I’ve been developing a story for the last six years. It’s been a magickal experience for me.
Diffusing my identity into this personal mythology, and allowing it to expand, and my self to expand with it.
For the most part, its been in my head. It has spilled out in a handful of conceptual ways, but nothing really worked out. My life has been a work of art in progress since the story happened to me. I’ve come to call the story The Fortune, and if you are a keen observer, you’ll notice the word ‘fortune‘ is in the name of this website.
This isn’t any sort of expose on the story itself. I’ve already let too much detail slip out of my big mouth over the last several years. This is about how having a story to tell has shaped who I am.
Before the story, I had feelings about life and the world, but no idea’s about them. They were all disconnected desires or thoughts that floated like a lost balloon above a fair. Not grounded or attached to an identity at all.
This story came along, and I felt like I had something to share.
I tried to share it immediately, and I was well received. In fact, the story was a catalyst for a romantic relationship that ensued for a few years. The girl read my concept and she saw through the words into my soul.
I met people at the time that totally understood what I was doing, and encouraged me to follow it. They helped me inflate my ego to a manageable size that would have been healthy enough if I hadn’t wanted more.
The Fortune became bigger and bigger, and it became epic in scale inside my head. Too large, in fact, to work with. In the years between now and the beginning of it, dozens of characters have separated from the homogeneous identity that existed before. The world inside my head became complex, and multi-dimensional.
For the first time in my life I had a metaphor that made sense of the way I was experiencing the world. I was able to explain, through the events and characters, that I had no way of expressing before. This story became a meta-model (I’m not certain if I’m using that term correctly) for reality in the form of mythology.
It drew out of me the latent desires and motivations to create something and express myself in this world.
Why the hell am I talking about this? Because it took a long time to assimilate this model of reality, and all my attempts to express it in the past have come to either an abrupt or subtle end. It’s a process. My emergence from this fantasy world has been a drawn out magickal ritual, that I now have an elevated perspective of.
If you were social media friends with me at one point in this journey, you’ll remember that I used an alias. One of the main characters of the story was so potent for me, that I began identifying with him, in a somewhat unhealthy way. Not that I was going crazy, but I was trying to recede into my fantasy, like a child hiding under his blanky, which I also did when I was young.
There was a point when I accepted that I didn’t need the security blanket anymore. I stopped sucking my thumb, and took on the responsibility of managing my needs and examining my insecurities.
There was a point when I accepted that I didn’t need to hide behind the characters or the story anymore. I stopped pretending it was “real” (I have reservations about using that term, but its convenient) and took on the responsibility of any professional writer. I started writing the story. It took practice, and effort, to overcome the fears of imperfection and failure. The two things are intrinsic in life, but the fear of them is a fiction.
It’s been a journey, and one that I’ve openly shared with other, to my benefit and my detriment. I’ve learned (and still learning) to balance the fantasies of my imagination with the responsibilities of real life.