As the year winds down I’m artificially encouraged to summarize the past 12 months. That feels like summarizing every movie at a theater with one sentence. A horrific comedy of fantastic scenarios spread across space and time.

Ever since my non-new-year resolution to embrace change I feel less like a protagonist in my own one-dimensional story and more like a special guest star in various other tales. Sure, my story is still happening. I just feel like it’s best to let it simmer on low for a few while I go explore what existence means through the eyes of others.

From time to time, I’ll come back and add to my crock pot of identity. I’ll let other people get a taste to see if I’m ready. Once the gumbo I’ve used to recognize myself nears perfection, I can serve a feast for everyone to read and enjoy. I yearn for a time when I can sit across from a friend still prodding bits of my story with a toothpick, my personality on their breath.