Tomorrow, and Tomorrow, and Tomorrow

by Gabrielle Zevin

Sadie liked the phrase “an abundance of caution.” It reminded her of a murder of crows, a flock of seagulls, a pack of wolves. She imagined that “caution” was a creature of some kind—maybe, a cross between a Saint Bernard and an elephant. A large, intelligent, friendly animal that could be counted on to defend the Green sisters from threats, existential and otherwise.

She was intelligent, but her intelligence didn’t get in the way of her enthusiasm.

“How do you get over a failure?”

“You go back to work. You take advantage of the quiet time that a failure allows you. You remind yourself that no one is paying any attention to you and it’s a perfect time for you to sit down in front of your computer and make another game. You try again. You fail better.”

It isn’t a sadness, but a joy, that we don’t do the same things for the length of our lives.”