Endings - 037 — Jake Kahana

*New York Times Archive photo of the last marquee at the Brooklyn Paramount Theatre*

The End

Merry Christmas!

I know there's still a full week until the end of the year, but it already feels like the end of 2021.

I'm nearly finished with my own annual review and considering the themes, goals, and vision for next year.

We are all looking forward, setting our sights on a new horizon.

We are already living in the future.

Not in an Isaac Asimov way, but in our minds.

We are all striving towards a future we will never reach.

We take photos so we can enjoy them later, prioritize non-fiction books so we can learn, believe high school prepares us for college and college for "the real world" like every other step on that journey.

We sow today's activity for tomorrow's reward.

I know it's easier to live for the future.

But we're here. Right now.

It's not as if we will magically wake up to the life we wanted, we have to make it happen.

We can't expect that on our next birthday, or 65th or 87th, that we will be the people we hoped.

Our lives are happening as we read this.

So in this last week of the year, I'm inviting us all to sit in the end time.

To feel what it's like to not plan or project, but instead just live and be here now.

Let's stew for a while in the End, shall we?

*"Desert Opera" painting* by *Scott Listfield*

Finally

I achieved a life-long dream this month of buying a piano for my house. Nothing too fancy– just an upright I found on Craig's List.

In my abundance of free time (feel the sarcasm?) I'm learning a new song. A Chopin Nocturne (Op9No2) that I've been chipping away at for a few months now. I'll play the right hand part by itself, then the left hand, then try and put them together. Eventually, I'll play it over and over until I have it in my head and muscle memory.

Each time I get to that last Eb major chord, I hit it with accomplishment. A bit self-satisfied and a bit exhausted. Like a marathon runner– pushing myself across the finish line despite limping the last mile or even sometimes crawling to finish after a really rough race.

But I don't play the piece just to get to the last chord.

I play it to create music.

I enjoy learning something difficult that challenges my skills and pushes me.

Same for marathon running: there's obviously a sense of accomplishment at the end. But the purpose of doing difficult things is not just to get to the end and cross it off the list, done.

The reason to enjoy something comes from the process and experience of it.

The doing IS the thing.

*"A Letter To The Future" by Luciana Abait*

The Last Time

Golda reached for Abe's bottle the other day.

"I'm, uh bay-beh" she said and pretended to drink from it.

It seemed so strange, to see our three year-old with a bottle. It's been about 2 years since she had one. I guess there must've been a last bottle. But I don't remember the day or the moment itself.

It passed like any other event.

Everything will have a last time.

The last time I ate my grandma's soup. Or went fishing with my grandfather. Or slept in my childhood bed. There will be a last time, on an actual calendar date, where I will pick Golda up for the last time. She'll get too big or not want it and the event will go on unmarked and unnoticed.

For most things we do, the last time feels like every other time we did it.

It carries no significance. It feels like just every other time...

except we'll never do it again.

But there's a way around this sad fact.

Imagine that what we're doing right now is the last time we'll do it.

The last email.

Or the last sip of coffee.

The last phonecall to mom.

The last time we'll eat together as a family.

We have the power to appreciate the otherwise forgettable events and heighten our experiences while we're still in them.

There is magic in the end.

Endaversary

Today would have been my grandparents' 76th wedding anniversary.

31 years ago this month I lost my first tooth.

Last week was the 7 year anniversary of moving in to my first apartment in NYC.

I'm good at remembering dates of new beginnings.

We don't really celebrate endings though.

Recognizing the end of a relationship or a chapter of our life feels sad. Something had potential to be more and was cut short. We're just not good at sitting in grief and mourning that loss.

We're more apt to talk about the next thing– always "on to bigger and better."

But we've become who we are today because of our endings.

What if we memorialize our endings?

We could take that day to think about the loss of that relationship, the last time we did something that we loved, the end of a chapter... and reflect on how it's led us here.

Every meaningful project, every list, every chapter in our life and every relationship has an end

We actually need things to end.

If we had unlimited time, there would be no urgency to do anything.

Limited time shows us how we're using our limited life.

It makes the things we're choosing to spend our limited time on, matter more.

Here's wishing you a happy endaversary.

*Part of the "Hue Don't Own Me" series by Victoria Siemer*

On Endings

Finishing something is usually the second hardest part.

Starting is the hardest.

I could probably edit this refrigerator for another 3 months and still think it could be funnier, shorter or more poignant. Or that the art is still not right in conveying the concept.

Once we're in the middle of something, there's always work to be done. Most people will continue to work on the same idea or task or project for much longer than it needs.

In short, we're afraid of finishing.

It means we have to start the next thing and building momentum is incredibly hard.

Think about starting over on anything– a new relationship, building new friendships in a new city, starting a new job– it can be overwhelmingly scary.

It's ok to be scared.

But it's not ok to be mindlessly stuck doing the same thing forever simply out of fear or ending it.

We can overcome fear by building trust.

We feel less afraid when we have enough trust.

In an expert, in a loved one, in a greater power, or just trust in ourselves.

Courage stems from trust.

One way I know to build trust is to give it first, even just a little bit.

It's reciprocal. Trust will come back.

Then give a little more.

We can overcome our fears simply by being willing to trust ourselves, even just a little bit.

So in the spirit of trusting myself more, let’s end this.

Thanks for reading another email refrigerator. I welcome your thoughts, reflections, and reactions, and love hearing from you.