Sometimes I think about things I did "in a previous life" -- before kids, before being married, while in school -- and I can't believe I did them. Some things I reject because I'd like to think I wasn't that naive or stupid. Some things I have trouble believing because it's hard to think that I was able to tough my way through, like biking three miles back and forth to school for two years, in all weather except falling snow -- and carrying my bike up to that third-floor walk-up apartment, once I got home.
It was just something I did, how I lived, but it's approaching almost mythic status, some kind of story I tell myself about my past. But it's not just a story, it's real. I wonder if a day will come when I stop believing it myself.
(Inspired by Nina.)