Søren Kierkegaard said: “Life can only be understood backwards; but it must be lived forwards.”
I’ve thought about that a lot lately for a number of reasons both personal and philosophical.
What stories do you tell yourself about your life?
If your life was a book, written by someone you’ve read, who’d be the author?
Would anyone care to read it? Will your life make more sense when you’re dead? And what’s the best way to live forwards?
Life’s a shitty first draft — you only get rewrites if you’re Buddhist.