We are the heroes of the story we tell ourselves.

We succeed, we find love, we battle and struggle for our family and our jobs, we overcome great obstacles and bask in glory, god and the flag because of our inherent goodness and moral purity. We are worthy because we exist and are destined.

Or we fail and we are an antihero. A purveyor of death and destruction but lovable nonetheless. A happy go lucky rogue who’s misunderstood, who had a bad childhood, who just had some bad luck man and now the universe is testing us, burning us in a crucible to sear away the husk of the mere mortal leaving us with nothing but the godlike immortal to shine through the eons.

We are the story we like to tell ourselves.What you believe you become. Who you are is what you believe. There are no firm grounded realities.

The more you ponder this the more the realities of others seem possible, seem real too. The more meaningless the universe becomes.

The stories we tell ourselves are the realities we create that explain the universe as a story in which we are the heroes. History belongs to the victor. Defeat belongs to the antihero.

Wars rage and bodies fall. Each one dreams the dream of the striving protagonist coursing through events in the movie hoping in the third act that they will do something glorious.