It was bad enough to realise that your life is a work of fiction. But it was truly awful to realise that the author is 12.
That’s your first thought anyway. You watch the world bloom around you in short bursts and think that you’re fucked. You think that there’s no way that you’re going to be able to live the sort of life you always imagined for yourself. You think that this is all that there will ever be in your world; a decent setting, unsettling exclamations, and so many plot holes that you’ve been to a psychiatrist twice to get checked for memory problems. You think your life is going to be inconsistent, sloppy and incomprehensible.
You’re wrong.
After a year, you notice that there are more people in your life. Your job isn’t solely populated by your boss, the secretary and the janitor who killed your best friend five years ago (which you can’t remember). Now there’s a woman named Mary-lee in the cubicle next to yours and a man named Gonzalez who works in a whole other department. Your company only had one department last year. Now it’s got two.
You stop shouting quite so much and you stop feeling the need to smirk every time you see someone making a fool of themselves. Your words are more reasoned now, more natural, and you find your conversations lasting longer with your new coworkers and neighbors. Your city grows, suburbs springing up overnight. The trees start losing their leaves in the fall and it’s not always night time when bad news arrives.
Your eyes aren’t orbs anymore, they’re just eyes.
When you run into your estranged brother in the hall of your apartment building, you wait for the ridiculous explanation for why he’d move in with you. Maybe every other house in the city is full? Maybe he didn’t know you lived there? Maybe it just “be like that sometimes?”
Turns out he’s not moving in. The woman he’s dating lives two doors down and he’s just as surprised as you. Small world.
Yes, it’s a bit contrived. Yes, it’s a little out of the blue. But, you realize, that’s how stories go. Sometimes they’re out of the blue. Making the out of the blue seem normal? That’s the mark of a true storyteller.
They’re getting better, you realize, watching your brother walk away. A lot better.
They’ve been writing your life everyday. You don’t know why you didn’t think about that. Of course they’re getting better. Through plot struggles and unpleasant writer’s block, they’ve stuck with you and your story.
Through everything, every shred of doubt, every shiny new idea, every criticism, they’ve stuck with you. They’ve worked hard to build your life around you. They’ve put in the time to get better, to give you better dialogue and a brilliant place to live and an exciting life.
They’ve grown for you.
Thank the author that you were lucky enough to grow with them.
You know what’s scary about this age? You can’t even enjoy your down time. You’re socially convinced that every moment you’re spending not doing anything is wasted time. That you always should be working towards something. We forget that it’s okay to have a breather and simply take time to yourself.
You have no idea how much I needed to see this. Thank you.
