Kaz,

When I read and sat with your story, I was reminded of a story.

Once there was a young boy who had a magical book. Whenever he encountered discomfort, he could open this book and write scientific dissertation on the nature of the experience. Over time, he became very dependant on using this book, and it became filled with many, many stories. The book got heavy.

However, he found out that he could open the book and pull out stories from it anytime, and people seemed to enjoy the book. So he became confident in the nature of the book. But always, when engaging with others, he placed the book between himself and the other, a distance, holding them at arms length. Now, this wasn’t just a foolish move, there was a sense of protection to the action. However, the boy also felt alone, unloved, unseen, unheard. He was more of a book salesman, believing in the book, but not in himself.

Most people didn’t notice. At the surface, the book looked like a person, acted like a person, had a smiley face on the cover and everything. But the boy wasn’t happy. Knew something was wrong. But also didn’t know what to do about it, kept looking in the book for answers, some secret story, some data gone overlooked that lead him to such a place.

But some people noticed. One person, standing from across the room, noticed he was a very charming book salesman, but in looking past the book and onto the boy, that the boy was very sad and lonely. He went up to the boy, told him a story about a magical book, gave him a hug, and told him he could set the book down, surrendering it, and just talk. That’s when the boy would be able to escape the certainty of a book already written.

With warmth,
Matt