telling yourself a story

do people grow into themselves?

No seriously, I'm not trying to make a flower-analogi here in order to say something about how people grow and become better people, its not about better or worse, its about fate.

in a an overnatural, religious, spiritual way I'm rather doubtful that fate even exist. In the sense that we are destined for something, somewhere or even someone. Its so often an excuse or an explanation that, to me, only scrathes the surface. fate is somehow a responsibilty defier defice: "I can not help being who I am/doing what I do, its fate, I'm destined to be here, do this".

And then theres the boarderline coinsedence/fate incidences. "Wow, we met right here right now when I was thinking of you." "You called the second I thought I¨d call you". "It must be love at first sight, fate brought us together". How can anyone really say that the experience of something so spiritual or emotional is really just a coninsedence? When it feels more like the universe has taken over and guided you or showed you what you need, who you are.

But these are all things we can discuss and maybe never agree on, or maybe never feel the same about. Its all about the intensity of the experience I guess, and the framework you put it into, what you believe in... But one thing I've felt rather intensly lataly. Maybe its just growing up, I don't know, but my friends are turning into certain versions of themselves. I swear now, in the enlightend vision of hindsight, that I could have said all those years ago that off course that is how they would turn out. Its so obvious somehow, or is it just me? The caring personality traits of one friend turned her into a mother at an early stage. The restless, witty trait of another friend, turned her into a comedian without a job. The self-critical academic mind of a third friend, turned her into an ambisious, never-really-satisfies researcher. I look around myself and I look at these people that turned their lives into an expression of who they told themselves they were and i'm amazed. Is it fate, or is it just as simple as the theory of the narrative says. (shooo I could not find a good website explaining the theory.. Sorry... But if you do, let me know)

We all tell ourselves and others stories of ourselves (and others). We can distort our stories, lie and tell half truths. To a certain extent i guess we all lie. Or maybe we're just blind to ourselves? Cause looking at all my friens, thinkink "doh, off course thats who they should be", I, at the same time, cannot for the life of me understand how anyone can think the same of me. To me, I'm complex and living with opposites, torn between so many choices ant wants, that a straight line seems almost like a contradiction to who I am. And yet I know, I tell stories about me to, and maybe my story, my red line in life is my own desire to be complex. And therefor, I am simpe...

My friends took a side of themself, watered it, let it grow, and flowered. They are more happy, I see that easily. They are content with having left adolenscence behind, and the consant strive for the red line in their story. However, we loose something as we content ourself with the one story. We loose the willingness to explore the infinite possiblities of who we can be. I believe its a choice. If we stick with one story we might be contnent, even happy. Thats why Ibsen said: Take the lifelie away from a person, you take away his life as well. Or we can stick with trying to develop our story all the time. I believe it leads to frustration, to confusion. I believe artist, ideologists, visionaries struggle to develop the story but end up being discontent because the only truth is the one you tell yourself and believe it. I believe the great thinkings that suffered, did not do it for one idea, even if it might seem so, I think they suffered in order to dissolve, change and alter ideas. They might be in the search of truth, but (if we follow narrative therory), it does not exist outside oneself, and you're therefore bound to enter into a war you'll loose. But doing anything else is mediocrity. Its what we call a mediocre life.

I've had these thought for a while. i do not know if they explain themselves on paper as I want them to do, but feel ovwewhelmed at the idea of not expressing them. I'm a searcher for stories, and one the the ultimate story will dawn on me or occur to me. I know. And then you'll all hear it. And the world will be different. I know. :-)