Life is all about new beginnings. Right? That’s what they tell us. That’s the beauty of it all. That’s what human existence is really about. It’s about beginnings. It’s about starting over, starting fresh. It’s about second chances and butterflies in our stomachs and tiny little humans being born every minute. Life is about beginnings.
I disagree. I think saying life is all about beginnings is like saying a grilled cheese is all about the cheese. Look, I know the cheese is important. I know it’s the most exciting part. It provides hope to us that not every sandwich has to be the same. With cheese, we know we don’t always need to eat a peanut butter and jelly. The cheese is an extremely important part, maybe a favorite, but it’s not all about the cheese. Without the underappreciated bread, we wouldn’t have a sandwich. So maybe it’s not as fun to talk about as the endless arrays of cheese possibilities are, but the bread is just as important. Right? RIGHT?
Okay, crappy metaphor aside, I am sort of in love with endings. I love crossing the finish line of just about anything. I think it terrifies people, in a general sense, because most of the time, it’s something worth getting to. And anything worth getting to is going to be scary.
If you’re starting college for the first time, let me let you in on a little secret. If you are not hysterically crying, holding on to your mom’s back bumper, and begging her to take you home with her, you are in way better shape than I was. I was a complete mess leaving my mom. I couldn’t say goodbye to her. I just simply could not. The words were physically caught in my throat. I wouldn’t acknowledge she was leaving and I was staying. I couldn’t acknowledge the idea that a part of my life, the only part I had ever known, was ending. I was paralyzed by the word goodbye.
I know someone right now, very close to me, who is in a very toxic relationship. We all know she’s in a horrible place, we all urge her to get away from him, and yet, she stays. She cries and tells us she’s terrified of being alone. She’s been with him so long that she can’t imagine a life without someone constantly putting her down, a life of not walking on eggshells, a life where you don’t have knots in your stomach when the phone is ringing because you have no idea what version of him you’re going to get that time. She is terrified of the word goodbye.
It’s a scary word. It’s a scary concept, too.
It’s also my favorite. Hear me out.
Whether it’s to a person or a situation, it signifies growth. Things hurt when they grow, we’ve known that since the first ache in our little legs, when the school nurse told us they were growing pains and sent us back to class. An ending means we’ve lived and we’ve learned and we’ve come to another stage in our life. It means whatever we were supposed to learn to make it to the finish line, we did. That’s an incredible feat, and it should be celebrated.
Endings are scary. Goodbyes are scary. And most of all, they’re beautiful.
Be proud of yourself.
Whatever happened in your life, whatever hurdle you jumped over, whatever cave you crawled through, you came out on the other side. Even when people tripped you and spun you around so you would lose your direction, you kept going, and you made it. You finished. You won.
Let yourself grow, let yourself keep going. Even when it hurts.
Endings are beautiful. If you have any doubt in that, watch the creamy sky, the screaming colors, the breathless beauty of the world as the sun sets.
