Generally speaking, I have a lot to say.

Too much at times, according to some folks.

Although not so much of late.

When you have a lot to say, especially if you're going to say it on social media, you have to develop pretty thick skin.

People are opinionated.

And sensitive!

And since people are particularly opinionated and sensitive online, I've managed to offend a few over the years.

That, of course, has never been my intent.

Aside from a stretch where I found myself [regrettably] caught up in the national political debate, I've shied away from political, religious, or otherwise controversial writing and focused my ramblings on the lessons I'm learning as I pass through this life.

The ups and the downs.

The wins and the losses.

The good ideas and the bad ideas.

Sometimes exciting, sometimes mundane, and always with the hope that what I share will help or inspire someone.

But, from time to time, something I share is misunderstood.

Though unintentionally, I have offended people.

I remember the day I was driving to the beach several years ago. At the time, I was publishing a printed newsletter in which I'd included some particular photos in a recent edition. The nature of the images was such that I'd requested permission from a friend to publish them.

We'd had an agreement that it was OK.

Or so I thought.

But the anger in my friend's voice when I got the call made it clear that we did not have such an agreement. Instead, we had a misunderstanding.

And I was mortified.

So much so that, for a time, I stopped writing.

I'd learned by that point that stories are powerful. I was several years into the newsletter and had gotten numerous emails, phone calls, and even personal visits from folks who wanted to thank me for sharing one thing or another.

That was great because writing made me happy and helped me work through my problems. If other folks enjoyed it, even better.

But my experience with those photos showed me that stories also have the power to hurt.

This past summer, I found myself in a situation where much of my writing wasn't coming across as intended for a particular person.

Although for many, it seemed to be hitting the mark, for at least one, it was not, and they were not shy about letting me and others know.

They were offended.

And although I'd accepted the fact that not everyone would be happy about or even enjoy what I write, I was upset by this instance.

So I put down the pen.

I stewed over it.

I let it really bother me.

Looking back, it may have even been the trigger for my recent bout with depression.

Fast forward to last week when a contractor I'd not seen in nearly a year showed up at my house to work on the current phase of our renovation.

I barely recognized him.

"Hey dude, how are you doi. . .HOLY SHIT, you've lost a lot of weight!"

He looked like a different person.

"Yeah," he said, "I've been working on it."

"I see that. Hell, you can't miss it! How much weight have you shed?"

He'd lost nearly 100 pounds.

And his wife, apparently, is not far behind.

"I was wondering if you'd notice," he said.

"How could I not?" I said.

He laughed.

And then he said, "To tell you the truth, man, you inspired me."

At that moment, I remembered everything I'd ever written about health and fitness. I remembered the goofy videos of me trying to do pull-ups. I remembered the Family Burpee series. I remembered the bean diet, the trampoline pants rip, the Spartan Races, and my struggle with Hardee's pork chop biscuit.

I remembered it all.

And I remembered why I like to write.

And I know even as I write this, somebody will misinterpret the very point I'm making.

Someone will say this is a story about me helping someone else lose 100 pounds.

It is not.

Not at all.

This story is about you and your stories. It's a challenge for you to tell those stories, to share them with the folks around you.

Share your wins.

Share your losses.

Share it all!

Because when it comes down to it, our stories matter.

You may not believe this, but somebody needs to hear your story.

Tell it!

Who cares if someone doesn't understand?

Who cares if someone is offended?

They'll get over it.

I'm writing this from an airplane to Arizona, where I'm attending a conference that, coincidentally, is organized by the person who taught me to tell my stories.

In the airport, I spotted the new Elon Musk biography.

It begins with a quote from his Saturday Night Live appearance.

"To anyone I've offended, I just want to say I reinvented electric cars, and I'm sending people to Mars in a rocket ship. Did you think I was going to be a chill, normal dude?"

You and I may never achieve anything near what Elon Musk has achieved, but our stories still matter.

They are important and, better yet, infinitely more relatable.

So tell yours.

And if someone doesn't like it or is offended, well, who really gives a damn?