How Stories Shape the Way We Imagine Our Lives

For as long as I can remember, stories were how I learned to become myself.
I did not escape into them. I practiced life through them.

Narratives shape the way we imagine our lives. Reading, writing, and observing life through media were never escapes for me, but ways of learning how to live.

Early Media and Imagination

Growing up, my free time was filled with daydreaming. I would scrapbook with bits and pieces I would find around the house. Anything that inspired the woman I would become went straight into a compiled work that represented her. I collected images, sketches, and words as if they were pieces of a puzzle I was trying to solve, pieces that would help me understand myself.

Moving abroad at the age of seven made this habit even more urgent. I struggled to find anything in my own language for years. Family friends would burn films onto personalized DVDs, and I re-read the same books until I could get new ones from home. I did not know the local language when I moved, so I relied on the Spanish media I had already consumed.

I learned English during those years, and two years later, the country I was living in began releasing English-dubbed films and translated books. Magazines began to be imported from the US at three times the original price. It was hardly a gold mine, but it was gold to me. I treasured physical media and could not take it for granted.

Cosmopolitan and Seventeen were my treasure, and I created an online magazine for any young girls who felt surrounded by a language that sounded like noise simply because they couldn’t understand it. When you are unable to read signs on the road, advertisements in stores, or understand conversations around you, that hour before bed, with a flashlight shining on pages of information you could read, felt like the most valuable asset. This was not a tragedy, simply the reason behind my repeated consumption.

Learning Languages and Discovering Stories

Later, when I learned German, I became enamored with Florian Henckel von Donnersmarck’s The Lives of Others. Any story that highlighted the importance of writing and storytelling became an inspiration. Around the same time, I found myself drawn to inhabiting characters from the stories I loved, experimenting with different ways of being and seeing the world.

Characters as Practice

I would pick out the character I identified with most in any animation. I was Alex in Totally Spies, Jazmín in Bratz, Madison in MyScene, and I had dibs on Belle, Erica from Barbie and the Pauper, and Anastasia because of her loud mouth and strong character. We also shared the same hair color, but let’s not reduce it down to that.

If I was unable to get new magazines, I would sketch her and the daily life she led. Reading no longer seemed enough for the powerhouse I was trying to envision. Books could not fulfil that purpose. I would forget my own existence, enthralled by the character whose skin I inhabited. I needed to picture it from every angle to make sure it was possible. Reading wasn’t escapism. It was rehearsal. All of it was.

Rehearsal in Film

I watched Olive in Little Miss Sunshine and Juli Baker in Flipped to justify the way that I cared for things, without irony. But the person I had to become was Katherine in 27 Dresses, and her love interest, because he was a journalist. The goal was to become Benjamin Mee in We Bought a Zoo, Iris in The Holiday, Bud in The Apartment because it is the best film introduction of all time, and I loved offices, Andie Anderson in How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days because she had her own column, Sophie in Letters to Juliet, Anne Sherman in The Last Word. And Carrie Bradshaw in Sex and the City was the last straw. I had to move to New York and become a feature or opinion writer.

Finding My Voice

When I got access to a computer at school, I would get lectured for the amount of paper I used when printing photos of where I wanted to live, what my desk would look like, and the person I was becoming in my head, simply because of how hard I tried to picture her.

When “Blogging Club” came up on the bulletin board by my locker, I had to sign up. I began my first blog in 2010. I would write enough to make my family and friends convince me there was a world outside of my head and my screen. I knew there was, but it was nowhere near as vivid. Nowhere near as exciting.

Photography came next, and I was convinced I had to become multifaceted to fit into these spaces. I picked up more languages than I have managed to maintain. The five that remain are the ones I still polish with care.

Then came We Heart It, Tumblr, and Pinterest, more ways to become attached to the idea of living and to who I wanted to become.

Time, Adulthood, and the Pursuit of Meaning

I tried to understand the narrative of not having enough time in adulthood. Why were adults incapable of making time to read and write? Why did they make commuting and work seem all-encompassing? Why did they forget the importance of chasing the thoughts that built them?

I have now been in that part of life for many years, and now I am the person who wonders why the job that is meant to pay for life leaves so little room for the work that gives it meaning. On Sundays, I plan how next week will be different, how I will fit time for my career on the metro, during breaks, in between lessons.

Now I wonder who I became while chasing thoughts. It is apparent to me that I chased this dream longer in my mind than I did in real life.

Starting This Blog

This year, right in the middle of it all, I started this blog. In April, during Easter break, I finally had enough stillness to realize what was missing. It happens often, and it is easy to ignore when busy. But it hits all at once when I stand still for long enough. I decided to just go for it. I took courses to further my training, expanded on my degree, picked up Greek to pair with the other languages I held onto, and got over the fear of being embarrassed. I interviewed more people than I ever had, wrote consistently, kept building my portfolio, networked, sent pitch emails, and in August, I started this blog.

Exposure is terrifying. For a long time, living in my imagination felt safer than risking disappointment. I do not wish this had happened sooner, but I do wish I’d known that it was always up to me.

In Between the Lines went live on the 6th of August. Four months later, I have been met with nothing but wonderful people finding their way into my small online corner.

And going into 2026, I am no longer living in my mind out of fear that reality won’t be better. It is better, embarrassing at times, vulnerable in every moment, and full of stories worth telling. I love who I am throughout it, and I hope to share that through the books I read and the words I write here.