I’m not sure if it’s because I read a lot as a child or that my parents told me tales to make me fall asleep (I was a night owl even then), but I’ve realized that I view life as something that unfolds in front of me like a story. This realization was closely followed by a more startling thought: other people view life in very different ways. Some as a series of tasks to be performed in the same order every day, and some as a game of chess to be figured out. There must be many more, but they’re hard to spot and even harder to capture in pithy metaphors.
I suppose it’s not much of an epiphany in the grand scheme of things, but it shifted my perspective. What people refer to as faith, in a god or the universe or science, I’ve just been believing in as a plot that’s already been mapped out and edited. Hopefully by a prestigious publishing house. To me, the world may have confusing elements, but an unseen writer will eventually pull the disparate threads together into a satisfying conclusion.
It’s always startling to take a step back and view your own basic beliefs at an objective distance. I really have no idea how to apply this new knowledge of myself yet. The question comes to mind that if I believe a writer is in charge, and I strive to become the best writer I can be, do I have the nerdiest manifestation of a god complex ever? Or perhaps it’s the same as some religions teach, to lead life as a journey to finding god within yourself.
Either way, I’m gonna feel a little better about pouring myself a glass of wine as a nightcap. It’s almost like taking communion.