But before I move on, let's be real. Being able to control your thoughts and push out unwanted, wrong, inappropriate, or depressing ones could give you some much-needed stability in today's anxiety-ridden world. In some ways, it's a gift. At the same time, though, it's not an uncommon criticism to say Mormons are too often unhealthily repressive with their thoughts and aren't always consciously acknowledging, coping with, and suppressing intrusive thoughts in a way that modern psychology would say is healthy. This isn't me criticizing the church or it's practices at all--I'll leave that to the professionals. The real reason I bring this up at all is because this practice of repressing and/or suppressing thoughts shaped how I thought as a young child and as an adolescent--and it left a lasting impression on how still I think as an adult.
As an adolescent, being raised in the church led me to believe I had a lot of things figured out in life at a young age that I just simply didn't. Part of it came from believing Mormon doctrine, and part of it came from just being a dumb teenager who thought, generically enough, that I knew everything and couldn't be wrong. But that's not even necessarily what I'm talking about, though. I'd more like to discuss how common it was for me to purposely disagree with conventional human wisdom, partially because of teenage arrogance, but also partially because of self-policing my thoughts.
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| Life as a know-it-all teenager, circa 2011. |
For example, I used to be certain I knew what my purpose was in life. I knew answers to big questions about what happens when we die or if we existed before we were born, so I never bothered to entertain those thoughts any further. I had a solid system for making tough, life-changing decisions (see: personal revelation for Mormons). I used to think I was a pretty cool kid, that people who didn't agree with my taste in music were factually wrong, and that death was insignificant. I had a disdain for strong emotions, sometimes struggled to be empathetic, thought sentimentality was overrated, didn't trust people, and I thought that saying goodbye to people and things wasn't important because, worst case scenario, we'd meet again when everything is sorted out in the next life anyways. In a pretty real way, believing in an afterlife can sometimes lead you to hold less value in your current life.
Here's where I'd like to admit I was wrong. About plenty of things, sure, but specifically about the importance of saying goodbye to people. Or saying goodbye to relationships, or to places or to things that are important to us. Back then (and even somewhat recently, I'll admit), I would sometimes purposely and sometimes accidentally unceremoniously forgo saying goodbye to people or situations I'd never see again. To cope with the idea, I just thought, "Oh well, I'll just move on and not think about it." That's it. That's all it took. I was alarmingly fast at moving on from things or people because I didn't value the sentimentality like I should have. In an effort to be a pragmatist, I was basically just being a dick.
Taking time to say goodbye properly is so, so important. Saying goodbye gives finality and closure that is impossible to find anywhere else, especially compared to my old mentally of just "deciding to move on." It gives you a chance to say those last important things that are on your mind, to close the mental chapter in your head, and to tie together the loose ends of your heart strings. Even if you left important things unsaid or still feel strong, unsettled emotions about the goodbye, at least you had a chance to express yourself in a very real moment. Conversations in which we say goodbye with finality are often filled with words people need to hear; a final word or goodbye could (and should) alter the way you remember each other.
Even from a psychological standpoint, getting closure is scientifically important. In a series of interactions and memories, you're most likely to remember your first and last the best (let alone the excitement and trauma of meeting someone and breaking up, respectively). But science aside, your last interaction with another person is so important because human to human interactions are literally the most important things in this world. Go ahead and name something more important than friendship, love, family. Sure, some things are important, but I'm thinking of the words of John Keating:
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| "Medicine, law, business, engineering, these are noble pursuits and necessary to sustain life. But poetry, beauty, romance, love, these are what we stay alive for." |
It's fascinating that love can traverse space, time, and death. That always seemed like an exaggeration to me, but think about what love is. If love is largely a feeling that really exists somewhere in your literal head or metaphorical heart, and if it exists regardless of if that person is present or not, alive or not...Then love truly does transcend even the most harsh of barriers. And when you skip out on saying goodbye or ending things properly, you're likely skewing the love you remember in the wrong direction by not providing an opportunity it's due finality.
This is truly what makes unexpected death so devastating--as if death, a forced goodbye, wasn't devastating enough. Not having the time to mentally prepare yourself for a final interaction or not having the chance to say goodbye can taint a memory for a lifetime. Suddenly it makes sense that most every human to ever live and die was buried and given a proper sendoff, a funeral and paying respects. It's weird for me to think that in reality, a funeral isn't nearly as much for the person who died as much as it's for the people who care about you that survive you. It's their last chance to really say goodbye.
Even if there is a next world and you believe in it, I think we should all live like there isn't. We should live like our finite time on the earth is all we get and we shouldn't leave important things unsaid, loose ends untied. We should express love always and we should properly express a goodbye when it's needed.
When I was a teenager, I was told this but I didn't see the value in it like I do now. In fact, I remember reading in one of my all time favorite books, Life of Pi:
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| “I suppose in the end, the whole of life becomes an act of letting go, but what always hurts the most is not taking a moment to say goodbye.” |
Whether it's throwing my marathon shoes on a powerline to retire them, or not ghosting the girl I met that things aren't going to work out with, or getting a moment to say goodbye to my best friend's dad who's dying from cancer, or having that one last, tough conversation with the person I'm breaking up with, I need to express compassion and care in the last moments I'm given--and I hope you will, too. Every day all around the world, there's thousands of people who didn't even know they were saying goodbye for the last time, and what a tragedy it is for us to forgo our own opportunity simply because we don't want to expend the emotional energy, or because our anxiety over important human interaction seems like it's too much to bear, or because of some other subpar reasoning.
I suppose most of you already understood this idea better than I did, but I'm glad I learned it late rather than never.
The end of Life of Pi, the movie.
