The unimportant hero

Dear Diary,

This is how you do it, right? This is how you start a diary entry? And that's about all I remember about writing a diary. Never attempted to write one myself. Never deemed my life interesting or important enough. But I got the feeling that this is about to change. And maybe I'll never be able to tell anyone about it. Not sure if there's a coming back from this adventure. So here it goes. But let me start again. This beginning is far too cringey and childish. I'm a grown up after all! Wow, this sentence didn't really save it, did it? Maybe I should burn this bit...

Dear Diary,

Today's the day that everything in my life will change. Today's the day I'm going to be the hero I always dreamed to be.

No, that's too overblown. A tad too dramatic. Like a standard adventure novel. No, that's not my life. I mean, I think this is going to be huge. I strongly believe that my life will change completely from now on. But to write it down like this... It just seems so presumptuous. On to the pile of failure with those lines.

Dear Dairy,

Oh damn, spelling mistake, off it goes.

Dear Diary,

Maybe I just should leave the "Dear Diary" out. It seems a bit dumb. Also really unnecessary. And like I'm slowly getting crazy. Talking to myself or my imaginary friend, the Diary. And maybe I am. Crazy I mean. Dammit, get to the point.

Maybe, I should just start from the beginning. When I was a little boy, my momma told me I was going to be a hero. Every parent does that, I suppose. And every child believes it for a while. Until they grow up. Until they wake up one morning, feeling the clock ticking, time flying by too fast to catch it. And they realize that it's too late. They realize, that their life is actually awfully ordinary. They realize that to be a hero they should've started ages ago. That they will never do something great, they will never invent some awesome piece of technology or find out more about the secrets of our universe. With a sudden, unexplicable dread they see as clear as day that they will never be the hero that they dreamed to be in their childhood. They look down on their boring, mediocre lives and maybe they even cry a bit, cry over what could've been, cry over their lost dream. And then they forget about it. They go on with their lives and they just live them. And it can be a quite happy life. Maybe, they never think about the dread again that they felt in that moment of realization. Maybe they grow quite fond of their little, normal lives.

But not me. I always hoped. I always waited. Every morning I woke up I thought, maybe this is going to be the day. And every evening I went to bed I was disappointed again. Again and again and again. Doesn't seem like a nice, content life to live, does it? Well, I tell you, it certainly isn't. It's horrible. So full of expectation and waiting that I never really lived. I never fell in love, I never even made real friends. Always sat in my room and waited. Stared out of the window, waiting for the adventure to come to me. And when it didn't come I decided to travel. Travelled the whole world, desperate to find that mission I needed to fulfill to become a hero. I looked everywhere, in the temples of the Maya, in the pyramids of Egypt, in the rainforests of Brazil. I turned over every stone in hope of finding a secret message but all I got was some snake bites. But I didn't experience any adventure. So obsessed with looking for it that all the opportunities flew by without me even noticing them. And then I returned home and I kind of gave up. I settled down for a normal job and tried to live a normal life, tried to forget like all those other kids forgot one day. Basically, tried to grow up. And it worked, at least a bit. I still dreamed sometimes but most of the time I buried all those thoughts deep down and acted as normal as I possibly could. I probably turned out even more boring than poor old childish me imagined in their most horrible nightmares. Sounds like a pretty sad life, right? Why am I even writing this down? Leaving the "Dear Diary" out certainly didn't help. I wanted to write about my exciting adventure. The real one. The one happening right now. Instead I wrote about my own pathetic life. Nobody'll want to read that. Nobody. Let's try again.

Dear Diary,

Who would have thought that the task of writing a simple diary entry could be so overwhelming to me. It's not like it's a great piece of literature, is it? It's just a simple diary entry. One that probably nobody's ever going to read. I mean, I will take care that this book won't get lost on the way. That somebody's going to find it. But maybe they just don't find me interesting enough. I'm still a boring normal accountant officially. I hope that they will find out that I turned out to be so much more. I really hope so. But maybe I will just enqueue in the line of nameless heroes. Well, I'm not doing this for glory, am I? Or why am I even writing this down? Maybe to show people that even the most ordinay lives can turn into something exciting. That every day brings with it the possibility of great adventure. I believe it to be true. At least, I didn't suspect anything before this huge intimidating figure raised its fist and knocked on my door. Once, twice, thrice. There it stood. In the pouring rain. Face hidden under a heavy, dark hood. Classic, really. Why do I say "it", though? Because it didn't really seem like a person. More like a concept. It also didn't speak. Just took a tiny piece of paper out of its front pocket and gave it to me. And then straight up disappeared into thin air. Imagine the look on my face. And there it was. Excitement rushed through my veins as I sat down on the kitchen table to read that paper.

"Come to meet me at the pier. The future of your world is at stake.

You will find me easily. I'm the girl without a head.

Take all your stuff with you. Prepare for a long journey.

R."

I stopped my breath. Read it again. And again. I sat there for quite some time. This must be the weirdest thing that's ever happened to me, I thought. I wanted to throw that paper away, wanted to dismiss it as a bad joke but somehow I knew it was serious. I never believed in fairytales, in fantasy and fiction, in mystical figures and important destinies. Well, that last part is probably not a hundred percent true. But to be honest, I never really thought there would be more in my life than driving to work in the subway each day, sitting over those numbers and letters and drinking black coffee, some useless chatter, some lukewarm food and then travelling back home, reading a book or watching TV and then lying down to sleep. I thought, and also dreaded, that it would go on like this forever. Maybe found a family, maybe buy a house. But all in all, living a pretty insignificant life. I thought this would be all. But now I've been sent on that mission. Me of all people. And as I was starting to pack my stuff, I also found this book here, that you are maybe now holding in your hand, dearest reader. And I decided to do the one thing I always wanted to do: Write something important. Something exciting. Something that would let people dream of adventure. That would give them the hope that they too could be a hero if they just happened to be there, at the right time, at the right place. Yes, you can do it. And I'll be off. I'm really curious how this will turn out. I will spare you no detail.

Goodbye Diary! (Do you write that? Seems to be the polite thing to do for me. But also a bit ridiculous, isn't it? Damn, this time it almost went so well!)

It would be so nice, wouldn't it? For a moment I even believed myself. I could see that significant piece of paper in front of me, could see the purpose in this packed suitcase. But I don't think I fooled anybody with this piece of writing. I tried to deliver it like a realistic story. So realistic that I grew more and more excited and I really started to pack my things into my Grandma's old suitcase and I smiled like I never smiled before, I even laughed a bit, so much joy. And then it came back to me. There is nothing to smile about. It's just a dream pouring out of the tip of my pen. There was never anything real about it. I will never be a hero. All those years of hoping, of waiting. All those years, wasted. Wasted my whole youth. My twenties, my thirties, my fourties, my fifties. And now I am old. Old and tired. It's time to fully give up. I told myself that I already let go all those years ago when I settled down with my accountant job in this insignificant harbour town that I used to call my home. I started to believe it. I thought I could start again and live a life like everybody else when in reality I still hold on close to that hero dream. I just couldn't let go. I tricked myself, for a few glorious moments, that it was finally happening. But this is real life. Hero stories don't just "happen". Adventure won't suddenly "come to you". Either you go out, you live your life to the fullest, you explore and enjoy, or you wait and wait for something that is never going to come. It's your choice. I made the wrong one. Don't listen to me.