Beginning at the End

We all love endings, just not when they happen to us.

Beginnings are nice.  Firsts are No. 1.  There are first birthdays, first steps, first words, first days of school, first meetings, first dates, first kisses, first loves, first jobs, first cars, first homes, first babies, and the whole cycle begins again for the next generation.  The world loves to celebrate the beginning.  Why wouldn’t it?  The beginning is shiny, like a new iPhone. 

Only, the beginning is only the beginning until it isn’t anymore.  The first act ends.  The sheen fades and suddenly that slightly newer, but altogether identical, iPhone has taken on an appealing luster. 

That’s the problem with beginnings.  They’re naïve.  Nothing’s happened in the story yet so they haven’t been educated.  The cast has just been introduced and we’ve barely learned their names.  Sure, there’s the excitement of the new:  New faces, new places, new experiences.  But, new is only thrilling when there’s anticipation.  In other words, the beginning is nothing without the end.

Now, the end can be a scary thing.  I think that’s why it’s gotten such a bad reputation.  Most things begin well enough.  Then, entropy kicks in and everything falls to pieces.  Scary, indeed.  So, it’s best not to think about it, right?  Just circle back around to the beginning before the transition occurs.  Everything’s bright and shiny again.  There’s another iPhone and this one can talk with a little sass.

Only, the beginning ceases to be the beginning on the second lap.  We’ve been here before, right?  I could have sworn I saw that sentence structure a few paragraphs back.

Naïveté is acceptable when it’s the first time round because it fades over time.  That’s the point of starting anything.  Breaking the cycle before reaching the worn, yet inevitable conclusion to return to a more comforting shine is the hallmark of willful ignorance.  True, it’s pretty and you can see your reflection in it, but that’s only a two-dimensional facsimile of something that could be so much better.

Of course, the world is just as obsessed with the end as it is with the beginning.  Perhaps more so, if you’re talking about The End.  Cultures throughout history have created myths about it, built whole religions around it, and even shaped their societies in service to it.  There are people living now who devote their lives to the pursuit of predicting the end of days.  We were supposed to have another Armageddon earlier this month, by the way.  Welcome to the post-post-post apocalypse.

That’s what makes stories so enthralling, isn’t it?  Sure, the beginning was the lure that hooked us, but the rest of the tale is just a taut line reeling us ever closer to the true reason we took that bite in the first place.  We want to know how it ends.  The end somehow gives meaning to all that came before.  Like Aesop’s fables, there’s a moral in that last line.  The story is worthless without it.

In real life, endings take on a much different form.  They feel less romantic, less polished.  There are ends of weeks, ends of summer vacations, ends of classes, ends of school, ends of friendships, ends of childhoods, ends of work, ends of projects, ends of marriages, ends of careers, ends of lives.  The end equates loss and there is no shine to loss.

Rarely do our memories reside on the beginnings of things after their end has passed.  Often, there seems to be little meaning to be found in them other than that we’re acutely aware we are different for having experienced them.  With every end, big or small, there is the cost of naïveté in exchange for the much heavier burden of knowledge.  From the instant an ending comes, whether it’s for an event or loved one, we become aware of the notches on the timeline.  That person or event is immediately quantifiable:  beginning, middle, and end.  A date and time can be added to the right of the hyphen.  The infinite potential is restricted to a single, unchanging range of data and it seems diminished by this.

Here’s where our fascination with endings fades.  The knowledge that all things end is a fundamental lesson every human being must learn.  It’s a tragic experience when this happens.  The ignorance of youth is torn away like a Band-Aid on a wound that hasn’t quite finished healing.  For a time, we forget that things aren’t beautiful and amazing because they will always be beautiful and amazing.  They are as such because they won’t be, and we are blessed to have been allowed the opportunity to experience them at all.  All those beginnings and endings hold so much more value because they only occur once.  Their measurable range doesn’t diminish them at all.  It enhances them.

Still, this is not always the easiest thing to remember when some endings arrive at great personal cost.  It’s a frightening thing to face a beginning knowing that it will end, or to face an end ignorant of the beginning that will follow.  In that moment, if we allow knowledge to shift into wisdom, we can focus less on beginnings and endings and realize there’s a wonderful present in between.

Again, this isn’t often a simple task, I know.  This is why I hold stories in such high regard.  They allow us to experience an infinite number of endings within the safe confines of text on paper.  We can celebrate happy endings and shed tears for the sad ones knowing full well we can freeze the story at any moment with a clap of the cover.  Even when they’re breaking our hearts, we still can’t help anticipating how the story will turn out.  The paragraph ends.  The page is turned.

We all love endings, just not when they happen to us.