I look at life like a book or movie. I’m the main character of my book, and there’s a plot built around me. I’ve always believed I was one particular archetype character, but now I think I was wrong.
I think I’m so smart. I’m not. One of my greatest personal challenges is to accept that I am human and make mistakes, but to also realize when I’m doing something that I will later regret–and then stop doing it. But, what if I am enjoying myself at the time? That ice cream tastes good! The booze feels nice! Those jokes were funny. right?
After I read “The Devil Wears Prada” I started a post about the book and how I compare to the main character. I saw myself (only thinner and with more uncomfortable clothes) in that book–and a lot of it was skewed–as a young woman just beginning a career, you have to adjust your life to the new demands, timelines, and expectations (just as you do when you enter high school or college.) Prada is an extreme example. So, I’m not the Andie character.
I’m not the heroine. I’m not the femme fatale. I’m not the spinster–or am I?
In my mind, I see my book. I see my movie. At least some of it. I could sit here and outline–i’d have to flesh out all the details like how I met my husband, etc etc, but I could. I could write 80 variations. But then I come back around to, “am I the character I think I am?”
My character lacks discipline. She knows what she wants and of what she is capable. She just doesn’t hold herself to her goals and standards. Thus, she does not achieve that which she seeks to attain. Because she’s not trying.
I only like the last paragraph of this post.