Evidence lives outside of me.

It’s what happened.

What can be seen.

What can be measured.

Interpretation lives inside of me.

It’s what it means.

Why it matters.

How I make sense of it.

Evidence is external orientation.

It doesn’t bend to what I want.

It simply is.

Interpretation is internal orientation.

It bends to me.

To my history.

To my stories.

To my need to be right.

The trouble comes when I confuse the two.

When I mistake my interpretation for evidence.

Or

when I treat evidence like it should match my interpretation.

The paradox is this:

Evidence tells me what happened.

Interpretation tells me why it happened.

I require both.

It’s up to me to keep them in their place.