“If my life were a movie…” It’s one of those prompts that can evoke anything from deep existential musings to a belly laugh over who’d play Aunt Regina with her unmatched side-eye and untouchable deviled egg recipe. But if you've ever stopped to really think about it—like, scene-by-scene think about it—this concept becomes more than a game. It’s a glimpse into self-perception, the stories we tell ourselves, and maybe a little wishful thinking for a Hollywood glow-up. So, grab your popcorn and settle in because in the technicolor dreamscape of My Life: The Film, we’re going straight to Netflix’s “Top 10 In the U.S. Today,” baby. Here’s how my life would play out on the big screen.
Casting Call: Who’s Playing Me and the Dream Team?
First things first—let’s address the proverbial elephant in the room. Who’s got the chops, the gravitas, and the swagger to play me, Marc Devonte Prince? Think suave but approachable. Sharp, but with layers, like the best poetry slams. After careful deliberation, the obvious pick is Brian Tyree Henry. Stay with me here. If you’ve seen him in Atlanta, you know he can nail the complexity of balancing wit, depth, and an occasional “Did he really just say that?” moment. Add a beard just like mine (meticulously maintained but intentionally casual), and he’s ready to step into the role of a lifetime.
And because every great protagonist needs a supporting cast, let’s talk about the key players. For my mom? Viola Davis, obviously. Give her a nurse’s scrubs and a weary-yet-loving side-eye, and she IS the woman who raised me. She’d steal every scene—whether reminding me to “pray on it” when I was struggling in my early twenties or fixing my tie seconds before I walked across the stage to accept my master’s degree. My dad? Delroy Lindo. Not just for the look (though, yeah, the resemblance is uncanny), but because he can project that quiet, unshakeable sense of dignity. The kind of man who doesn’t say much, but when he does, you listen—unless you want to be on the business end of a “boy, you better” speech.
As for the friend group, I’m calling on Issa Rae to play Angela, my college bestie who kept things real in the cafeteria over chicken tenders and existential crises. And for my dating life? Ah, that’s where it gets juicy. We’re casting Kofi Siriboe as Alex, the first man to break my heart. And you know we need a surprise cameo by Lil Nas X as the random-but-charming date who ghosted me but then sent me a Venmo months later “just to clear my energy.” (Yes, this actually happened. No, I don’t know what to do with that energy. Thanks, Venmo.)
Scene One: The Slow-Burn Love Affair with Myself
If this movie had a tagline, it’d be: “A story of love, loss… and finding the plot somewhere in between.” And honestly, Act One would be less about relationships and more about learning to embrace who I am, awkward high school moments included.
Picture this: A scrawny kid in Beaumont, Texas, trying to make sense of what it looks like to crush on your lab partner when you’re also trying to crush the whole “act normal” thing. Add in a soundtrack of Luther Vandross and early 2000s R&B, and you’ve got the late-night montage of me journaling furiously in my Lisa Frank notebook. (I said what I said.) If there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that before you can cast a co-star in your life, you’ve got to play your role first. This chapter’s about messy self-awareness, and it’s got plot twists galore, including my first gay bar, my first real haircut (goodbye, box fade), and my freshman-year realization that Beyoncé was speaking directly to me in Dangerously in Love.
Scene Two: Dating Misadventures (Or, Comedy of Errors)
Now, no rom-com—or rom-dramedy, depending on the mood—hits its stride without a sequence of “what was I thinking?” moments. My love life? Oh, it’s ripe for adaptation. Let me set the scene: A transfixed Marc locking eyes with someone across the room. In reality, I thought I was serving broody intensity. In hindsight, they probably thought I was trying to identify if that was Marcus from undergrad or not. (Spoiler: It was.)
Dating in my twenties was a beautiful mess. One of the funniest—and maybe cringiest—moments clearly destined for cinematic greatness involved a first date at an art gallery. I was SO nervous to impress this guy (think: artsy but pretentious, owning multiple berets-level intimidating) that instead of playing it cool, I accidentally spilled red wine on my shirt. What’s worse? I tried to talk over the moment. “Red is a power color,” I’d stammered awkwardly. I wish I could say it worked. It did not. Even in my move to Chicago—a major plot twist in my real-life storybook—the dating struggle came with me. But hey, nothing deepens a character arc like missteps that lead to growth, right?
Scene Three: The Big Love and The Big Realization
Every good movie needs a climax—and no, I’m not just talking about the romance scenes, though obviously, there’ll be candles, moody lighting, and “Adore You” by Prince whispering seductively in the background.
For me, the real turning point would come during my mid-thirties when I realized that “love” wasn’t just about someone else fitting seamlessly into my life. It was about choosing every messy, hopeful, flawed version of me. Relationships would weave in and out, sure. But what’s stuck with me in the long term is this: You can’t build skyscraper-level connections on foundation-of-sand-level self-awareness.
The big-screen takeaway? Sometimes true love looks less like a grand romantic gesture and more like cooking jambalaya for one on a Friday night and feeling completely okay with it. Until you feel grounded in yourself, the meet-cutes can’t stick. Period. Cue Brian Tyree Henry staring teary-eyed into the horizon as Beyoncé’s Halo serenades the audience into emotional oblivion.
Closing Credits: What My Life-as-a-Movie Teaches Us About Connection
If my life were a movie (and mark my words, one day it will be), it wouldn’t hinge on the kind of grand romantic endings Hollywood loves to package with a bow. Instead, it’d be a love story about resilience, connection, and figuring out who you are—and who you have the capacity to love when all the noise quiets.
Take this as your call to action: Cast yourself as the main character of your own life—flaws, failures, and small victories included. Whether your story has splashy Paris getaways or just high-fiving yourself for making it through another Tuesday, embrace it all. Pick your soundtrack. Reimagine the ending as many times as you need. And don’t you dare forget—you’re worth front-row billing.
Now, who’s ready for a sequel?
