When it comes to books or movies, we are not always fully invested in the life of an “extra”. As long as the main character survives, or falls in love, or rises to the occasion, we can overlook the detriment to the side-kicks. Yesterday I explored what that might feel like:
“A Story Unseen”
You won’t see me.
I am not the heroine, courageous and strong with a message to save the world, nor the villain who is despised and feared. I neither defend nor attack. I am the superfluous bystander, present but disposable.
I see you fall and hurt, yet rise with determination. Your audience cheers and I am there with you, stage left. I tag along with your story, interesting, but forgettable. You are the star, fighting worthy battles and I, as only an extra, watch on.
You won’t see me.
I fade to black, shifting quietly in the background. It is not my story to tell.
You will find me elsewhere within the pages of another book, authored into a tale where the protagonist becomes me. My heart will find its way into writing, a heart that is not pink nor red, nor black nor white. In truth, my heart is grey, worn into shades that blur the rigid lines of love and hate. Of loyalty and scorn. Of truth and lies and all that must be seemingly so defined.
But I digress.
Today I am an extra, a muffled voice while the heroine shines, no longer a shadow in the sun.
I step back. I bow off stage, quiet and subtle. Until my story calls…
You will not see me here.
This piece is deeply personal to me. I grappled yesterday with feeling like an “extra” in the life of people I care about as they made decisions for THEIR story that affect me, but I have no control over. My story matters, too. Every “extra” has the right to their voice, but sometimes we need to accept that our story is told in another time, another way. Everyone has the right to be their own protagonist. Everyone has the right to be seen.