An excerpt from a paper I wrote the other day:
One of the things I’ve learned, only through many failed goodbyes, is that up until the moment you leave a place, you are still there – still physically present. Humans invest so much time and energy into dreading not being where we currently are or being excited about places that we are not, and in the process, lose out on a lot of precious moments. In particular, it prevents us from doing the very thing that I am desiring everyone here at the OE to do: it prevents us from saying goodbye well.
Rather than letting things peter out as people slowly stop being mentally and emotionally present, why can’t we all be really intentional about ending things really, holistically well? Kahlil Gibran, in his piece on death, asks “how shall you find [death] unless you seek it in the heart of life?” Why can’t our goodbye be in the midst of something really vibrant and full of life? Yeah, it might make the act of leaving hurt more, but at least you’re leaving something that is alive and hurting in the most honest way possible.
I’ve been thinking about what it means for me to say goodbye well for the past week or so. For me it means a lot of different things, like noticing the sky every night and soaking in every minute that I can safely walk alone outside in the dark. It means writing about what I’m taking away from this place, how many of those things I want to implement into other parts of my life, and thinking about how I can do that. It means having intentional conversations with certain people and going to the gorge a few more times.
Saying goodbye well probably looks like something different for everyone here, but I really really wish for the presence of everyone’s mind, body, and spirit in the next few weeks, whether they are ready to move on or not. I know goodbye will be sad for me, but I do not fear sadness. It is not an enemy. It is the dishonesty of a half-hearted goodbye that does not recognize the belovedness of that which it is saying goodbye to that I fear. Behind hard goodbyes are people, places, and lifestyles I have learned to love deeply. I hope for a goodbye that hurts, not for any bizarre masochistic reasons, but because grief points to love and love represents something very much alive and alive is what this place is, and what I want to remember it by.
2 comments:
That's very well put. In my life I tend to avoid the pain and just disappear. It's easier for me and I lie to myself that it's better for the other person. Thank you for encouraging me to love even when (or especially when) I know I will hurt in the process.
-Swiss guy who went to SA
You're right; I used to refuse hugs (if you believe that) while saying goodbye, because I wanted to say "see ya later!" with a shrug and walk off, no tears necessary. Now, as I have made two incredible, godly, best friends over the past several months, and as they are graduating in two weeks and possibly moving in the near future, I remember that, though finals count for something, they are only a number on a page. I am spending every moment with them that I can: laughing, wrestling, making stupid jokes, hugging, praying, sharing pains and joys and LOVE. And it is full. And though I know my friend Adam will end up in another country someday (Kenya, please, God, with me?), I am choosing to enjoy the time we have now, and we SHALL see The Muppets and share our full testimonies on Thursday and we WILL pray together every morning until he graduates. And even though I have no idea where my friend Bethany is headed after graduation in spring, I will massage her hands and neck that hurt from MS and pray for her healing and love her and cook Indian cook with her and hug her lots. And, hey, remember making the most of our last moments before you and others had to go home after my birthday party? We freaking had a wedding! :P ;) I love living and not focusing SO much on the goodbye as the journey into the next phase of life (and I love YOU!).
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