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How you end is just as important as how you begin. "But, I digress." There’s a reoccurring them
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How you end is just as important as how you begin. "But, I digress." Thereâs a reoccurring theme you see in movies. Iâm not entirely sure what the technical term is for it. So, I will just refer to it as âexiting stage leftâ. Itâs when the warrior, the samurai, the king, the lion, the tiger, the champion has made it well past the climax of his abilities and now must sit down his helmet, hang up his shield and sheath his sword for the very last time. This transition resonates deeply with all of us because it gifts us a sense of urgency, reminding us that we are living and creating with an hourglass above our heads. And, with this, it allows each of us to recognize that "how we end" is just as important as "how we begin". John Steinbeck puts it beautifully in his book Travelâs with Charley where he writes of the mightiest of all endings any of us will ever experience, death⦠âI see too many men delay their exits with a sickly, slow reluctance to leave the stage. Itâs bad theater as well as bad living. I find myself revisiting Steinbeckâs words often not necessarily in regards to death ââ I hope I still have a fair amount of time left on this beautiful planet before I must have one final cup of coffee with the reaper ââ but instead in regards to the endings we face on a daily basis... The ending of a night out with friends, the ending of a long run, the ending of a good dayâs work, the ending of a relationship, the ending of something written. Hereâs how Iâve ended each of these, recently⦠The ending of a night out with friends. We come back to my place. We fire up the grill or the stovetop and, together, we whip up a glorious meal to silence our inebriated hunger. Music plays, just loud enough, bellowing from the speakers that echo through the kitchen and the dining room and the living room and the open windows that lead out to the back patio. Friends laugh, together. Friends drink (a little more), together. Friends smoke, together. Friends fill their bellies, together. Friends put a bow on the night, together. The ending of a long run. In the summers when the Tennessee sun is hot and at its highest, I take to the busy street that sits outside the front of my home like a serpent or the tongue of a serpent. The street snakes up and down hills; hills that feel like something close to hell underneath rubbered feet beating against the pavement. I reach the highest hill. I want to walk back. I negotiate with myself. I barter with myself. I bullshit with myself. Somehow, I tell myself to shut the fuck up. I run home, the sun somehow beating harder than before. On this day, I beat the sun. The ending of a good dayâs work. I havenât written well. But, prolifically. Thereâs a lot there and thereâs bound to be something good in the lot. I want to keep writing. This time, unlike the running, I must will myself to stop. I pretend, for a moment, I am a shopkeeper. I sweep the floors, spritz down the windows, take inventory, hang up the apron and flip the sign from âopenâ to âclosedâ. If Iâve ended well, I donât open my laptop back up until the following day, after the sun has risen again. The ending of a relationship. She phones. I answer. She says goodbye. I let her go. I donât attempt to fight. I donât attempt to win her back with empty promises and pocketfuls of daisies in the form of past memories and emotional investments. I tell her I love her, one last time. I hang up the phone and thatâs the end of it; an ending as quick as the beginning. We never talk again after this. No drunken phone calls. No happy birthday texts. Nothing. Itâs a cut as clean as a surgeon's. I walk away with tears in my eyes but my head held high. The ending of something written. But, I digress. By [Cole Schafer](. P.S. If you dig my writing and want to dig deeper, you can read my books of poetry and prose [One Minute, Please?]( and [Quarantine Dreams](. Or, you can enroll in... [my copywriting course]( or [my freelancing course](. [Or, you can follow me on Instagram.]( Did someone forward
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