May 2019
Dear Beloved,
It was the end of a long conference, the end of a long day, and late after the closing performance. There are six of us sitting around the dining table, plus an energetic puppy bent on chewing any and every thing the same way we are getting energy from following any and every line of thought ping-ponging and buzzing between us.
The conversation come to a natural standstill...
But then one of us offers another thought. And we were off again.
The later it gets, the more the walls need to support our weight. Even the puppy has tired itself out, fallen asleep in a lap.
Again, we listen to the silence filling the air between us...
Again, someone finds another thought to speak into that air.
And we were off.
Midnight, twelve-thirty, 1 o' clock, more.
Until someone finally raises their hand and says, “I’m fading.” This is met with immediate and rousing echoes of, me too! And let’s go to bed! And good night!
It was all the permission everyone needed to end the evening — but we had all needed that permission.
--
Dear Beloved,
It was the last day of the semester. I am planning on asking the professor after class if I could continue emailing him with questions and for advice — partly because of some sense of obligation to professional networking.
During the last ten minutes of class, he wraps with a speech reminding us that people come into and out of our lives for a reason. He reminds us that relationships that last a season are just as valuable as lifelong friendships. He reminds us that all people shape us when they are present and that we can be grateful for that. He reminds us that Facebook sometimes fools us into thinking we can stay in touch forever, but that sometimes we have to let things go.
Sometimes we have to let people go.
--
Dear Beloved,
At the Gathering Summit, in an interview with Priya Parker, they talk about how each gathering has a life and chemical composition unique to its specific people and specific decisions and the specific point and time when it’s occurring.
They propose the idea of holding funerals for gatherings. Instead of letting a gathering peter out to the point where people start ghosting on it, to honor what has been by through it a celebration and a last-hurrah.
Instead of letting things get to the point of auto-pilot, follow the energy to its next form.
Let it evolve.
--
Dear Beloved,
I have a facilitation book called Gamestorming by Dave Gray and co. about how to use interactive activities in your workshops and such.
They group activities based on the types of energy it activates: you have activities that open us up to new ideas and new possibilities (e.g. brainstorming), and you have activities that help us focus a group's energy and channel it towards a closing (e.g. prioritizing ideas based on values).
One of their guiding principles is that you should close everything you open.
Say you’ve just done a big brainstorm. People are fired up because as a group they’ve collectively imagined a hundred new ideas into the room. But if you end a workshop there, that can feel really dissatisfying or deflating. Because the field of possibility is too wide, and no one knows what to do next, and odds are none of those ideas will become reality.
You've left people dangling.
Close what you open.
--
Dear Beloved,
The ironic thing is that when you lose a parent at a young age, and they die, and you have a funeral for them, it feels over...
but you have to still deal with the fact of their gone-ness over and over again for the rest of your life.
It never actually ends. It can’t be closed.
--
Dear Beloved,
I started these letters to forge a connection to future generations and to leave something behind for posterity
...because I wasn’t sure I would ever have any physical descendants.
I think what changed is that
Kate asked me at brunch, had we talked about having children? And I told her
I don’t know if I will have biological children in my lifetime, but I know I want a big family.
Those things are not mutually exclusive.
And now I know that.
--
Dear Beloved,
Truth is, I don’t know how to close this project. The energy to show up here and write to you ended for me awhile ago. I have been ghosting you ever since.
I want to move on.
So you deserve a closing letter.
But all I can seem to write are openings.
--
Dear Beloved,
It is a muscle.
We go to bed.
Even though there is more to say.
We say goodbye.
Even though we will miss you.
We close.
Even though opening is more exciting.
We hold funerals.
Even though life keeps going.
--
Dear Beloved,
It is a muscle.
We go to bed.
Because there is always more to say.
We say goodbye.
Because you will be missed.
We close.
Because only then can new things open.
We hold funerals.
Because life keeps going.
--
Dear Beloved,
I love you.
Goodbye,
Christina