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The End of Things

If only we march toward the end of things with anticipation and joy, with Auld Lang Syne, with parties and dance and good cheer, and step into new beginnings like that of a new year, life would be quite all right.

The bells are never tolled for the old year.  We can’t wait to get rid of it.  Why can’t we do that with failed careers and relationships, bad decisions and botched dreams, but instead sink to a bottomless pit and sometimes never pull ourselves out of it?

Soon we’ll have a new ID number.  Maybe that’s what we need when things go wrong:  give ourselves a new ID, invent and reinvent.

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End of the Year

What does the end of the year feel like?  Well, energy is diminishing and there is pining for something new.  I feel this acutely.  What has begun with great enthusiasm at the beginning of the year is becoming a commitment.  Maybe it has to do with shortened daylight and winter cold.  “It IS the dying season.”  A friend had said.  But the birthing season, which is right around the corner, also begins with darkness.

Maybe that’s why we party, to celebrate the last of the shedding.  What else are we going to do when the end is near?  It’s terrible for school students to have finals this week.  It’s not a suitable time to squeeze information into the brain—like giving a dying man a booster shot, making living artificial.

Sleep.  The bears, the chipmunks, the frogs, the snakes, the turtles have it right, so that there is renewed energy to welcome the dawn.

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