main character syndrome
on romanticizing my life, a bit of delusion, and the chaos of being alive!
“If I were a girl in a book, this would all be so easy.”
— Jo March in Little Women (2019)
Real life is a tough pill to swallow, and a bitter one at that. I personally can only stomach so many encouraging clichés and begrudging idioms of acceptance said in an attempt to get me out of bed and perform my everyday tasks and responsibilities. And that’s coming from someone who’s kind of a sucker for clichés and a good idiom. I don’t mean all this to say that I am generally unmotivated—I would actually consider myself a very driven person, sometimes maybe too ambitious and overshooting my abilities. But sometimes, life can just become so inherently boring, especially when you take it for face value.
I grew up in a town with a moderate population, but still small enough that most people knew each other, and for there to be absolutely nothing to do for enjoyment besides going out to eat or going shopping. My point is: there was (and is) never anything “fun” to do that didn’t involve spending money. I spent a lot of my childhood and adolescence in third places like church, community centers, the library, and at parks, but there was only so much entertainment I could glean from plainly accepting these experiences for what they were. I craved escape. And from a young age, I was able to provide that for myself without physically changing a single thing about my circumstances. I’m unable to pinpoint the exact moment it started, but I began to romanticize my life. My imagination has always been extremely vivid, so this whole shift in thinking did wonders for my boredom in situations I would otherwise be fidgety and frustrated in.
I think on some level, I’ve always romanticized my life in an effort to make things more interesting. I can remember being as young as five or six, imagining there were cameras installed in various locations around my house and that my life was actually a really popular reality show. Whenever I’d have a really funny interaction with one of my family members I’d make pretend-eye-contact with the pretend-cameras and mouth, Did you guys get that? And whenever I got in trouble or did something my younger self deemed too embarrassing to be aired on television, I’d glance back at the pretend-producers and pretend-camera crew, bringing a flattened palm up to my neck and gesturing back and forth, as a signal to cut the pretend-cameras. This will either come across as endearing and adorable, or simply provide evidence that I’ve been delusional my entire life.
I’ve mentioned this before in another essay, but my childhood was generally lacking in the serious issues and trauma department—something I am very grateful to my parents for, because obviously, every parent should strive toward making their child’s life as trauma-free as possible. I am definitely not completely spotless—I don’t come without my own baggage; I don’t think anyone truly does. But just because nothing that damaging happened to me growing up, it doesn’t also automatically mean everything was sunshine and rainbows, and that I was shielded from any and all trouble. As I grew into a teenage girl, most days were too mundane to handle. I gradually grew out of the idea that my life was a reality show, but instead started to imagine my life was a coming-of-age film.
Of course, I didn’t truly believe that my life was a movie. I’m delusional, yes, but not that delusional. But, derangement aside, I did begin to see life through a more cinematic lens, considering any hardships or drama I experienced as incidents that moved the story forward. I figured that, despite being excruciatingly deflating to go through, negative experiences and depressive episodes were okay, because it just meant that we were probably just in the third act, where the main character is at a low point but would eventually have to resolve this sadness at some point later in the film. I have always been a glass half-full person and too sanguine for my own good, so even when I was in the trenches, and when circumstances seemed bleaker than ever, I still knew that it couldn’t possibly end that way. That’s just not good filmmaking.
Always an English major at my very core, ever since I was a little kid, I’ve been a sucker for a good story. I think that’s why I tend to view my mistakes and any bumps in the road throughout life as events that add to the plot. I like to think that if my life were a TV show, the more things that happen to me—all the mishaps, mayhem, and embarrassing moments, alongside the good, happy, and exciting—the more interesting it would be, and the more folks would be invested in watching.
After all, what’s a good story without a few plot twists and cliffhangers? Every protagonist needs obstacles to overcome; challenges that force them to grow and change. In the grand scheme of my life’s narrative, even the most mortifying missteps and heartbreaking setbacks serve a purpose. I see them as the dramatic moments that keep the audience on the edge of their seats, rooting for me to come to my senses in the end. I have always thought that life without any conflict or adversity would make for a pretty dull storyline. As much as I might outwardly complain and wish for moments of peace and quiet, I know deep down that it’s the unexpected detours that make life worth living. I call it character development.
That mindset is closer to where I still find myself today, but not quite in the same way as when I was a hopeful and naïve teenager. Now, in my twenties, I still romanticize my life on the daily (exhibit A: earlier today, a guy opened the door for me and upon realizing he wasn’t terrible-looking, I imagined a life together in a montage that lasted about ten seconds), but it’s evolved from imagining myself as the protagonist in a coming-of-age film to considering my journey as a narrative. A bildungsroman of sorts, full of the unexpected, lessons to learn, and sometimes, more often than not, mundanity—but I think there is beauty to be found in all of these things.
