Chapter 1: The Faceless Journey

Amidst the dreams, a figure with red hair lies on the ground, void of a face. This absence puzzles me; it's as if these dreams are designed to obscure identity. Perhaps I am driven by a savior complex, attempting to draw from the outside to understand this inner projection. This repetitive cycle illustrates a process I find myself engaged in. In moments of complete stillness, I hope that life's currents will wash over me, eliminating the rhythm and patterns that bind me.

Patterns emerge from repetition, and repetition breeds inertia. It’s not merely the nature of these patterns that causes my trepidation; it’s the very patterns themselves. Disrupting inertia demands significant energy, compelling an object to act contrary to its norm. I grapple with remaining on the familiar path of patterns, even when those patterns are rooted in trauma.

A younger friend recently inquired about my feelings toward life. I recounted a brief story: during my rides, I frequently approach a crossing where the bike path intersects a road. It's not a busy route, yet I cross without looking, almost instinctively. I believe I’ve only spotted a car there once. But why does it matter? Deep down, a part of me is willing to embrace that risk.

As I ascend another hill, the path veers left and disappears into a canopy of trees. When I reach that spot, I too become enveloped by the trees, finding solace in my own perspective. Off the track, a rabbit sits motionless. I push hard on the pedals, eyes fixed on the hilltop. Here, in my solitude, I reflect on my commitments. Suddenly, a bead of sweat drips into my eye, snapping me back to reality.

This place feels like the brink of the universe, a cloud of dust marking beginnings and possibly endings. I cherish potential energy for its stillness; it demands so little from me. I refer to it as real time, as if any other type exists. This segment of existence overwhelms me with emotions from all angles, causing a backlog akin to traffic on a busy highway at dusk. Thus, I designate times for exploration, tracing my experiences from start to finish, much like threading a silk ribbon through my fingers, tying knots to signify my journey.

I compartmentalize my emotions, much like city blocks wrapped in caution tape. When I enter these segments, I adopt the demeanor of an investigator, driven by relentless curiosity, sifting through remnants for insights. I seek to uncover the narrative behind each moment, wondering how I find myself, once again, arriving too late.

This is my reality: a faceless man, perpetually ahead of me, igniting chaos, while I arrive just in time to witness the aftermath. On my bike, under the sun, drenched in sweat and inhaling the scent of lemongrass, I perceive motes of dust, fragments of self. My lyrical existence feels fragmented, yet a deer bounds through the thicket. Motion becomes the catalyst for my next life stage, propelling my legs forward. When I encounter a crack in the path, I disrupt the established pattern.

I’ve become comfortable with moments that flirt with danger, accepting the wreckage that sometimes accompanies them. A tumble here and there may leave my arms scraped, but if it means breaking free from old patterns and exploring new horizons, I gladly embrace it. I welcome the seismic shifts that transform landscapes as I listen intently.

Eleven days later, I dream of a woman lying on cracked earth, perhaps in a desert or symbolically. I ponder if she seeks to break free from her patterns or if she is even aware of them. This red-haired woman rests on the parched ground, still as a rose in bloom.

It's a return to beginnings, for cracks eventually find their way into everything. Left unaddressed, roses can become hedges, leaving me with an expanse too vast to embrace fully. As I cycle, I push myself until every ounce of energy is expended from my legs, only to disrupt yet another pattern.

I wonder if it’s possible to remain on the path while simultaneously breaking patterns. Perhaps breaking patterns is akin to establishing them. This encapsulates the challenge of living in three dimensions. We navigate a four-dimensional existence yet contemplate in three. I question if this, too, can evolve.

I share the conclusion of my narrative with my friend, who expresses concern. Should I really be crossing roads—any roads—without looking first? Am I truly okay? Because, as you know, I’ve had my share of struggles—

I’m not that way anymore, I assure him. I simply ask questions, identifying patterns and nudging them awake. I refuse to let inertia dictate my path. If a pattern exists, I must uncover it and initiate the circular process of dismantling it. Patterns are ever-present.

Roman Newell is diligently working on his debut novel — 20XX — a magical realism piece that delves into the intricacies and challenges of contemporary society amidst ever-shifting social norms, evolving technology, and the weight of trauma. Follow Roman's Substack to join the 20XX contact list.

Chapter 2: The Awakening

The first video titled "Girls with Red Hair Have This Problem" explores the unique challenges faced by red-haired individuals, highlighting societal perceptions and personal experiences that resonate with the complexities of identity.

The second video titled "Character Profile: The Little Red-Haired Girl (Peanuts)" offers an insightful look into the character's significance within the Peanuts universe, emphasizing themes of friendship and identity in a playful yet poignant manner.