Sometimes those choices are not so clear. I had thought I was closing one book, turns out I am merely turning the page for now. The house I planned to buy will not work out, so the great search continues, much like Ahab after his whale (Moby Dick) In the meantime, I will be content to turn the page instead.
I can turn the page on the calendar in just a few days. I can turn the page on my feelings and emotions as I slowly pack the house and stare at the empty shelves. I can turn the page in my life as the chapter of my time here at this location comes to an end and a new chapter looms ahead. I don’t know exactly when, but it will happen that is good enough for me.
So I have to question, did this chapter end satisfying enough? Well, yes and no. Further analysis would be required to determine what ratio they measured out to be, but I harbor no regrets for the time spent on this page. I just acknowledge it is time to close the book.
Pages, chapters, books…. what does it all come down to? As a writer, these words take on dual meanings. We think of them metaphorically and literally. When the pages turn in our book–ones we create–are the readers as pleased as we were by the end result? Ditto for metaphoric closures in life situations. Like mine.
So what do pages of events, chapters of years and books of lives all equal to when compared to pages of scenes, chapters of characters and books of stories?