And then again it is all a grand narrative. But it is so grand you can't really get a handle on it. It's beyond human comprehension. The time-frame, the list of characters, the twists and turns of plot, they are so overwhelming, so all encompassing. And confusing and contradictory.
As you meander through the story, you realize that you are not the main character. I mean, maybe you can fool yourself into thinking you are the main character to you. But that is a meager and deluded thought-train. People are pretty fungible. Human beings? They are pretty unreliable. They come and go. Like a puffs of smoke.
So yes, you are a bit player at best. Maybe a bit of a bit of a bit player. You really are made of smoke. And even the really important people aren't really all that important. They are smoke too. Even the presidents and kings and pop stars; they're basically little blips on a screen, tiny bubbles that can pop at a moment's notice. And bubbles are popping left and right.
I suppose you can be bummed out about all this, or pissed off. But really what's the point? Maybe you can swallow all of this meagerness, all this littleness in the face of such incomprehensible immensity and use it to your advantage.
Maybe you can make it like your code or ethic of being: "better living with littleness," or "It's OK to be meager," or "a puff of smoke? You got a problem with that?"