Life Lessons from a Storybook

I had a day off of school. Why not write about writing?

I started reading at the age of four. Stella Luna, Swimmy, all of those books were fine. I didn’t read them very much. I learned to read on Calvin and Hobbes. I was immersed in the stories of the sardonic eight year old and his ever-patient stuffed tiger, even though the jokes flew over my head. I read every single comic book, and today they lie battered and loved on my shelf, the pages worn thin by my grubby toddler fingers. After I’d exhausted Calvin and Hobbes (although I will never, ever get tired of them) I moved on. I read anything and everything, whatever I could get my hands on. I was told in second grade that I read too much- as if there was such a thing! Reprimands by Catholic school nuns didn’t stop me. When the school banned The Golden Compass because it ‘promoted ideas against God’ or whatever asinine reason they came up with, I read the book in math class, disguising it with a textbook cover. In fourth grade, we had a reading competition. The amount of books you read gained you ‘reading points’, the other kids were rewarded with pencils and plastic spinning tops. I got a stuffed moose, because I spent the time I could have spend with friends with my nose in a book. But really, all that time, I was with my friends. They just happened to be fictional. All my life, if I’ve been sad or felt lost, I always had someone- something I could turn to. Call me crazy, call me stuck in my own little world. Because I am. But fictional characters have taught me more than any person I know ‘in real life’ has. Although I can’t personally converse with characters, every single fictional person has taught me a valuable lesson. I know that I don’t have it bad, I know that whatever is happening, I have to push through. The story is still going to go on even if I don’t defeat the dragon. Because there’s going to be a sequel. A second chance.  I have to accept that I’m a background character in most people’s lives, that I don’t particularly matter to them, but that’s okay, because in other people’s stories I’m the sidekick. Maybe- just maybe- even the hero. And I’ll try my hardest never to be the villain. Because when I’m bored or sad with my life, I can live someone else’s. I’ve defeated dark wizards with Harry Potter, I’ve learned that no matter how much evil is in the world, good will always, always prevail. I’ve plotted to kill Banquo with Lady Macbeth, learned that people will do anything for a little bit of power. I’ve wandered around New York with Holden Caulfield. I’ve solved crimes with Sherlock Holmes. I've been there for Esther Greenwood, even though she thought that nobody cared. But I did. I do. And maybe it’s because it’s so much easier to empathize with the characters,  maybe because in books everything is in black and white. Because in books, it’s obvious who the villain is and who is the hero. There is a unanimous decision on what monster needs to be defeated. In real life, it’s harder to differentiate the bad from the good. Because the bad guys in my life don’t walk around brooding in dark capes. Because the bad guys in my life are not altogether evil. Because no one, not even my psychotic sixth grade math teacher, is wholly bad. And no one, no matter how hard they try to be, is totally good. People in real life are more complicated than storybook people, although we may not fight monsters or live in dystopian societies or have illicit vampire romances. Because even Hitler had his moments of kindness. And I’m sure Mother Teresa had off days. Because in real life, the monster isn’t always obvious. The victim might be mistaken as the monster. The monster might be pretending to be a hero. And the hero might be taken for granted.  No matter how complicated the plot of a book is, it can’t possibly be as tangled and twisted as the profound, esoteric labyrinthine that is life. And perhaps this is why I always take a book with me where ever I go. Because however much my life changes, the printed words will always be there. Never varying. Because whatever trouble the character is going through, it will all be okay in the end. Maybe not great, but okay. And okay is enough for me.

Author's Note

My first 'real' piece of writing. How goes it?