A few months ago a close friend and fellow journalist of mine posed a question that has haunted me since. It has literally kept me awake at night, staring at the ceiling; it has been the object of many a day dream, and frequently my perfect ten minutes of shower thinking time lingers on this question.
“If you had one story left to tell, what would it be?”
One story. thats it. Well it would definitly be a story of struggle and hardship I thought at first. But how can you pick one persons battle over another, what guidelines define who’s hardships are the most notable? Then I thought maybe I would tell a personal story, that way my last story would be about something I really knew. But thats a little too narcissistic for my taste. Maybe a story of happiness? Or perhaps I’d tell a story of love?
And finally I’ve decided; I can’t decide at all.
Telling the stories of our society and mankind is what I do. Its what I love. Its what I was born for. I will be daily producing answers to that question for the rest of my life.
Maybe someday I’ll find an answer. And if I don’t? That’s ok. Because sometimes the question is more important than the answer.
Sometimes the journey is more important than the destination.
