THE ART OF DOING IT FOR THE PLOT

The “doing it for the plot” part has been a big part of my life for at least the last three years. Maybe even the biggest part.

Ever since somebody started that trend on social media, I finally found a way of coping with my constant need to run anywhere but towards my inner world. And I’ve always had some fun stories to tell my girls afterwards.

I’m not gonna lie - I like the attention. I like the aws and the ohs and the wows and the “How did you do that?”

I’m starting to wonder whether this pattern is unhealthy, egoistic, or maybe even - dare I say it - brave.

What most people who don’t live for the plot don’t see, or don’t understand, is that there’s a very fine line between having the biggest fun of your life and neglecting all of your needs and boundaries.

“Oh no, I’m just super flexible and spontaneous.”

(True.)

So why do we do things for the plot in the end?

To have great stories people can laugh about? Joke about? Be amazed by?

If it really brings us a lot of pain, what is it worth?

Last night, I had one of those encounters where I knew exactly what I was doing.

A little scheme running in the background from the club‘s ladies room - meaning texting someone I knew would give me the attention I wanted. My girlies didn’t know about it.

I get the attention I need, and I cry on my bathroom floor afterwards. Literally.

Doing it for the plot rarely leaves room for the in-between.

But when the overload fades, and the tears dry, and sleep kicks in, there’s suddenly an amazing story to tell. One we can all laugh about.

And I come back to my senses.

And I might repeat exactly what I’m doing, just to make sure I’m not where I was anymore.

But maybe that’s the thing nobody tells you about doing it for the plot.

The story only sounds fun once it’s over.

Maybe doing it for the plot was never really about the story.

Maybe it was about movement.

Because as long as something is happening, you don’t have to look too closely at what isn’t.

And yet, every now and then, somewhere between the chaos and the aftermath, I learn something about myself that I probably wouldn’t have learned otherwise.

Maybe the lesson is that doing it for the plot isn’t brave because you jump.

It’s brave if you know why you’re jumping.

So if that’s what it’s worth - Let’s go do it for the plot, then.