I forget how much I love listening to books while I make my daily rides. Just getting lost in the stories. Its amazing.
A good narrative is an amazing thing. Its able to draw you out of yourself, allows you to experience things otherwise impossible, and teaches you something about the world and yourself.
I read a lot, too. Its something I've always done. And I think on the whole it is a good thing. But what if you are the type of person who is never quite satisfied with what you have? What if you wish your life were more like the lives you find in the books you read? What if you found it hard to distinguish reality from the narrative that you want to be true for yourself? How would that affect your life and the lives those you love?
I ask because I've found myself wondering just how other's view the world in relation to themselves. Case in point. I am nearing 40. But the mental image I have of myself still has me at 18. In my head I am still young, skinny, and invincibly stupid. I don't at all feel like an adult, even with the mortgage and the kids and the career. I don't feel like I should be just as close to death as to birth, nor do I feel like I've done most of the things that I promised my 18 year old self that I would do.
I don't think I'm coming up to a mid life crisis or anything. I've felt this for a long time. I've often thought it would be interesting to ask my father about this, about whether he feels like he's got his shit together, because in my eyes he always seemed to know just what he was doing and what was important to get worked up over and what to leave be. But maybe that was just hiding his own sense of 'what the hell am I doing here? Where's the instruction manual?'
So maybe this is a common thing, this feeling of not knowing what one should do, this feeling of not being grown up, this feeling of being completely bat-shit lost in the world. Maybe some just fake it better than others, or maybe some are just able to keep the storyline they want their lives to follow a bit more true to the life they are living?
All I know is that these are the types of questions that sometimes vex me as I peddle from here to there, feeling both as free as a child over summer vacation and as confused about my place in the world as anyone who has ever lived.