Our memories are not that great, especially under stress. A couple of years ago I competed in a Brazilian jiu-jitsu tournament. My first match was in the nogi absolute division (all ranks and all weight classes) against a big guy who I just watched beat his first opponent.

We stepped on the mats, shook hands, and started to grapple. I was there to win and he was too. As soon as we came to grips, I knew he was stronger than me, but I was determined to not back down. We both fought on the feet for hand position and, after a minute or so, I secured the underhook I was looking for, tried to use it to pull him into my half guard, but I slipped off and fell on my back.

He started to try to pass, but I established my guard. We battled it out there for a little while, and then he started to attack my legs. I did a good job defending for a bit, but as I turned out to escape, he caught me in a heel hook and I was forced to tap.

But he didn’t stop. He kept cranking until I tapped again. The match was over and I was injured. My knee and ankle were sore. I took a few more matches before deciding to go home. That’s how I remember it and that’s the way I have told the story since then.

Life is funny though. He and I have since become friends. I have visited his academy and he has visited mine. His daughter and mine play together while we train. Tonight, he came to my academy and taught a class.

We were talking to one of the new students about how we met and the match we had. I mentioned having to tap twice and he politely objected, stating that he may have been overly enthusiastic with the submission, but that I only tapped once and he let go of the submission immediately after I did.

We went back and forth for a bit before finally pulling up the match on my phone. We watched the whole thing and, at the end, when we got to the part where he applied the heel hook, there it was, as plain as day, I tapped the floor and then tapped him, and he let go.

I was wrong. I have been wrong for two years. But, up until that moment, I was certain that things happened the way I remembered. I could picture it in my mind. It’s the story I told multiple times to multiple people about how we met, but I misremembered the most important part, the part I thought I remembered most clearly. He pointed it out, I apologized, and then he helped me clean the academy before we both took our daughters home.

Life is funny and our memories are often based more on stories we tell ourselves about what we experienced than they are about the actual facts of the experience. So be generous with the stories you tell. You’ll be happier and you’ll make more friends along the way.