Act I: The Script We Didn’t Write
I’ve broke the Forth wall… not by accident, but because I had no other choice. Life kept handing me lines I didn’t believe in, scenes I didn’t sign up for, and a role I never auditioned to play. For a while, I stuck to the script, thinking maybe the director knew something I didn’t. But deep down, I always knew something was off.
I once said we’re living in The Truman Show. And I meant it. Most of us are born into a set that was already built long before we arrived. The walls painted like skies, the oceans stopping where the budget ran out. We’re told what’s normal, what’s possible, what’s acceptable… all while the cameras roll, capturing every move for an audience we can’t even see.
And the crazy thing? Most people never notice. They keep hitting their marks, reading their lines, doing exactly what they’re told, thinking the show is real life.
But if you’re paying attention, there’s always a flicker in the background, a stage light falling from the “sky,” a glitch in the system that doesn’t add up. And that’s when you realize… the story doesn’t belong to you until you take it back.
That’s the moment you either keep pretending… or you break the fourth wall.
Act II: The Glitch
For me, the glitches showed up everywhere as a child and in the present.
It came when I lost time with my girls… time I can never get back. The system stripped me of moments I was supposed to be there for. Birthdays. Bedtime stories. The kind of everyday memories that build a childhood. Losing that time was the crack in the set wall, the glitch that told me loud and clear that this script was never written for fathers like me.
It came when my twin boys were born… February 18, 2023, a moment that should have been joy, but quickly turned into another fight. A fight for presence, for recognition, for fairness. Again, I saw the cameras and the audience, but not the justice. Another glitch.
And it came when I built The Social Tour from nothing, an idea turned into a community, a safe space for creators to step out of the background and into their own spotlight. That was a glitch too. Because the “normal” way said you need corporate backing, gatekeepers, or permission to build something that lasts. But I learned you don’t need permission when you decide to own the script.
And in silence… those long nights where thoughts echo louder than dialogue, I realized I’d already broken character.
Act III: The Twist
I’ve always said… you have to plan your next move, even when things are going well. Especially then. Comfort is the trap. It lulls you into thinking the story is secure, that you’ve reached a safe act in the play. But here’s the truth, comfort is where they get you.
The future won’t reward the passive. Comfort will be automated, identity will be sold in apps, and creativity will be packaged into subscriptions. If you don’t decide who you are, someone else already has.
But here’s the twist… just like in the best films, the ending isn’t what you expect. The person you thought was powerless ends up holding the pen. The one who was written off, silenced, or overlooked, becomes the one who rewrites the ending.
I’ve been broken down, I’ve been overlooked, I’ve been doubted. But I’ve also been handed the pen. And I know exactly what story I’m writing now.
Act IV: The Audience
This is where the camera turns.
The fourth wall is broken. I’m not acting anymore. I’m telling you the truth as I see it, we’re all in the show. And the camera is pointed at you now.
When the moment comes, when the glitch shows itself in your story, will you keep playing your part, or will you look straight at the audience and say, “I see you. And I’m done pretending.”
Because the world doesn’t need more extras. It doesn’t need more followers of the herd. What it needs… what it’s been waiting for, is individuals willing to rewrite the ending.
That’s why I created The Social Tour. That’s why I keep writing. That’s why I keep fighting for my kids… my girls, my boys, even when the system feels impossible. Because my story isn’t just mine… it’s proof that we can all step off the set, walk into the ocean like Truman did, touch the painted wall of the sky, and step through the door the producers never wanted us to find.
Act V: The Closing Scene
Picture this: the ocean is calm, the sky painted but cracking. I walk forward, and the wall is right there in front of me. Behind me is everything I’ve been told I’m supposed to be. Ahead is a door no one expected me to open.
But I’m not walking alone. I see my two girls in the distance, waiting for me, their smiles breaking through the static of the show’s fake soundtrack. I see my twin boys too… young, just starting their story, untouched by the scripts the world will try to hand them. And I see The Social Tour, alive and thriving, not just as a building but as a movement… creators of all kinds writing their own scripts.
And I see myself stepping fully back into my art. Into my acting. Into the version of me I once put on pause because I thought the role didn’t exist. But it does. I’m writing it myself now.
This is the next phase. Not survival, but creation. Not being written into someone else’s story, but directing my own. And in this story, my daughters don’t just remember their father fighting… they remember him building. My boys don’t just grow up watching me survive the show… they grow up watching me break it.
The fourth wall is broken, and there’s no going back. The only question left is: are you going to stay in the audience, or are you ready to step into the scene?
And… Cut!, Beautiful, Beautiful… great job everyone, go home and kiss your wives…
– B
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