I sit here on this sunny afternoon to write about failure. What is life without failure? It is a perfect life. However, this is not the case for anyone.
Yesterday, I failed. A test? Please, do you think me pedantic? — An interview? Please, do you think me easily upset by rejection? — A relationship? Please, I am focusing on myself for the time being.
It was a typical day in the fall semester, and I had just concluded a meeting with a board of an organization of which I am the president. I had checked off the boxes, and I was conversing with two of the board members about literature, naturally, as I am studying English Literature. We were talking about books we liked, and I mentioned how C. S. Lewis’ last novel Till We Have Faces (mentioned in my last blog post) has an unreliable narrator, Orual.
The VP of the board smartly pointed out: Every narrator is an unreliable narrator.
My contrary self moved immediately to deny this claim, but something held me back. Was he right? He is a smart, well-read young man with strong morals and a great sense of humor, I might add. And thus was born this musing.
People always say things about the way you write. So don’t ever change.
It is very stereotypical for a writer to write about this topic, and yet if one does not write about it, its seems that the writer is not a good one. Alas, here I write.
The fact of life is that at one point everyone will die. Perhaps an overly talked about subject, death is imminent. Death is not scary, at least to me, and at least to others who have come to terms with the idea of impending finality. Death, although not to be feared, should not be sought out. Death is just the beginning of a new adventure.
A Musing Writer 