The Art of Storytelling

If I died right now and tried to convince the angel at the gates of heaven to let me in, here is how that conversation would go:

"Why should we let you in?” the angel would ask, as he must.
"I'd like to think I'm a good person," I’d reply.
"Really, how so?"
"Well I paid my taxes, I didn't murder anyone, my intentions were mostly good, I only lied a little, I tried to do right by my friends and family, I was a generous lover, I behaved like a gentleman mostly...."

Is this a good enough case? Or is something missing?

How does someone tell his life story? Just like any other story, really. Conventional wisdom tells us every tale has a beginning, middle, and end. The only other thing that I can think of that has a beginning, middle, and end is... life itself: childhood, adulthood, and old age.

I think we all like the idea of old age. We will be rich, all the preeminent challenges of today will be behind us, almost everyone will respect us because we are older than them, and we won't have to work. All good things. Never mind the fact that we will have the least amount of energy that we have ever had and our immune systems will be the weakest they have been since we were babies.

Speaking of which, I also find that people care too much about their childhoods, and I guess that’s to be expected. Most people either fondly look back on happy memories or dwell on troubling ones…or both. We are simply obsessed with childhood. So much so that we attempt to trace everything true about us now to something in our childhood. As if it was all written so clearly back then.

We blame a lot of the problems we have on our childhood as if that’s a valid excuse. It’s sadly ironic. We let those problems continue by giving them a crutch to stand on at the expense of what we have right in front of us.

The middles of our life stories get no love. We love babies, we love old people, we hate adults. Perhaps because, according to every piece of culture we ever consume, middle age is so fucking boring.

What is the goal of this period of our lives? We’re told the only real objective is to find someone to grow old with. Money, success, fame, respect, yada yada yada. That stuff all comes out in the wash. It’s all for naught if you don’t figure out who you are going to have sex with for the rest of your life.

On top of that, when you do find that special someone, you are more than likely going to have children with that someone. Reproduction! Now not only are you having a minimal amount of sex but also you are now raising tiny humans who can't do a single thing without you. Oh, the joys of middle age!

But maybe there’s some value to it after all.

After finding that one sexual partner and raising some exceptionally average children, you come to the little slice of sunshine that is old age, and then, on a really lucky day, you die. Here’s how my conversation with the angel goes if I have middle age years to fall back on:

"Why should we let you into heaven?"
"I never cheated on my wife, and I made and raised two competent human beings. Now get the fuck out of my way!"
I say this as I flip the angel the bird, tear down the gates of heaven myself, and stroll right in with my head held high.

That's my story and I'm sticking to it.