New Year

I experience an emotional slump upon the end of work that I enjoyed and found mentally challenging.  A shadow darkens my existence and demands a respectful acknowledgement from me on what has been lost.  Lost in the sense of ended – effort completed.  I’ve been told that I should rejoice because “it” happened.  The cause of past joy, although gone, was worthy.  

Boo hiss.  

For me, disorder and chaos are always a part of finishing a life chapter.  Yes, of course, I am sensitive that history is integral to propel me forward as necessary as the prevailing conditions.  This does not make me feel better.  When I have enthusiastically offered full attention to a project that has stopped, the words:  j’ai fini (as the French would say) evoke a vacant dip in my psyche.  This let down is mild in comparison to the loss of a relationship, not even close, but is noteworthy to me because I have learned that I must encounter the  dull sensation of missing an activity that I enjoyed before I can move on to create.

When I was younger, and naive, I thought it was possible to organize life like colorful packages complete with a bow on top. I have found that I do not believe in closure.  Instead, at each ending, there is a sadness that aggravates me enough to push me to learn something new.  The past boxes are not neatly stacked but ruptured, spilling into the next moment, week and year. Nothing is pure.  All fresh endeavors become a complicated weave of rough, smooth and innovative textures making loss a prerequisite to joy and both emotions are important before having the energy to face what becomes new.