The story he tells about himself

A man has lived in Dubai for nine years and says he is bad with languages. He says it cheerfully, the way people state their height. So when the watchman of his building greets him in Arabic, he answers in English. When the driver who takes him to work jokes with him in Hindi, he smiles and says nothing.

Each of those moments was a small chance to learn a word. Each one confirmed the story instead.

That is how a description of ourselves becomes a plan. Whoever we believe we are, we spend our days defending. The man who thinks he cannot learn languages avoids the small embarrassments that would have taught him one, and the evidence keeps piling up on his side.

It works with any story. The woman who believes she is not creative never shows anyone her sketches, so nobody ever tells her they are good. The young graduate who sees himself as someone things happen to waits for things to happen. The one who sees himself as someone who works things out treats each new problem as the next thing to work out, and so he does.

None of these stories is a fact. They feel like facts because they have been repeated so often, but each was chosen, and each can be chosen again.

Tomorrow he could greet the watchman back in the watchman's language, badly. The watchman would laugh, kindly, and correct him. That would be the first morning of a different man.

He can begin tomorrow, or next year. Next year it is harder.