so the story goes

The power of any story depends on the point at which its telling begins. And of course there's the challenge of timing. Some people like to plunge in and uncover all the details, maybe even wanting to know the ending up front. Others prefer to savor each new surprise and element as it emerges. So there is, perhaps, greater truth in the corollary: The power of any story depends upon the pace at which we choose to discover it.

Years back, I was hiking in the hills when I came across an arresting scene: a quiet, breathtaking pond, the surface as perfect as unblemished glass. It waters reflected back everything beautiful about my surroundings. They even captured a tiny image of me, silhouetted as I was against picturesque trees and clear August sky. Stepping closer revealed even more detail: crystal glint of sunlight on the surface, lazy drone of dragonflies, hushed movement of minnows somewhere far beneath. The image was so idyllic that I'll admit it took me some time to venture further. Barefoot, pants rolled to the knee, I finally waded in -- and of course, no matter how carefully I tried to step, it destroyed the mood completely. Bracing cold, clammy rocks, slippery shapes that nipped and nibbled disturbingly. Ew.

Needless to say, I didn't stay in for long. In the end, what had I expected? Like a Seurat painting, everything breaks down up close. But we humans wrestle with the stasis of superficial beauty. It never sustains us for long. We want to plumb the depths, learn the secrets, make our mark, discover more. Perhaps it has to do with that unbroken image of ourselves, that Narcissus-like picture we see reflected back. We gravitate toward things that suggest we are worthy, noble, lovable. Yet we also distrust them, because we know ourselves far too well. So we strive to break the illusion and wade on in -- but at a controlled and predictable pace. And life, that crafty old cannonballer, usually lumbers in to force our hand and reveal the unflattering ending. This hastened knowledge can often catch us, to put it mildly, unprepared.

In the end, I realized that my mountain pool was indeed an oasis of beauty -- both more and less mysterious than I'd given it credit for. The closer I looked, the less it could maintain that unspoiled illusion. And, unconcerned with my opinion, it went on being exactly what it was, eons before I'd stumbled into that clearing. Which, if we're honest, is more than we can usually say for ourselves.

The power of any story depends not on the ending, but on the telling. And even more depends upon our courage to accept the revelations on every page -- each unexpected detail beneath the surface.