It's usually in the middle of a story when I realize the problem with trying to illustrate a point with a story from my past: I never listened to anyone when I was younger. I knew everything, or at least enough to know the person trying to give me advice was full of shit. But I can't stop the story in the middle and ask, "Are you really listening to me?"

I just have to finish it up and hope there is something they can take from it. A moral, a justification, a better sense of place. I don't know. I finish the story, usually with a somewhat morally-ambiguous ending because there never seemed to be a right answer. Just the answer I came up with.

I get lost in the past sometimes, seeing the parallel with what some people are doing now. And I have experiences that are close enough to an occurrence that it seems apropos to throw my five cents in. When the reality of a break up sets in, the first thing that usually comes to my mind is: But I never told you everything I should have. I only got a bit of the picture out, so everything is still unformed, the pieces scattered like my brain.

The stories still come because there are so many to pick from. So many instances that taught me something, even though the lesson was hard and maybe broke my life up for a while. It seems like fair warning to let someone know my experiences, just in case it might help.

But I was the half-listening guy five to eight years ago. I was the one who knew it all. I knew what I was doing was right. Everyone else could get fucked.

A guy I did some freelance work for told me the story about why he got married. He was wondering why I wasn't trying to settle down, make something of myself. So he told me the story of how he lived with a woman for several years. They'd decided never to get married because of some 70s mentality resolution about the establishment or something like that. But for the years and years (between 3 and 5, I think) they were together, he thought that everyday he'd come home to find her gone.

Because there was no formal establishment of relationship between them, he was afraid it wasn't real. So when he met the woman he eventually married, he forgot about his objections to getting married. And the fact that they were married made it better, because he never had that nagging thought in the back of his head that she could just pick up and leave.

I never asked him which woman he liked better, probably because he'd choose his wife--why be wistful about the woman who wouldn't commit? But I've always thought that he wasn't sure what the real answer to that question was. Yes, his wife had been with him for over a decade and they had kids and everything was where it should be. He drove a BMW and owned his own business. He had found contentment in commitment. But what if--besides the "not gonna get married thing"--that first woman was actually the best fit?

Philosophies go a long way. They justify almost anything you want them to. Sometimes they justify flying a plane into a skyscraper or killing random people with a rifle or sleeping with your best friend's girlfriend. In other words, philosophies make you feel better about the bad things you do as well as the good things you do. It's just depends on how you twist the logic.

Throwing out your personal philosophies is admitting that you've been wrong. That all those voices in your head saying you are right are actually steering you in the wrong direction. Discarding this chirping cricket hurts, almost like breaking up with a part of yourself.

So I keep spinning these stories. These little nuggets of ambiguous morality because somewhere in the details or big picture this will help someone get through their own tough times. Even if they only hear a part of it. Even if they choose the wrong path. At least a decision occurs. A move is made. A life is changed. If only for a few seconds or minutes or days.

The wrong move, of course, usually teaches someone much more than taking the right turn. It makes them come to terms with a mistake or failure and how to deal with a setback like that. If you only make the right decisions, then nothing is learned, but don't feel as bad. That's the trade-off.

All I can really hope for is that a few years from now, those who took the time to trample through my stories of loss and wonderment remember what I said. And maybe they'll think, "I should have listened to that guy more."

Matt Worley has lots of stories you probably don't want to hear.