Story of my life

I love stories. To me there is no greater indulgence than to allow myself the delightment of imagining what is. In our existence we consciously and subconsciously traverse a life of opportunities, making our way through various decisions and experiences. Whether or not we develop an understanding of the forces that influence and unite us as individuals in a society, we are nonetheless subject to their effects. On a daily basis I'd find myself wondering just how someone I meet might've ended up as the person they appear to be. Based on what I see and hear, I try to imagine their story, where they came from, what beliefs they must hold to have driven them to where they are. I might ask questions that seem random, but that to me would yield a necessary piece for further figuring out how the story goes. If I see you socialising in a very engaging and friendly manner, I might ask what your family gatherings are like, how you celebrate birthdays and have family dinners. I'd imagine your story is one started in a very including and encouraging home, where the words of the young are just as important and valued as an adult's. If my story proves false, I'd simply revise and try to tell another story that might fit.

The beauty of stories is found in their endless opportunities. Strictly speaking, the number of true stories I will learn from all the people I meet is minuscule, and so I have figured that I would rather imagine their stories as interesting ones, than accept the likelihood of it being the sad expectability stereotypes would have them be. Although stereotypes sometimes seem like a busy mind's best friend, they will by default abandon the enormous pool of amazement that is opportunities. For that reason especially, I adore those willing and capable of awing me with the creation of a story so unanticipated and delightfully intricate as to make me smile. And for this reason I often find myself lost in a realm of words, ideas and fantasy. A realm of fiction.

To me, a well written story is one I find transferrable. I find a thrill in observing a predicament presented in a unique social climate involving elaborate and nuanced characters, where their specific lives has led them to hold certain beliefs that are equally understandable, yet opposites. A story of conflict always has two sides, and I have always found myself equally interested in both, no matter the parties. I might agree with one over the other, but my mind still engages in imagining the reasons one might support the opposing side. This is especially interesting because most conflicts base themselves on a lack of understanding. Anger is very much a product of confusion. When someone or something doesn't make sense, we often choose to oppose or fight it, when instead we could simply make sense of it. I am not a very angry person, for when confused, I imagine a story. In seeking the validity of my story, I often stumble across knowledge that either enriches or challenges it, either way relieving some of my confusion. In reading fiction novels, I not only entertain my quirky interests, but also invest in my pool of stories. I learn to imagine unorthodox connections, be they social, political, natural or physical. Novels are like a meta-academy for mental preparation serving to make sense of the actual world.

It shouldn't surprise you that my closest friends are likeminded individuals. I feel a natural attraction to characters who express a fondness for stories. In my inner circle I have not a simple bunch of fantasy reading outcasts, but a close group of storytelling imaginationalists. My life is enriched by their thoughts and ideas, for they pertain to it directly. As their imagined stories are explained, so are they interweaved in my understanding of the world. Together we simply try to make sense of it all.

If I could change one thing in this world, I would have people imagine more stories.