I thought about where and when we might go next. Where and when our story had started and the time and place it might end. It seemed to me that those weren’t questions that could be answered, however much you knew. The stories of our lives don’t behave themselves; they don’t have clear beginnings, and even death isn’t a clear end. We just do what we can, we take what kindness and joy we find along the way, we ride the rapids as best we’re able.
