Chapter 1 Maybe, Maybe, Maybe
Chapter 2 My world became blurry, yet sharp at the same time.
Chapter 3 I don't want to seem like I'm coping perfectly, but
Chapter 4 I Embraced the Good Things
Chapter 5: I Will Become a Needlepoint
Chapter 6: Those who witnessed my sorrow also revealed their own misfortunes.
Chapter 7 They Turn Towards Joy
Chapter 8: The Courage to Survive Given Conditions
Chapter 9 I Didn't Want to Put Off Anything
Chapter 10: The Luxury of Knowing Every Nook and Cranny
Chapter 11: There's always something to do
Chapter 12: Beauty resides in a broken and open heart.
Chapter 13: The Peaceful Times of Aging
Chapter 14: No matter how long I look at the stars, I never get tired of them.

Acknowledgements

『Pachinko』 Lee Min-jin strongly recommends!
#1 New York Times bestseller upon publication!
Overwhelming praise from [The Washington Post], [The New York Times], and [Publisher's Weekly]!

“Those who rise up decide to rise up.
They turn towards joy.”
On the optimism that calmly embraces unexpected despair

“Just shoot yourself in the head,” Bruni said sincerely.
Before I could even get used to the confusion of vision loss, I was exhausted from having to undergo monthly injections into my right eye for placebos in clinical trials for a treatment drug, and from enduring painful three-hour eye exams whenever I felt like I was forgetting something.
Then, when it came time to inject myself in my thighs and stomach twice a week for six months, I wanted to give up.
Maybe it would have been better to die.
But in the end, I picked up the syringe.
I willingly became a pincushioner.

Three days later I had an injection in my left thigh, and four days after that I had an injection in the right side of my stomach.
This time it stung a little more.
Then I placed them alternately on both thighs.
In two weeks, 45 minutes went down to 5 minutes.
A few weeks later, it was shortened again to two minutes, and then even to one minute.
I got the job done in no time, almost in autopilot mode.
I was as thorough as when I flossed, but I finished it in a short time.
[…] Strangely enough, I ended up waiting for the injection time.
Those times were the fears I conquered.
Those times gave life a unique rhythm and a special fighting spirit.
My friends have mastered SoulCycle classes.
I mastered the syringe.
_p.132

Postponing an experience often means never experiencing it.
Because we are always whining, foolish, and arrogant about time.
We often delay the joys and opportunities we can face, or even the moments of despair we must endure, by saying, “Later,” “Next time,” or “When I have time,” but as always, time does not wait for us.
A solid career as a journalist, a boyfriend of ten years with whom he could chat about anything, a network of friends enough to attend dinner parties every weekend… Frank Bruni never imagined that his enviable daily life and leisure life would end so suddenly.

Professionally, I was a successful person.
Although some of my grand ambitions didn't come true, and I wasn't making crazy amounts of money like my friends, buying two houses or several new cars, I was satisfied with my life.
I've been in the media for over 30 years, over 20 of them at The New York Times, where I've seen a lot of the world and had some extravagant adventures.
He writes columns, appears regularly on television, and occasionally gives lectures on the side.
Whenever I went to the local grocery store, people would recognize me and say nice things.
Every time that happened, I became very self-conscious about the baggy t-shirt I always wore, the even baggier sweatpants, and the 18 pounds of extra weight I always carried around.
But mostly, these encounters were a source of pride.
_p.52

Bruni willingly agreed to be a lesson.
The reason he wrote this book, revealing his own story, was to speak to the essence of how no one can live life without loss, pain, suffering, and being hurt.
Bruni pays tribute to this fair and dignified principle of life, and instead of highlighting only his own misfortunes, he also introduces the stories of people who live with dignity despite experiencing unexpected hardships.
“Will we succumb to grief and fear, or will we take conscious, concrete steps?” The Washington Post asked this question, emphasizing that “this book reminds us that humans have the capacity for constant change throughout our lives.”
Bruni “guides us on a pilgrimage between light and darkness without losing elegance” ([Oprah Daily]), offering a meditation on how to naturally embrace the unexpected trials and tribulations of life, the daily onslaught of aging, and the death that comes to all of us, without losing humor.

