The quiet life story

There is a story that we quietly tell each other about life.
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A child is born and wonder is it’s world.
The child grows in a family, the family is fun and tough and teaches the child what it doesn’t know it needs, later it will be grateful. The child gets their first hair cut.*
The child becomes a teenager and then later changes back into a person.
The person has a great/terrible time trying to work out who they are, what kind of hair they want and what to do about their life. Then they work it out, at some point.
There is a meeting, now there are two people, they decide to head on through life together, this is a great part of the story we tell about ourselves.
There might be a house, or a van, or lots of adventures, in all cases the people decide together what they are going to do, there is pride.
Now some kids come into the story, or not, maybe a chicken-run instead, maybe just a new haircut.
Work, work, work. It’s part of the story.
Later there is less work and more fishing.
Then children grow up, people slow down, and the whole story winds itself into a golden haze of satisfaction.
The story ends, the child grew old, they had a full life, got their haircut, laughed and also suffered, they die.


This is a version of the story we tell, the story we expect for ourselves. It feels like a story that maybe  happens sometimes. Maybe.


The issue is when life diverges from the story that we tell. This divergence can be hard, or maybe great, but often hard. If you’re walking around feeling that on some deep level you’ll live the story then you don’t, the injustice can be confronting. I don’t know what the solution is. Perhaps gratitude for the events that do happen, rather than disappointment around the events that don’t happen is a strong way to go about it.

Maybe I’m just happy with my haircut.

*Hasn't happened for my 5 year old yet.