I've been thinking about my age lately, having just turned 25. I have never really been all that concerned with time. Having said that, I begin to question my indifferent towards reaching the quarter-century milestone, mostly due to a current preoccupation with a strange cultural notion.
Namely , the seemingly widespread view that, at this age, I am now entering my "second act". How could anyone possibly know that. If anything, my life's lowest point (at least so far) came and went in 2012 - my annus horribilis. Really, how simple-minded to generalise across an entire species on the based on such an arbitrary phenomenon as chronological age.
Besides, life: a three to five act play? With the striking individuality of the human mind coupled with the terrifying depth of the human condition? I say screw that! No, there are far too many stories to experience and to tell!
I feel we are vast libraries of stories collected over a lifetime. Some of my plays have finished, the hero victorious, while others are still ongoing. It is in the image of these triumphant heroes that we model ourselves. Storing them in our memories, like collectable figurines from cereal boxes finished long ago.
Perhaps this is why we watch television and film; to live vicariously through the actions of an on screen protagonist - a paragon. Storing away their actions should we ever face the same challenges or “dramatic complication.”
No, I do not believe we only get to tell one story. And there are innumerable stories within stories. Indeed, little micro-stories are lived and told everyday (consider the dénouement achieved when the teabag is in the bin and the milk is back on the fridge shelf!). And perhaps it is with the thin threads of these ongoing stories that we weave the plot of our greatest story, our magnum opus: our “self.”
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