How can bad things happen to us?
A story that tells us that almost everything can be a good thing.
Loss is an opportunity to reflect on precious things.

When I revealed my sorrow, others opened up and showed me their own unhappiness.
When I open my heart, the world opens to me.
The author realized anew how enriched his life had been, and finally learned to stop and look back.
It was finally an opportunity to reorganize my life.
I asked questions I hadn't asked before, navigated entirely new emotional waters, looked at friends and acquaintances with different eyes, and reached out to strangers.
The author, who has spent his life meeting prominent politicians and entertainers of his time and writing about them, now looks into the lives of people with disabilities, illnesses, or those in their twilight years.
Just like Central Park, whose beauty I hadn't noticed even after 15 years of walking the same path, I began to notice the wisdom of life that could be found in those who had always been around me but whom I had never properly observed.

But what I want to talk about isn't the wonders of Central Park.
Because it is something that others have listed over and over again until now.
What I'm trying to say is that something so bright was right there, but I was either preoccupied, distracted, or even lazy, and didn't notice it.
Central Park was the perfect symbol.
Many people do not realize the true value of Central Park as a public space that is free to all.
Because it was too easily obtainable to be anything special.
Central Park was too accessible to be precious.
So Central Park was something I could enjoy later.
Next day, or next week, or next month.
_p.280

“Asparagus at 2 o’clock,” said the person sitting next to me.
“Beef at 6 o’clock.” This is information about where Juan Jose should move his fork to reach the food on his plate.
That was the only evidence that he couldn't see ahead.
Juan Jose, who was told in his late teens that he would be blind by the time he was 40, is now a career diplomat and the Permanent Representative of Mexico to the United Nations.
The 'fear' of losing his eyesight, which had plagued him for a long time and made him feel as if "there was sand in his eyes," eventually became the 'will' to overcome anything.
Just as people wish they were taller or thinner, their blindness became something to him.
When your child laughs and jokes about his or her real name, you'll feel like you've lived a pretty good life.
This book also tells the stories of Marion, a 70-year-old deaf and blind person who has taught line dancing for over 10 years and chosen to “dance instead of succumbing to the darkness,” and Teitel, a 75-year-old blind person who has served as a judge on the U.S. Court of Appeals for the District of Columbia Circuit for over 25 years, who has overcome their own “losses,” embraced “thorns,” and lived their lives focusing on their good fortune, following the lead of joy.


“There’s a prank we used to play a lot when Paloma was five years old.
He was walking side by side holding my hand when he suddenly shouted, 'Watch your step over there!'
“Actually, there’s nothing.” “That’s mischievous,” I said playfully.
“No,” Juan Jose corrected me.
“It’s beautiful.” “Why is it beautiful?” I asked.
"Because it means I've succeeded." "In the sense that the child was able to take this lightly? Enough to make a joke out of it?" "Yes.
“That’s exactly it,” Juan Jose smiled.
_p.118

What do we need to persevere, persevere, and overcome the challenges of life?
Author Frank Bruni, who leads the story with a warm and witty style, constantly asks these questions.
When we look back on the happy moments, they seem so fleeting, and we never realize how precious they were at the time.
Continuing a career and building wealth are important, but in moments of critical crisis, aren't the "happy memories" of overflowing joy and excitement the only things that sustain us?
We live in an age where even accumulating such experiences can be overwhelming for individuals, but the author believes that if we could just briefly recognize the burdens others carry, the fears they suppress, and the scars they hide, we would be less consumed by the misfortunes and humiliations we each experience.
This expands our own world without us even realizing it, and at the same time becomes a strong force that allows us to properly understand ourselves.

Will you succumb to sorrow and fear?
Or will you take conscious and concrete steps?
Learn wisdom and dignity for your future life.

