Doomsday Landing Part II
How do you respond If you know the end is coming? The answer is important. It matters, and it’s meaningful.
After a long road trip in my car along any Alberta Highway, when I see that my destination is less than 25 kilometers away, I get a renewed sense of energy that I did not have 300 kilometers earlier. Three hours ago, reaching the destination felt like an abstract, distant idea. Like a child, you found yourself asking some imaginary adult in the car, "Are we there yet?"
The countdown of the last stretch of highway is rewarding and full of anticipation. Christmas is only 4 weekends away, and then it's New Year's! A welcome end to a tough year. The approach to the end of a long and difficult journey inspires my imagination. I catch my second wind. In situations like these, seeing the end is its own form of relief. The end in sight issues us a permission slip to dream about new possibilities.
A road trip is one thing, but what happens when you know you're about to reach the end of something good? Like a vacation, or a meaningful job, a relationship, or even the life of a loved one? You don't even want to ask the question, "Are we there yet?" You even avoid thinking it. When I've faced all of the above, I've prayed for time to dilate and slow down. My will does not have the force of gravity to slow a clock's ticking. Time moves forward relative to my human reality. I get no special treatment, and time stays on schedule. I’m embarrassed to say that I’ve even avoided saying goodbye to people I care about because I’d rather not have to say it.
All good things come to an end. Accepting this reality is an opportunity for courage.
When we approach the end of anything, it's important to remember that the very idea of finetude is an inseparable quality of being alive. Seeing the end can be a gift because it removes the blinders that can come with complacency. The reality of impermanence should form a new, unique, and mature kind of joy in our lives that arrests our attention just enough to appreciate the people and world around us. This feeling of sadness I sometimes experience is an indicator to me that I experienced something of value, and for that, I should be grateful.
For amateur photographers like me, I know the best time to take a photo is during the golden hour, just before sunset. Snapping a photo and holding that moment in time is best done at sunset rather than during peak daylight. If you’re living near the end of anything, let me encourage you: good things stand out in dark times. Make your moments count. As the end of something good or bad approaches, give these moments your best. Run hard and give yourself enough momentum to jump to the other side. Determine in your heart to cash in your best ideas and take unselfish risks. Leave everything on the field.
This is how I want to be, steadfast in doing what I can to add light to this chapter of life, regardless of the outcomes. I hope you do too.
Thanks for reading, friend, burn bright!