You’ll tell it differently.

And in that difference is proof that identity is not a fixed script.
It’s a living, evolving narrative—authored by you.