After the stroke, the author acted as his mother had taught him, “not to dwell on the misfortune that had befallen her.”
I stumbled and fell several times, but somehow I tried to improve my eyesight.
Every time, I chose the path my mother would have chosen.
Bruni's mother, who had collected wigs for fun after losing her hair after multiple rounds of chemotherapy and insisted on preparing meals for her family until the very end, became increasingly emaciated.
In the end, I had no choice but to allow food to be taken out, and I often fell asleep without finishing my favorite TV drama.
But through tremendous willpower and good luck, my mother lived to see the birth of her first granddaughter.
Then the mother decided that she had to see the birth of her second grandchild.
And I made that decision.
The mother passed away a week after her grandson was born.
The mother lived long enough to kiss her grandson's forehead.
Long enough to hold the baby in my frail, trembling arms.

My mother continued to play golf.
I continued cooking.
Whenever I was home for a long time, I always prepared all my son's favorite dishes and took him to my favorite restaurant.
I rarely asked my mother for anything like that, though.
Whether she wore a wig or not, whether her hair was straight or wavy from chemotherapy, my mother was the same.
My mother's lasagna was meaty, tender, and huge, so much so that I could eat a second, third, and fourth batch and still have cold lasagna in the fridge.
While cancer emaciated my mother, she fattened us all.
_p.193

Also, for the author, his father was “a being who decisively lowered the temperature of his fear of the world by a few degrees.”
He was a revered and rock-solid figure, offering nuanced advice on complex issues like mortgages and taxes, as well as celebrating life's milestones.
But around the time the author's eyesight began to deteriorate, his father, who was in his eighties, was diagnosed with senile dementia.
My father could no longer be 'my rock'.
The father couldn't even understand what had happened to his son.
Then, the coronavirus lockdown began and the 84-year-old father had to stay at home.
To cheer up his father, the author took his father's car and traveled back in time.
I went on a pilgrimage to the house where my father grew up, the house where my parents first lived, and the house I moved to after growing up.
My father wanted to visit the house where my mother lived when she was a teenager for the last time.
It was the place I used to pick up and drop off my mother when I was in high school.
The author saw a scene where the father looked at the house and recreated a moment he had with his mother.
It was a very beautiful moment.


Moments like the ones my father and I enjoyed back then had to be held on tight as they blossomed.
The reason that drive that day was brilliant was not simply because I was happy, but because I recognized that happiness, gave it a proper name, stayed there for a long time, and kept it as a souvenir.
It was because I kept it well so that I could dust it off and recall it anew when needed later.
_p.295

The author, longing for a new adventure after losing his eyesight, was offered a professorship at Duke University, so he packed up his Manhattan apartment where he had lived for 15 years and moved to Chapel Hill, a quiet neighborhood with many old trees.
At first, I felt sad as I looked at the sight of elderly people in wheelchairs with hunched backs, but gradually I felt a peace I had never known before.
Somehow, I felt more alive now, more in tune with life, and more appreciative of it.
The author, who maintained an optimistic attitude as if he had not lost his eyesight, confesses in the final chapter of the book that his situation is getting worse than he thought.
Yet, Bruni, who still “refuses to retreat from the demands and joys of life” and “pushes through countless closed doors,” lives today facing head-on the paradox of life: “We have no control over what happens to us, yet we have enormous control.”
When your pace finally slows, when time is up, when you look back on the past years, I hope you can see that there is nothing you really wanted to do but haven't done yet.

Recommended reviews

Will you succumb to sorrow and fear?
Or will you take conscious and concrete steps?
Every sunset, whether it be disease or aging, becomes a new opportunity.
This book reminds us that humans have the capacity for constant change throughout their lives.
_[Washington Post]

It showcases an optimistic insight into life with the loss of sight in one eye, along with a talent for discovering the unpredictable beauty of the world.
A book that resonates with all generations.
_[Publisher's Weekly]

It's a touching and wise look at how almost all the bad things that happen to us can actually be good things.
_[Kirkus Review]

An intellectual essay that exquisitely blends philosophical reflection and scientific inquiry.
Bruni guides us on a pilgrimage between light and darkness without losing his elegance.
_[Oprah Daily]