Tuesday, April 23, 2013


Every person on this planet is a living being with their own lives and problems and loves and laughs. Sometimes that realization hits me hard, but it really shouldn't.

It's as if 95% of my life, it's my story. All the people around me are extras in this play, where I am the star, and my ending will send everyone home discussing what they liked and didn't. They'll complain about the soundtrack for my angst filled teenage years, but praise how I matured in college. And that's the end. 

But then there are times where I realize that I'm just an extra in everyone else's play. 

This realization hits me the most at funerals. I'm filled with anger when I'm driving in the funeral procession and everyone else on the planet is just going on with their lives. Don't they know that someone great has passed on? Shouldn't they at least have The Cure or The Smith's playing from their car? 

But then it hits me. While I might be agonizing over the loss of someone important to me, they are thinking about what they want to order from Taco Bell for lunch. They're worried that they might not be able to pick the kids up from daycare on time or that their gas light is on and they need to fill up the tank.