Everybody’s got a story to tell. Given enough time, they might find someone willing to listen. Everybody wants to be his or her own protagonist in the story. They are the traditional first character of their own Greek tragedy. Sometimes with the right skill set, they might even spin a decent tale.

They see themselves as a compelling character rich with development that leads to fulfillment. A story that takes this hero or heroine through life in a way that makes it a little less mundane and boring. At least a little less mundane for just that moment as they tell their story.

These stories only propel people towards fulfillment in times of strife. Fulfillment is not a state in which one can drift slowly towards unless it involves study.

Given enough time, happiness will turn to content. Content in turn will degrade towards dissatisfaction. Dissatisfaction will then crumble into strife. That point of strife is when fulfillment begins. Not necessarily true, but a story played out more than not. Often times, these stories start and end at the same place following the circular nature of life. The person loses the lesson in the process, but gains a story to tell.

During a point of strife, change is welcome and accepted. Some people are an agent of their own destruction and will hurl themselves into strife to “keep things fresh,” or “out of a fear of growing old too quickly.” They will sabotage all they know for a chance at an unknown reward.

People tend to have a natural fear the unknown. People tend to enjoy their routines and their comforts. Why then would people become agent of their own destruction? The answer lies within the fact that some fears are stronger than others are. The fear of the unknown becomes a journey towards fulfillment. The strife becomes penance, and there is a reward at the end. The fear of growing old too quickly leads towards death. There is no reward in “going home.”

Even with the odds stacked against them people will buy a lottery ticket with their last dollar and scratch off to reveal the failure within. They are no better off than before, but at least they gave it a chance.

What of the listener? If everybody has a story to tell, then surely the bard must want to tell it. Those words echo down a dark empty corridor of shut doors and no windows. The corridor is dark except for the candelabra held by the stark figure as he examines the hallway.

These doors have no peepholes, no knockers, and no doorknobs. These doors only open when one unlatches the deadbolt inside. The hinges creak from disuse at the slightest movement. These doors only open when the fear of the unknown is less than the fear they invented within.

Where is the listener? Those words ring louder as the waves bounce off the treated cement blocks. Cement blocks normally absorb sound, but weatherproofing made them impenetrable instead of porous. Who is listening to begin with? One would doubt that there are listeners out there at all. The doors only open when someone has a story to tell. Given enough time, they might find someone willing to listen.

Sincelery,
Leo