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I’m the hero of my own movie or television show. Each one of us is the protagonist of the novel of his own life.

In the narrative of my life, you might be the antagonist. Or maybe you’re the comic buffoon. Or the love interest. Or maybe you don’t exist in the narrative which plays out in my head.

From a very early age, I consciously chose characters who embodied the strengths I wanted to see in myself. More than anything, these were the things I wanted other people to see in me.

I wanted to be Capt. James T. Kirk, commander of the starship Enterprise. I wanted to be the hero who was admired for my many achievements. I wanted to be a leader among men. I wanted women to admire me. I wanted to be loved and adored.

In the last few days, I’ve been re-reading John Kennedy Toole’s Pulitzer-winning novel of southern literature, “A Confederacy of Dunces.” As I’m approaching the end of the book, I had a distressing thought.

What if I’m more like the tragicomic antihero of this book than I’ll ever be like Capt. Kirk? What if I’m a lazy and delusional man whose own failings make his life miserable?

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My life has become a long quest to resolve a crisis of faith.

It’s not just about religion or theology, though. It’s about all of life. I didn’t even recognize what was going on when it started. At one point, everything made sense. I had a coherent worldview. That’s what I thought anyway — until the foundations of my life broke down, one by one.

When I was young, everything made sense to me. I had what seemed to be a coherent “theory of everything.” I knew The Truth, not because I had found something, but simply because I had grown up being taught exactly how things ought to be.

My understanding of The Truth wasn’t just about theology or God or anything so narrow. I had an integrated set of beliefs about reality. About everything. They all fit together — like the parts of a beautiful building.

My “theory of everything” was a work of great art which had been designed with mathematical precision — by an architect who was also a great engineer.

The central pillar of that structure of beliefs was my father. Even though I now understand that my family was deeply dysfunctional, I believed that everything my father taught me was right and good. I got angry with him at times and I pushed back in small ways, but I was ultimately too afraid to rebel against this god-like father who ruled my life.

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I still remember getting the package in the mail. It was about 14 or 15 years ago and the package was from a girlfriend who lived in another state.

She had decided that I would be a great “life coach” and she had been encouraging me to pursue that as a new career. To dramatize the advice, she found a roofing shingle and made the sign you see above. It had a cord on the top with which I could hang it.

“It’s time for you to hang out your shingle as a life coach,” the note that came with it read.

I hadn’t seen this little shingle for a long time. I guess I didn’t even remember that I had it. But as I looked for something in a drawer stuffed with mementos from the past, I found it tonight. And just as it did when it arrived in the mail almost 15 years ago, it made me feel good about myself all over again.

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