In September 2004, I sat down alone, still married, in the living room of the house I owned and was soon to sell after the divorce. I sat down to watch a show about a group of strangers whose lives converged in a plane crash. The thing they didn't know is that every moment of their lives (every encounter, every decision) had led them to get on that plane. They were SUPPOSED to be there. By the end of the first few episodes, it was evident to us, the viewers, that the island was more than just an island.
Our lives are like those of the passengers of Flight 815. We all have our crashes and smoke monsters and whatever other unknown entities might plague us...good, bad, or indifferent. The point is that we are all lost in one way or another, and no one knows what will happen next. But, as a matter of fact we are not lost. In fact, we're on a very direct path to tomorrow. And, as fast as 108 minutes can count down to almost certain doom, we're able to push the button (4 8 15 16 23 42) and move on. Tomorrow becomes today. Today becomes yesterday. It almost always does.
I will be sad to see the show go. I'll miss the speculation and the analysis of every episode. I'm going to miss the characters with all of their faults. But, as with all good things, it must come to an end. With LOST, as in life, I have no idea what that end will be. It could be the same as the beginning, which in that metaphor, would probably be most appropriate.