the stories we tell ourselves

we all tell ourselves stories about ourselves; we invent our reality even as we live it. some of us tell more outlandish tales, but it is predominantly the mundane ones, the simple narratives that are the entirety of a human life story: the simplicity of boy meets girl and a house and some kids and a dog might be the whole thing, and any likely stray need venture past to find the story realized. and some with more discerning eyes, seem to detect that variation in how much people want us for ourselves, or simply to fill space in their own stories. and then what happens to the reality in which we cast ourselves? we can only choose to accept the role we have been offered, or bow out and follow our own invention, and see where it will lead. choosing not to collaborate, and recognizing a story you are telling yourself has no happy denouement does not seem to diminish its sway -- one can only hope for a late variation on the theme you have chosen, or a surprise ending.