Endings.

“It is always important to know when something has reached its end. Closing circles, shutting doors, finishing chapters, it doesn’t matter what we call it; what matters is to leave in the past those moments in life that are over.”
-Paulo Coelho, The Zahir

But isn’t there something just so exciting about an ending?

The end of a relationship nurses a shattered heart back to a stronger whole. I get an insane surge of excitement. The world is my oyster. I can be selfish. I can regard only my feelings, wishes, desires, wants, needs.

The end of a friendship shows me that after all the carnage, hurt feelings, and empty promises, what’s left over is love. You were my friend. You were my ally. That meant something.

The end of college showed me that I could find my way in the real world and make something stick. I could find some semblance of balance. I could find self love and adoration. All of this coming from the girl who didn’t know (and still doesn’t know, by the way) how to hold down a full-time job.

The end of tonight–a regular, summer, Saturday night–brought countless endings. Simply put, it was a weird, but perfect day. It was one of those days where you feel inexplicably full of bliss. Full of contentment. Full of honey, for absolutely no reason. Nothing special happened, but it was full of what should have been sad endings. The end of a journal I have filled with my deepest (read: weirdest, dumbest, shittiest, grossest, best, greatest, and most life changing) thoughts over the past year. The end of one of my favorite books. The end of one of my favorite beers. The end of the day, as I sat outside one of my favorite coffee shops.

Suddenly, it hit me in the face, the gut, the heart, the ass. Sometimes, I have really philosophical thoughts and they go like this:

Shit. Endings. They kind of rule. 

Endings are a free ride to freedom. Endings are, essentially, the universe handing you a release. I get this weird image of an old lady covered in tattoos and gauzy clothes handing me an address-less letter saying, “Mary Clare, here is a ticket. A ticket to the rest of your journey. So stop fighting me already, you dumbass, and let go.”

Maybe it’s just my nature to see things in black in white. Maybe my balance is that I’ll never be fully balanced.

Speaking of balance, I did yoga for the first time in five months the other night. I was overcome mid-pigeon-pose with an overwhelmingly beautiful thought. I should point out that this thought was amidst an extraordinary amount of pain, sweat, self-loathing, self-love, revelation, and did I mention PAIN?? I sat there, hating and loving how open I felt, and thought:

I’m here because there’s nowhere else for me to be.

Every stupid, petty, awesome, earth-shattering, yawn-inducing, and uniquely Mary Clare moment of my life has led me here. To my yoga mat. To my job. To that shitty relationship. To that great relationship. To my city. To this book I’m reading. To this yoga pose I’m holding (or trying to). To that dinner I ate last night. To that sixth beer I wish I hadn’t downed the other night. To my friends. To every place I’ve traveled. To every place I haven’t traveled. To this absolutely perfect, lazy, starry, sweet, languid moment in time.

And for that, I am so, so, so very (and tearfully) grateful.