Seven of Pututus

I learned something slightly embarrassing about myself today. Earlier, I met a man who told me this incredible story about one of the ruins I had visited. He was such a good storyteller. He described who had lived there, what had happened, and why certain stones had been placed where they were. He spoke with so much confidence and detail that I could almost see the entire thing happening as he told it.

I completely believed him!!!!

Later, I was talking with a few other travelers and repeated the story. I was probably telling it with nearly as much confidence as he had because I thought I had learned something fascinating. Then one of the people listening, who happened to be an archaeologist, looked at me and said, "That's not true."

Apparently, almost none of it was true!!! I am mortified.

I told him where I had heard it, and he explained what archaeologists actually know about the site and, more importantly, what they don't know. There were pieces of truth buried inside the story I had been told, but someone had filled the unknown spaces with a much better story.

I've been thinking about that ever since. I didn't believe the man because I had evidence. I believed him because he made the story feel true. Then I carried his certainty into another conversation and gave it my own voice. That may be the part that bothers me most.