Life tends to be one of those undertakings where nothing is ever guaranteed or permanent. except for death, and even then, some religions and many people believe that life goes on in some way after death. So maybe not even death is permanent. But that's a different topic.
Relationships, careers, material possessions, our own bodies- things end, break, crack, disintegrate. Sometimes gently, sometimes violently. No matter if we want things to change and end or not, no matter how hard we claw into the fabric of our love for this person or that job- things come to an end. These thoughts can seem so cruel. So uninspiring. Is it even worth it to start anything then, if it will end anyways (even if that end is death)?
I am barely an adult, so I don't know everything. I don't presume to know anything. But here is what I feel in my bones: every minute spent feeling and thinking that something will last forever, is a minute worth any horrible ending there could be. Every minute spent truly striving for something, working so hard you can feel your heart bleeding for whatever it is you are working for, is a minute worth all the pain that comes from things changing in a way you didn't anticipate. Every minute spent in love, is worth 500 minutes of heartbreak.
If we live with the constant fear of "things ending", we are never truly present with the things that are currently present, that we are currently creating. We are deserving of giving ourselves the gift of presence. The gift of believing so hard in something, even if it eventually dies. Because that feeling is love. Commitment. Wonder. Gratitude.
When things do end, when relationships change, when we get old and watch our bodies change- how do we deal with that? I, again, do not presume to know. I only feel, and my heart tells me this: every change, every death, every destruction, is like the forest fire that burns everything to the ground. And we are standing there, in this beautiful forest, crying and screaming as the flames take everything, we worked so hard for. But the new, fertile soil that is created through this fire and the sorrow pouring salty tears onto the earth will allow for new creation. Every ending is also a new beginning.
We are allowed to grieve. Every ending is also an ending. Not allowing ourselves to grieve is like trying desperately to stop the fire and never letting the life-giving rain come. It's impossible and it's an unbelievably self-destructive strategy that puts immense pressure on us, in a time when pressure is unbearable. Forcing ourselves to see every ending as a new beginning right away is self-abusive.
But having this thought in the back of our minds and having awareness, being in the present, can show us how this new beginning is unfolding. And how the novelty may even be better than what we had before. The new forest might have new flowers we have never seen, the trees might grow stronger and in more beautiful, resilient shapes, that we never could have imagined. In the depths of despair, when our expectations aren't met, our dreams destroyed, we can look up and see the trees smoking and smoldering. And a new green leaf already growing on a branch. And we can try to let the rain do its work and we can try to surrender to the grief and let the forest do what it naturally does: heal.
We can never imagine what our world might look like after we have lost something. We tend to spiral and spiral into worst-case scenario dreams. As is only natural. But we can choose to dance with the best-case scenario. To imagine what the best case could be.
When destruction is raging through our lives and uncertainty rules our days, we can try to become still. Like the eye of the storm. And sit. And be present. And see the beauty of the storm. Try to see its colors, the speed, the force, the absolute power. And we can watch and smell and rage and spin with it.
When things fall apart, we can live for the moment. What can I do in the next five minutes? What do I want to do in the next five minutes? And if we spend the next five minutes in deep, purple sorrow, the five minutes after that can be a fresh start. If we spend three days in rage, when we wake up on the fourth day we can decide to start anew. Every minute, every second, we can choose. A new us, new decisions, a new song to dance to. When things end, they end. But they also make room for a new us, a better us. If we so choose. And practicing, every minute, to feel the novelty of us and the situation, is what frees us to see the new growth in the forest for long enough to have hope and trust in ourselves.
New beginnings are a choice. The choice of being fully present and seeing the totality of the moment. Not just the destruction, but also the creation. And so, we choose today. We choose this moment. And commit to ourselves. We commit to love.
Take care. Stay safe. And I'll talk to you soon.