Every myth starts with a kernel of truth. That’s the seed. We gather facts, line them up into a story, and pass that story along. And every time it’s told, it shifts a little. Facts blur, intentions twist, and somewhere along the way, the story is no longer a collection of facts.

It’s become a myth.

A myth about a founder with a vision so grand it could change the world. A myth about a tech prophet who glimpses patterns that mere mortals can’t fathom. A myth of destiny, of genius beyond comprehension. We build these myths deliberately, carefully—because myths are easier to follow than messy, complicated truth. They rhyme. They make sense. The Elizabeth Holmes myth, after all, was a perfect echo of the Steve Jobs myth. Too perfect.

But if you want to understand, you’ve got to dig deeper. Look past the polished story, past the poetic symmetry. Find the facts that got stretched too thin. Find the truths that lie just beneath the surface. Seek out the signs of embellishment.

Myths are everywhere, but truth is rare, and it’s worth infinitely more. It’s from the truth that we’ll learn something real, something useful.

Kill the myth. Keep the truth.