A narration of varying perspective is told by our thoughts. In the first-person perspective, we experience life at its highest intensity, seeing ourselves performing actions directly, believing in our responsiblity for each act. In the second-person perspective, a narrator speaks to us from high, often saying accusatory things like “you little piggy, you lazy loaf, you scaredy cat”. In the third-person perspective, our life is narrated from a distance, we see ourselves as an audience member rather than actor, we watch our person doing the things he does.
If we ever feel the strain of first-person intensity, it helps to drop into third-person mode, creating space between the objectionable ongoings of life and ourselves. When we notice the sting of insults from the second-person perspective, we can shut them off, replacing them with more positive pronouncements. And when the boredom of simply watching sets in from the third-person, we can engage deeply in whatever activities we find, dedicating our time to doing.
When we realize life’s fictional nature and recognize the manner in which our story’s told, we gain influence over our life. We become the director/editor, deciding which moments we focus on and from which angle. We determine which musical score underlies each scene, making the seemingly melancholy into something merry. Every moment of life is open to interpretation — and when we realize this power, we gain the control we always wanted but never seemed to have.
Every circumstance in life is just fodder for thought — characters enter and exit, action occurs all around, scenery continuously rolls past. With this realization we experience true joy, we relax — it’s not real, there’s no deadlines, nothing needs to be done — there is no pressure but that which we place upon ourselves. And from this vantage point, we play. We decide what we take seriously and what we laugh at. We engage with life lightheartedly, maintaining the distance we find comfortable, simply enjoying the show.