Every motivational speaker in the last 70 years (since Joseph Campbell) has said, “be the hero of your own story.”

That’s not the only option. (Or the best option.)

In the story of your life, you can choose any number of characters: the bystander, the villain, the hero, the guide; or you can choose none (and default into some sort of bystander).

Our classics are straightforward:

The bystander, hidden in the background, takes what life gives them
The villain, loud and intrusive, takes whatever they want
The hero, star of the show, is the saviour showered with love and glory
The guide, a hero in their own right, helping others find their path

But all these characters are trapped.

Pick a character—even an awesome one with noble motives and Captain America’s physique—and you relinquish some of the control of the story. You get lost in the expectations of your narrative; swept away with the momentum of the role you think you’re supposed to be playing.

It’s why the hero with good intentions works themselves to death and misses the point of life; why so many heroes become the villain when they don’t look around enough to check if their path is still noble.

The character they played was too one-dimensional.

Why not get out of character? Rise above the story.

Be an author.

Our stories aren’t written in stone. They’re fluid: penned on the surface of a pond with a stick. The story only exists when we give it our attention. The second you stop retracing its outlines, it fades back into a blank canvas.

As an author, you see how fleeting and superfluous the stories are. You see how flexible the world can be. You give yourself infinite opportunities to wipe the slate clean and redefine what a “hero” means to you.

As an author, you’re in control: you define who you are, and you write and rewrite your tale as many times as you need.

It takes a lot to be an author. It takes vigilance and patience to catch and untangle the stories being told unconsciously. And it takes tremendous courage to and faith to write and embrace a new one.

It takes time—time alone with oneself. This intimacy takes more courage than anything else.

And it takes a good chin and a some stick-to-it-ness to get back after setbacks.

Stepping back from the story presents a pitfall: becoming the reader. You see the stories for what they are, but you don’t seize control. You turn back into a bystander, accepting the roles life gives you—knowing you could change it, but succumbing to fear and apathy.

Those pitfall are avoidable. Every author spends some days reading.

And it’s a painful day when you sit back and read. Guilt and shame seep ineach time you don’t stand up and write the most incredible story for your life. You’ll beat yourself up for opportunities not seized. You’ll sometimes think you should embrace a simpler character just to avoid the self-reflection & self-punishment.

Ignorance is bliss—or rather: acceptance is bliss.

Though—as I write this right this moment, I realize that “falling into the reader-pitfall” is just another story. The image of an author as hyper-vigilant, disciplined, and productive is but another role—a narrow view of who I am.

And this superpower of complete control is as made up as Superman’s ice-breath.

Hmm.

I wonder then: is the only role worth playing, “no one.”

Or—put another way: “yourself.”

You’re in charge; and there are no expectations and no way to fail. There’s just authenticity. Choose whatever character you wish each day—knowing that none of them are really real. Whoever you end up being is exactly who you’re supposed to be.

You may not be the hero or the author 24/7. But you’ll always be you, you heroic sunovabitch.