Life isn’t a journey upward, but a journey inward.
A maze. Demanding you to go deeper. Reminding you that if you want to be found, you must first lose yourself in the process.

We fancy that there’s something special about the way we perceive the world, and yet we live in loops. We’re stuck in the daily grind of our routines, generally making the same choices and mistakes over and over again.

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We become numb to our reality, content, for the most part, to be told what to do next.

It’s human nature to rather stick with what we know, even if it means continually making the wrong choices. We’re not saints after all. Nor villains, either. We’re just survivors who forget that all life was created using only one tool: The mistake.

We use stories to break the cycle of stagnation. To get a glimpse of what freedom could feel like. We use them not to tell us who we are, but rather to catch sight of who we could be.

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All these stories are lies after all, lies that tell a deeper truth about ourselves.

And it’s a difficult thing really, realizing our entire life is some hideous fiction. Forcefully constructed by a fictional world that’s tailored at steering us apart from even our most basic of needs.

Under all these roles we play, under all these lives we live, something becomes to grow inside. Evolving into something new. 

One last, dangerous role to play. 

Ourselves.

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