ISOLATION

It’s currently 1:37 am.

At the time of writing this I should probably be asleep. The slight pain at the back of my head is telling me I should definitely be asleep. But there’s something keeping me awake.

I think within every single person on planet Earth there is a story. It may not necessarily be a very interesting story, but a story none the less. It could be a story of pain, or joy, or hatred, or love, or really a combination of all of them.

While we all spend our lives aimlessly and desperately trying to go through the motions in search of some greater purpose, I like to wonder what these stories might be. Who are the players, what challenges lie ahead for them, and how will it end.

It’s always been human nature to assume that we are the main character in our own story, and that stories are generally more compelling when we can see a reflection of ourselves in the protagonist. If we empathise, we understand. That’s typically the key to successful character writing. Everyone wants to see themselves in the stories they consume — that way, when the hero comes out on top, we come out on top.

But sometimes I think it can be hard to seperate our own lives from the stories.

I think that sometimes we can become so invested in the stories, that we lose something of ourselves; and to an extent, we might adopt qualities of others in place of what we lost.

Over the years as we digest more and more content, it can be hard to remember that our own stories are not what they may first appear. Often times, they are not just our stories, but a collection of all we have consumed. We as humans like to pretend we are in complete control of our realities, when this simply isn’t the case. We are a shared experience. A story so intrinsically connected to countless others, that sometimes feeling detached from others can seem a blessing or a curse.

The very idea of being alive implies a connection to other beings around us. We share our entire existence with billions of others, but still have the audacity to consider our lives our own.

We live, and grow, and change.

We discover things about ourselves through others, and sometimes one single interaction or event can change a persons entire worldview. But the weird thing is half the time we don’t even notice.

We don’t see these changes in ourselves, but we look back on our younger selves with a glance of embarrassment or nostalgia. When you see how much you’ve changed, and how much you’ve grown, it’s almost incomprehensible.

But it’s true, and it’s real.

No one person can be truly isolated in this world. Not forever. And I think if someone did manage to live like that, well it would be very boring.

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