The Warmth Of Closures
As a precarious teenager, I carried along with me an entitled notion of deserving closures for all those loose, unresolved threads of life. I would beseech and demand it from everyone; from parents, for the generational trauma they dumped on me to friends for the egoistic slights which had gone unperceived. I would hound my boyfriend for not acknowledging my need to post-mortem our fights or seek explanations for why he would ghost me for months (needless to say, it was a toxic relationship). I will confess that I carried this belief with me since then, all through my 20s.
Closures were my way of dealing with life when it gets messy and chaotic. And boy, was it ever so tumultuous. They helped me put a pin on it and figure out the boundaries of the spilled gravy of a relationship, so my neurotic self can immediately clean it with a wet, fastidious rag and order would be restored in my world again. Control was and is, to an extent, ever so important for me to understand my reality; my odds of survival in this world, even. (I can imagine my therapist vehemently disagreeing as she reads this.)
Now, in my 30s and learning quietly how adulting is about the acceptance of your cluelessness about life, I seemed to have mellowed down in my ability to be a closure-retriever. I realize that I still crave actuality, but selectively; I aspire for calmness more than euphoria and my tolerance for stupidity is at an all-time low. I aspire less than I seek and I definitely find my priorities in life to have more to do with house organization porn than remnant, incomplete feelings.
Ages ago, one fine afternoon, over a cold and unappetizing lunch, a soulmate of a friend shouted gruffly at my whining for yet another needy closure I was seeking. He declared in his characteristic baritone how no one is entitled to anything in this world, let alone a closure, and I should frankly, shut the hell up. I protested meekly but the surprisingly obvious truth finally sank into my head. I accepted, grudgingly albeit, the choices people exercised and the semblance of peace I found in letting go. I learned to live with unspoken words and unsaid silences.
Truth be told, closure is a crazy old woman. She dances quite outside your grasp and makes you huff exhausted as you try to join her in her frenzy. I believe though, that she is not entirely unkind; she just likes to revel in your disheveled unpreparedness when she shows up by your door at 3 AM, unannounced. the day you get wise enough to handle her quirks, you’ll see that she keeps her end of the bargain and walks inside your home carrying peace you never knew you wanted. Like the salty breeze that washed in the parking structure while I stood today, pondering over something I had beaten myself up about for 15 years. She tickled my soul and assured me that I was there, finally, and that’s all that mattered. Things reshuffled in my heart. Feelings, and emotions, were long scattered for I had no idea how to organize them and she finally cleared the missing pieces just enough to show me the coherence I needed to clear them up.
We spin a million threads of love, life, and relationships and see them tangle despite our best efforts. Maybe the joy of life is to patiently wait and watch them eventually unravel, one knot at a time. (because they will have to come apart, in the end, one way or the other, don't they?) Maybe closure is that unexpected sliver of warmth on a cold dreary winter afternoon. Sometimes you find it readily in a bowl of hot soup and grandma’s hugs. Sometimes though, it is the sunshine peeking over into your room while you hold onto your anxiety and soldier through life. And while you didn't expect it, you are grateful for the glorious warmth it brings to your tired bones.
