I like closure.
It might be because I grew up reading Nancy Drew books.There was always a complete ending to each of the mysteries she solved. The pieces came together; the patterns, decisions, and actions made sense. Most everybody ended up happy, but even in the case of an unhappy ending, there was resolution.
I read a lot of other books, from other genres, as well. Most often, they also ended with the final details tucked neatly into the last few pages, the questions answered and the mischief managed.
Whatever the reason, closure matters to me. I find comfort in the rituals of completing something: signing a document, boxing things up, snapping a final picture. Summarizing the final points. Saying good-bye.
Right now, closure doesn’t come easily. It must be done remotely, by video or phone call or email. Cautiously, safely. In bits and pieces, a little here, a little there. Separately.
Sometimes, it isn’t possible at all.
I don’t like this world of loose ends. It makes me feel off-kilter, not being able to do the things I typically associate with a final chapter. How do I move on, if there are unresolved storylines?
I suppose it’s selfish of me to think this way. My need for closure could be interfering with somebody else’s need for urgency. And, not everybody cares about a perfect ending. Some might even be irritated by that sort of thing.
Maybe, in this age of social media and virtual access, this potential to connect anywhere, anytime, it’s silly of me to place so much value on a last handshake or hug. Perhaps I should just accept, adapt, and move on. Create closure on the concept of closure.
I’ll work on it. In the meantime, I’ll continue to believe in the value of those final touchstone experiences; those rituals that mark the stories of the people and memories that fill our hearts.