So here’s an interesting phenomenon: when something so out of the ordinary happens to you and it doesn’t really feel like it actually happened until you tell someone about it. And the more people you relate the story to, the more it feels like it really did occur. You’re not quite satisfied that you know it took place—you’ve got to spread the word. Somehow it validates its existence, the fact that someone else witnessed it or knows about it. If you died and never told anyone anything, and you didn’t leave anything behind for anyone to remember, for all intents and purposes, you basically didn’t exist.
The only way we can truly be sure that something existed or happened is to directly witness it or indirectly observe its affects on other things. But so much of our reality is composed entirely on what amounts to hearsay. And so many people have a bad habit of stretching the truth. Many of them don’t even know they are doing it. Leave out a few details here, focus on only certain aspects of what actually did happen, interpolate reality with what you think happened or what should have happened or what could have happened…
It makes you wonder how accurate history books are.