I remember sitting on the worn and stained living room carpet staring at the wall of books. I didn’t understand them because I was just a little kid…but they were awesome.

And the wall of books? Equally awesome.

My parents and grandparents were all big readers. My Mom always had a book close by — still does. If I were to FaceTime her right now, there would be a book at her elbow, no matter what room she’s in or what she’s doing.

I was four years old when I read my first book cover to cover all by myself, and it was “Green Eggs and Ham” by (the now controversial) Dr. Seuss.

I was so proud of myself and I was completely and utterly hooked.

Books are emissaries from foreign lands, each with a tale to tell or some knowledge to impart.

It was only when I grew up, after spending a lifetime immersed between the pages, that I realised each human is like a book.

Every person is an emissary from a different life, a different world, a different land, a different perspective.

Everyone possess their own blend of ideas, facts, narratives, that — when combined with personality and characteristics — makes everyone’s life a unique story.

And everyone plays a role in their own story.

Some of these stories are comedies. Some are tragedies. Others are dramas. Some are practically telenovelas, and others might as well be an episode of Ancient Aliens.

Let me ask you a question:

What happened this morning?

How you answer that simple question can tell you a lot about how you view the world and the story you’re letting yourself live in.

If I were to answer this question about yesterday’s morning the way that I used to answer this question, I’d say:

I woke up late, much later than I planned, and I had a raging headache when I woke up. I’m getting really fucking tired of feeling so awful when I wake up. I went to 7-Eleven and got my coffee. The new guy was totally hapless and couldn’t figure out how to work the wallet app, I mean, who the hell trained this guy? So it’s a good thing I grabbed cash when I was walking out the door. I almost didn’t. In the parking lot I did an Instagram story and then I had to rerecord the story because I noticed afterwards I had a giant smear of mascara across my eyelid. Then my husband and I started texting and we almost got into an argument about some stupid ass bullshit, and that was basically my morning.

But, if I were to answer that question from the frame of my new story I would say, “Eh. Not much. I got some coffee and did some stuff on Instagram.”

The first response was the way I would’ve answered from the frame of my old story which was, “I am important, and so is what happens to me, and the person asking this question wants to know everything because I’m super important.” This was a very ego-driven response.

It was a very ego-forward way to enter the world, and it was a way to enter the world that didn’t serve me or anyone around me.

The second response is less ego driven. There’s less drama. It relays the facts, the gist, without the self-importance.

It’s not about the ego.

The drama, the self-importance, the ego, they don’t define my life, so they don’t deserve to be at the forefront of my story.

As you move through this world, you can do so where you’re the protagonist and it’s all about you, or where you’re a minor character and it’s more about what’s happening in the world around you.

You can be at the centre of the action, or you can be watching from afar. You can create the drama or sit on the sidelines detached from it.

You can choose how you engage and what you engage with. You can choose what gets your attention and what doesn’t.

The drama? The minor details? The menial bullshit? It doesn’t deserve your attention.