On mythology, books, and the stories that stay with us.

Long after I forget plot twists, character names, and entire chapters, certain stories remain.

Not because I remember every detail.

But because something inside them stayed with me.

A line.

An image.

A feeling.

A question I wasn’t ready to answer at the time.

I’ve always been fascinated by the stories people return to. The books they reread. The myths they retell. The characters they continue thinking about long after the story has ended.

What is it about certain stories that refuses to let go?

Perhaps it is because stories do more than entertain us.

They help us understand ourselves.

Long before psychology textbooks, self-help books, and social media discussions, people used stories to make sense of the world. They created myths to explain fear, grief, love, power, jealousy, hope, and transformation.

The settings may have changed, but the questions remain remarkably familiar.

Who are we?

How do we belong?

What do we owe each other?

How do we live with loss?

How do we begin again?

These questions appear everywhere.

In ancient myths.

In novels.

In films.

In the stories we tell ourselves about our own lives.

That is one of the reasons I keep returning to mythology.

Not because I believe the stories happened.

But because I believe they reveal something true.

The figures that survive across generations often do so because they represent experiences that continue to feel relevant.

Medusa.

Persephone.

Cassandra.

Characters that have been interpreted and reinterpreted countless times, each generation finding something new within them.

The stories endure because we continue to find ourselves reflected inside them.

Perhaps that is why books can feel so personal.

When someone recommends a favorite novel, they are often revealing something about themselves.

Not just what they enjoy, but what resonates.

What they fear.

What they admire.

What they recognize.

A bookshelf can be a surprisingly honest autobiography.

The stories we love often become part of the stories we tell about ourselves.

Not in a literal sense.

But in the way they shape how we understand the world and our place within it.

They give us language for experiences that might otherwise feel difficult to explain.

They remind us that people have wrestled with similar questions before us.

And perhaps most importantly, they remind us that we are not alone.

Across centuries, cultures, and continents, stories continue to connect people through shared experiences and shared questions.

We may not remember every detail.

But we carry the stories with us.

And sometimes, without realizing it, they carry us too.