What happens when the narrative ends?
Since you were a kid, you told yourself stories: that your team was cursed, that you struggled with math, that you hated asparagus, that you needed to be polite, that you were the funny kid, that you were a romantic cynic.
And then, one day, the streak is broken. Your team wins. You ace the test. You try aspara bacon. You lose your cool. You stop telling jokes. You have hope – if only for a moment.
What happens then? It’s easiest to continue telling the same story as always. Yesterday was an aberration, an anomaly, the exception that proves the rule.
It’s harder to begin telling a new story: you aren’t the underdog, and from now on math and vegetables and cheesy love are all important to you.
What’s most difficult is to drop the narrative altogether. To stop character-building, to stop using the past to foreshadow the future, to listen to the moment rather than talk over it.