What does it mean to accept the ephemerality of our existence? To accept being forgotten after a generation or two (at best)? To accept this business of dying? Maybe it means we can finally get on with the business of living.
Speechwriter #8 flirted with notoriety the same way we might say Daedalus flirted with flying too close to the Sun. And just like Daedalus, his downfall was especially painful because he was the one who was left behind.
So what does he do with this cruel punishment? He accepts it, and gets on with living.
It’s a humble life lived less than an hour from the smoking crater, our country’s seat of power, that he crawled out of two years ago. Now he’s teaching English and History (what irony!) at an underprivileged school, the only place desperate enough to give him a chance. He drives a used Prius and brews his own coffee at 5am everyday before school because Starbucks is too much of a luxury with his mortgage.
He’s got a wife now, too. They’re starting a family. And when it snows, they like to walk around and help their neighbors dig out.
It’s the little things. It’s happiness.
How much more living can you expect to do?