I was reading this last night, the final paragraph from Richard Ford’s wonderful novel, Canada. Such truth put so simply and without fuss. I hope you enjoy it.
My mother said I would have thousands of mornings to wake up and think about all this, where no none would tell me how to feel. It’s been many thousands now. What I know is, you have a better chance at life – of surviving it – if you tolerate loss well; manage not to be a cynic through it all; to subordinate, as Ruskin implied, to keep proportion, to connect the unequal things into a whole that preserves the good, even if admittedly good is often not simple to find. We try, as my sister said. We try. All of us. We try.