In movies they make this look easier.

The spider bite that changes the hero’s life, or the look of betrayal in the eyes of a once innocent soul that finally shapes them into the villain that builds the rest of the story. That sudden change in music or the montage of sudden flashbacks that highlight the moment their lives begin.

Instead it’s Wednesday night at 9 o’clock. I got fired from my waitressing job for yelling at the owner just a couple of days ago, right when I had decided I wasn’t going to kill myself because the least I can show for enduring a heavy depression for the past month, or life, is that I liked my job. Twenty four years in the making and the best I could come up with is this blog. There was no Five For Fighting song playing, no grand gesture that signaled the beginning (or end) of a new journey. There wasn’t a sudden gap in my plot where we find that my hair has been cut short to show the essence of time passing (if anything, in a comedic turn of events that is constantly my life, my impossibly curly hair has decided that the years didn’t matter and it would be staying at the exact length it has been for however long it pleased, thank you very much), and there had not been a heinous murder that suddenly shaped all of my life’s sorrows into the seemingly obvious choice of avenging so-and-so’s death.

Somehow I still feel the camera zoom out as I type away my last farewell to the Writer’s Block that so furiously worked to build a dam that could contain all of my words, all of my thoughts. The Dave Matthews band isn’t playing into the sunset, but rather the house is filled with the sounds of my wife trying her best on our electric guitar, and maybe the credits don’t need to be rolling right now because none of it is over, and beginning is only the first inch of a journey worth seeing all the way through.

Maybe life isn’t spectacular like in the movies, maybe it isn’t always worth living.

Until you start to live a life that is.