Can you think of a time in your life when the ending of something had such clarity in it that you were able to understand yourself, your feelings, and your future (the potential of new beginnings) with deep insight? Or maybe the insight was a little foggy, but you knew that the ending was meaningful or purposeful?
Here is a poem that addresses the intricate nature of endings and beginnings:
Last Day at College
An inchworm came nestled in the glimmering head
of the romaine, his lime, segmented body
soft like fetal hair, his mouth aimed
for the center, the heart, where the leaves
are yellow, bitter. When I carried him outside
to the pear tree, I couldn’t help but think
of his life inside the lettuce, how safe
and secure he lived between the soft folds
of the leaves, and how soon I had to leave
the security too and enter a life outside
the protective leaves of books.
I set the little one directly on a fresh, ripe pear
as I would wish to be placed in a new environment—
where there is abundance and sweetness and
the juicy hint of possibility.
— Courtney Putnam, c. 2003
We can do this same thinking about endings when we end our day. What are we letting go of, missing, learning, gaining, growing, or relinquishing by saying goodbye to this very day before sleeping into a new day? And what do we want for our new day? Before falling asleep at night give yourself a chance to take stock of your day and set a lovely little intention for your new day. What do you notice? Is there a juicy hint of possibility?