Nothing that has ended has been lost
Some thoughts on closure and healing.
I recently decided to stop engaging the part-time helper that I've been working with for the past 3 years. She had first come into my life via an app, someone selected from a long list of smiling faces and near-identical resumes. I went with her because she was available to start right away.
This decision was one that I had been sitting on for months. When it came time to make the necessary arrangements, I considered just opening the app, hitting a few buttons to cancel all future appointments, and moving on with my life.
Another item checked off my to-do list. One less thing to worry about. No need to make it an emotional thing.
Yet it didn't feel right. And after much agonising, I decided I would be there on her last day to say goodbye and thank you.
Our conversation must have lasted at most a minute. I explained the circumstances as briefly as I could, and told her how grateful I was for everything she had done.
"Yes, it's been 3 years already that I've been working for you," she said, as though she had seen this coming. I heard no surprise in her voice, only a calm sense of knowing and a twinge of optimism as she added, "Hope to see you again."
To which I chuckled awkwardly and responded, "Thank you for all your hard work these few years, not sure if we'll see each other again, but thank you and wishing you all the best."
What does it mean for two people who ostensibly have very little in common, brought together only because one was seeking a cleaning service and the other employment, who now no longer have an agreed-upon exchange of services to keep them in each other's lives, to say, "Hope to see you again?"
Over the last year or so, as I've navigated several life transitions, I've had the unfortunate privilege of also observing my own relationship with change.
It has been said that what holds some people back from pursuing their aspirations is not so much the fear of failure, but the fear of success. In my case, it has always been the fear—and to some extent, belief—that all success is inevitably followed by misfortune. It is why I sometimes hesitate to start things, because I know that it will be good, and then it will be over. It is also why I have trouble allowing things to end, because I am also afraid of watching this fear manifest into reality.
You see how it goes.
So what then does it mean to say that we hope to see one another again?
I think that when we say things like this, it is not so much that we are hoping for the identical events of our past to repeat themselves in the future. Rather, we are hoping for that same essential goodness to return to us—in a form that we do not yet know.
But if we have hope, then we can see things as they are, and sometimes the way things are is that they are no longer meant for us. The job has been done. The relationship has run its course. The thing you love is no longer in production.
Someone once told me that it's about honouring the past in order to move forward into the future. I dismissed this as fluffy and meaningless.
Now I understand this as recognising that nothing that has ended has been lost. Everything that we have ever touched, said, done, felt, witnessed and experienced becomes who we are, and we carry these stories wherever we go.
Letting this person go meant admitting to myself that this phase of my life was really over. It was over, and my life would never look like this again.
But is that really true?
I'm starting to see that hope is foolish but necessary. Because what other choice do we have?
The alternative is to cling and to deny, to believe that we can stop time and keep things the same, even though in the same way that you never step into the same river twice, we are always changing. Every second we exist is a second in which we are becoming someone else.
In Sea of Tranquility, the fictional novelist Olive Llewellyn asks, "What if it is always the end of the world?"
"Because we might reasonably think of the end of the world," she says, "as a never-ending process."
Allowing things to end is allowing things to change, to grow, to surprise, to renew. Even to repair something is to choose to end a state of disrepair.
So we say that yes all of that happened, it was wonderful, and now that is over. Life has changed and we have become different people, and we go on.
THE DEEP END
(This is a new section of the newsletter where I write about something that I'm doing or trying to change in my life)
Earlier this week, I sent out a message using the Substack chat feature about a thing I'm looking to try.
Over the last few years, as I've reflected on my own journey both running a media startup and trying to do life as an Asian dude with lots of feelings and opinions about many things, the issue of male mental health/well-being has become one that’s very close to my heart. Personally, I've always struggled with asking for help and building close relationships, and I know many other guys who feel similarly.
This year, I'm hoping to do more in this space but am not too sure what that's going to look like yet. So as a start, I'm going to experiment with a men's group format, and will see what comes out of that.
The goals of this group will be
Community support
Personal growth
So come and talk about your problems, and also what you're going to do about them. There is no expectation to 'open up and talk about your feelings' unless you want to. It will be lightly facilitated, but essentially still a space where guys can speak freely and, if they like, ask for support in whatever form they prefer.
I'm planning to keep it small for now, both to ensure the safety of the group and also because it's just easier to organise fewer people. So I'm currently extending the invitation to mainly close friends and readers of this newsletter.
If this is something you or someone you're close to is interested in being a part of, please let me know. You can drop me a note, or if we already know each other in real life, just text me.
More details to follow soon!
Lastly, some fun things
When writing this week’s newsletter, John Mayer’s In Repair became an incidental reference and inspiration for what I was feeling, which somehow led me to diving into the entire Kings of Leon discography. The Mechanical Bull album in particular was a super fun one.
Every once in a while I stumble on someone whose writing makes me think, I really hope I get to write like this someday.
is one of those people, and I am just so captivated by the texture, wisdom, and cleverness of her work. Check it out here:I've been following Phil Plait’s Bad Astronomy newsletter for a while now, mainly because they frequently publish images like this one that have been taken from the James Webb telescope. As Phil describes it: beauty enough to torch a person’s soul.
On a related note, anyone remember the Scale of the Universe website?
My friend Lin is designing a small-group workshop targeted at helping young professionals with their personal and professional growth. It will be be actionable and hands-on, and as part of this, she is currently offering a complimentary coaching call for those who answer a quick 2 minute survey.
Finally, I started playing around with Substack Notes when I was procrastinating on a bunch of things. I’ve been telling myself that at least this is more productive and engaging than scrolling on Threads or Twitter.
And that is all for this week. I’ll catch you at the next one 👋🏻
I read it while waiting and taking the elevator that takes forever to come lol. It was such a touching and smooth read, I love it. Keep writing man, I’ll keep reading your stories.
Thanks so much for mentioning my stack. I'm delighted to have you as a reader. All best, Laurie