grabbing peter pan by the toenails

and sewing on his shadow

What the hell is going on here, I thought to myself. Where the hell did this guy come from him. I thought I did cool shit, This dude’s incredible.

I met him not long after moving home. A grandfather in his 50’s, he was powerful, athletic. And the stories he had? They knocked my socks off. Racing cars, racing boats / hydrofoils and all sorts of other massively cool adventures rolled off his tongue. One after another, he held the room with tales of his adventures. I was impressed. I also felt… sad?

Right? What’s to be sad about? Then I realized a silly little vain truth. He was the most interesting, adventurous, weirdest person in the room. Likely one of the most compelling people I’ve met. And I felt sad that it wasn’t me. It seems I had grown a bit fond of myself and the grand adventure I imagine my life to be.

I was sad because the story I had about myself, that I didn’t even realize that I had, didn’t match up with reality.

Lemmie back that up a bit.

I did not realize that I had a stor…