For instance, I was on the back of a motorcycle curled up to the most beautiful girl in the world. Steam was rising off the streams on both sides of us as we flew down the dirt road in the early morning cold. I had my hands in the pockets of her leather jacket, in a trance-like state of bliss. And then? Well, use your imagination.
Or Heidi and I hopping trains. Huddled up listening to the rhythm of the clickety clacking tracks, we watched the redwoods as they passed. My first-ever time hopping trains. But what happened the second time? And who is Heidi? None of your goddamn business.
My point is this: the end of the story isn’t always the most important. It might not even be part of the story at all, depending on how you choose to tell it. I’m sick of walking around with friends talking about ends – the ends of relationships, friendships, feelings, and hope. We all know how things end, and that’s badly. But just because it came last, it need not overshadow everything else. If you lived it, it’s all part of the story of your life…and it can be added up and remembered in many different ways. We could trade in all our hopeful beginnings and buy a yacht and a summer home. We could trade in all the bitter ends for a warm bottle of beer. Either way, I’m thankful that most of us are still here.