Last chat we had we spoke about the intricacies and reasons behind people's aversion to our discomfort regarding saying goodbyes. Now those goodbyes in question were the ideal sort, the ones actually said. Not all goodbyes are spoken aloud however, I would dare to guess that most of our experiences with endings are those without caption or those that resulted from neglect, silently withering and festering until someone decided to walk away.

Those are the ones we'll be discussing today. Those sometimes sudden but all-too-often insidious endings for which there was no closure.

In that lack of closure is where we find the difference between saying goodbye and letting go or walking away, depending on how proactive a role you decide to take in said endings.

Goodbyes provide some modicum of closure, even if it just comes from acknowledging the time spent together, lessons learned, or just being able to say the words, solidifying the ending and (ideally) closing the door to any future pining.

The lack of closure leaves the affairs as weightless, driftless, ciphers that prolong the discomfort of an already fading animal. Often the courage or maturity in saying goodbye can spare both parties days, weeks, months, or even years of agonizing limbo.

The only upside to the limbo is that by the time the goodbye finally comes around, the fire has faded and both parties are quite relieved to declare a time of death and move on. Unfortunately, people sometimes get so complacent in that limbo that the idea of the ending seems even more frightening. Some people would rather bear the ills they have than fly to those they know not of.

In the cases of these withering, lingering ghosts the best thing to do is to let go. Goodbyes, like tango, require both parties and if one or the other is unwilling to meet the other half-way through, well it's time to walk away.

Despite my comfort and practice in saying goodbye, I've had to let go twice as many times.

How we let go is as much an art as the doing itself - so, how do you let go?

Are you able to flick it as easily as a stray crumb or does it have to be ripped from your hands before rigor mortis sets in?

Do you walk away with your head held high or do you shuffle away with it hung low?

I'm painfully aware that I may come across as cynical or woefully morose but I assure you that's not the case. I simply choose to embrace and prepare for the inevitability of the end.

My emphasis on the end rather than the journey, however, is a fallacy I not only encourage you to criticize, but also entreat you not to repeat.