We spend our years as a tale that is told.
Reading fiction is an adventure, a guessing game. For hundreds of pages, a good fiction writer will keep you wondering, “How will it end?”
Sometimes it ends with joy, sometimes with tears—and sometimes with disgust that you wasted hours reading a story that should have ended differently.
Then there is the narrative of our own life. As I sit here, contemplating my years “as a tale that is told,” the accumulation of pages under my left thumb has grown thick, and the pages under my right thumb have become few. The question is: “How will it end?”
I know that this volume will be a disappointing failure unless it has a joyous and triumphant close—with no regrets for me or those who love me.
How will the story of your life end?