Like a cat, I have seemed to live nine lives.
Time and time again, I have found myself running- running from what others thought of me, running from what I thought of myself, and running from who I was afraid I may may become.
It took a decade of running to discover I was exactly who I needed to be all along.
From moving to San Francisco in 2008 to living in Boston ten years later, I realized I brought myself with me everywhere I went. No “geographic cure” could be the remedy, nor could “recreating” myself change who I was on the inside.
I may have fallen nine times, but I’ve always managed to land on my feet- and today, I’m grateful to sit still.
I’ve had a vivid imagination for as long as I can remember. From the detailed characters I created into illustrated story books at age 7 to the imaginary friends who were invited to my grandparent’s house for dinner, I’ve never had a lack of creativity in my life.
That’s even bled into my adulthood, too- I relentlessly see the good in people, create storylines for situations, predict how entire time period will turn out- from friendships to jobs- and sometimes even dream entire relationships in my head.
Well, that would only be if the other party hadn’t fooled me into believing those stories.
Nevertheless, it’s been interesting how the element of storytelling and fantasy has played a role in my adult life. I’ve dramatized situations, looked fondly at people based on the hope I had for the person they were, and have created negative situations out of nowhere. My intuition has always played a role in this storytelling, however, the people in my real-life have also become interesting characters. There comes a day when you stop seeing life as purely a fairy tale, but one big series. A whole collection of experiences, dramas, comedies, and tragedies.
Perhaps you can separate fantasy from real life.
Maybe it’s time to just start writing a new story.