My father was a writer. He wrote all of his life, inflicting upon many of us his novels, plays, articles, essays, and self-help books. Some were marvelous; some merely well-intentioned. But of all the things he wrote, his journal is his legacy: by turns wise and bewildering, it neared 1,100 type-written pages when he died in 2010. Although perused many times, this is the first time it will be read - cover to cover, page after page.
Wednesday, August 27, 2014
Living Forward and Backward
"There is this difference," he said. "You live forward looking for what might be coming. Anxious you are to see round the bend and on down the road, while I live backward looking toward what was and wondering why it went so quickly by. I've no need nor wish to see as you do. Someday neither will you, but that is not today so I'll not pull you back -- as long as you don't try dragging me forward."
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