I like to imagine that with each new chapter, new adventures await, with new characters to enter the overarching plotline. Maybe it’s a defense mechanism. Maybe it’s a way to cope with the trials and tribulations of adulthood. Maybe it’s just for fun; to make things more interesting. But a little whimsy never hurt anybody, and framing my existence through the lens of a narrative fills even the most bland days with a bit of magic and meaning. Plus, I actually believe that each of our lives follow a narrative that begins the second we’re born, anyway. I just choose to look at it from a more imaginative perspective; one that makes the most sense in my head.
But as I get older, I have begun to feel like calamity and drama might be drawn to me, like moths to a flame. My childhood might’ve been as peaceful—well, as peaceful as it can get as the oldest kid in a family of six, belonging to an even bigger extended family, thanks to my Filipino roots—but my late adolescence and young adulthood have been nothing short of chaotic and spontaneous, in ways that are both good and bad. Within the last year or so, I’ve started to feel like the chaos and unpredictability finds its way to seep into all my relationships, and like being associated with me is signing up for more than what initially meets the eye. Part of me feels guilty, wondering if I should come with a disclaimer, but another part of me hopes that maybe the people in my life stick around, not in spite of the chaos, but because of it. That they’re here to help me get through whatever disaster I’ve gotten myself into this time, because that’s a purpose I want to serve in their lives, too.
I’d give you my sunshine, give you my best
But the rain is always gonna come
If you’re standing with me
— “peace”, Taylor Swift
Sometimes I find myself wishing I could just fast-forward through the hard parts, but I’ve always reminded myself that every great show has its share of filler episodes and slower seasons—it’s all part of the narrative that makes the story worth telling and the end worth reaching. I try my best to embrace the plot twists, the cliffhangers, and the dramatic irony of it all. Even the most embarrassing or dull of chapters will eventually reveal their importance as I live more of life, and every seemingly random encounter and chance event will somehow weave themselves together. When I look back on my life, I want to be able to view it as a story that is ultimately a testament to the human experience, because I think that’s what the best stories are about, anyway: the messy, complicated, beautiful adventure of being alive, in all its chaotic glory.
I know that this tendency to narrativize my life is a form of escapism, sometimes avoidance. It helps me keep anxiety and existential dread at bay. But overall, I’ve found that a healthy dose of imagination and romanticization brings dimension into an existence that might otherwise feel flat. Crafting my own life story helps me to find the extraordinary in the everyday and uncover the beauty in life at its most ordinary. And maybe it says something about me that I tend to prefer an interesting plot over cold, hard facts.
Maybe it’s the eldest daughter control freak in me that needs to have a handle on my own life, resizing my entire existence into a shape that makes the most sense to me—a narrative—so that it’s more digestible and I can anticipate what comes next, and I can retain my sanity. Or maybe I’m just a chronic daydreamer and more of an escapist than I probably should be. But when all is said and done, life is always going to be confusing and unpredictable, and I won’t be able to prepare myself for everything, but maybe that’s what makes it worth living. How much substance can a story truly contain if we are able to predict how it ends?
I find both comfort and discomfort in the fact that it isn’t possible for me to know what will happen in my life. Comfort because it’s sort of nice to know that it’s not all completely up to me, but also discomfort because a part of me does want to have a larger say in what happens. Sometimes I want to be let into the writers’ room and put in my two cents, but I also don’t want to, because I believe there is some peace to be found in being oblivious. The unexpected parts of life usually turn out to be the best parts; the things you hold most dear. I might not be able to control the way mine plays out, but I can certainly control the way I choose to live it.
And whether I choose to view my life as a pretend-reality show, a coming-of-age film, a television sitcom, or a novel, I know one thing for sure: it’s going to be an interesting one.
Love this post. I've recently realised I've been romanticising my life since I was a child but have never had the words to express it. I think it's helped with my anxiety! have a tendency to get stuck in an endless loop of my own worries so it's nice to put on rose-coloured glasses and have a break from my own mind for a while. Not sure what a trained therapist would say about this as a coping strategy, but it works for me haha! Thank you for these words xx
Oh my god. As an English major and an eldest daughter who loves Taylor Swift, New Girl, and Little Women and who from the ages of 5-12 pretended my life was a sitcom, I don't think I've ever read a Substack post I've related to this much. I've always thought the whole 'pretending my life was a tv show' thing was just a weird, delusional thing I did, but the older I've gotten, the more I've heard of other people doing the same and the more I've realised it's way more common than I thought. I'm still a hardcore daydreamer, and that's something I've always viewed as an unhealthy habit I can't break out of, but the positive tone in which you speak of daydreaming in this post is definitely making me re-think that. This was a great read!