Tales We're Told Not to Tell

A Hollywood screenwriter once paid a visit to my father when I was a girl. He was researching the Jesse James gang for his upcoming movie. I sat stunned as the history of the James gang poured out of my dad—like pages from a hidden chapter.

One of my father’s relatives, it turned out, had run with Jesse James.

Suddenly, I felt like my ordinary life had cracked open. My family history had intersected with something larger, something thrilling. I asked my dad why he’d never told us before. He replied without hesitation: “Never tell anyone we were affiliated with outlaws.”

Of course, I told everyone. What eight-year-old wouldn’t?

At the time, I thought I’d stumbled onto a buried treasure. But as I got older, I realized something even more surprising—maybe we all have scraps of legend tucked into our stories.

We tend to think the lives we’re living right now are too small to matter, too quiet for story value—or, as in my dad’s case, too scandalous to repeat. But what if that’s not true?

What if this very moment, this ordinary day, becomes a piece of someone else’s legend someday?

We are each a story unfolding—even if we don’t yet know how our place, our quiet moments, or even our missteps might echo forward. Sometimes, what feels unremarkable today becomes the detail that defines a generation later.

Are we legend?
Maybe not yet.
But don’t be surprised if, one day, someone tells your story—and a room full of people leans in to listen.