Stories are happening all around us all the time.
They manifest most obviously in how we think about other peoples’ lives. We create meaning from how they dress, their secrets, their status, their manners.
We make up their stories by comparing our observations to the stories we tell ourselves about our life.
These stories, our stories, are the most important part of our life.
They are scenes from a much longer narrative – that is, who we are.
I think for most of us, fundamentally, we are the hero.
We are the valiant protagonist, vanquishing the mundane (or massive) forces of negativity. We struggle against our boss we just don’t get, the jerk at the subway station, the customer who’s rude to us for no reason, the colleague who seems to have an ego issue, the polluters, the entitled, the selfish, and the cynical.
Also, usually, we’re seeking to finally get the love we deserve, our happy moment, the ease of contentment, and the community we crave. Though, sometimes we’re comfortable with solitude. The beauty is in the mélange.
It’s complex. It’s simple. It’s terrifying. It’s amazing. It’s electrifying. It’s “oh my god, I want to die” boring.
There are tons of subplots and plot twists and long chapters that seem to go on forever.
All of it can be so confusing, but there is comfort in one, nearly unnoticeable detail: we are nearly always in absolute control.