I sometimes have the feeling that everything I have done in my life culminates in the work I am doing now. Not because I finally know how to say what I always wanted to say. Quite the opposite.
Many things I once thought, believed, wrote or defended have been left behind. Some I would now question. Some I would reject completely.
So perhaps a life does not culminate by gradually perfecting the same understanding. Perhaps it accumulates perspectives, convictions, mistakes, experiences and abandoned worlds — until something becomes possible that could not have been possible before.
What remains is not necessarily what survived.
It may also be what became possible because so much did not.
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