When my girls were young and we lived in the charming town of Alameda, Calif., we followed a story when we went to dinner at the Chinese restaurant that overlooks the city's main street.
Parking behind the downtown buildings, we said we had to walk just so, at the buildings' edge, in single file, and circle round a pole in order to make the restaurant's secret door appear as we turned the corner. The story worked every time.
When we were our true selves – most faithful, you might say, to the Pryfogle's mission – our story led the way. The story was not only about who we had been, it was about who we were becoming. The story was not just a description of where we were going. The story was, and is, the very path.
