We all have stories. Memories, experiences, events – all substantial. Stories are heavy. But I’d prefer it if you’d carry yours behind you. When you hold it all out in front like that, thrusting it into the room before you, it is distracting, it is all I can see. You, the real you, disappears. It isn’t what you carry that matters, it is how you carry it. Your stories are interesting through you, not you through them. Besides, you look as if you want to hand me some of it. Perhaps you can’t see it, but I’ve got enough to carry.