Endings: The closing note in a much richer song

Endings are rarely dressed in grace. More often than not, they arrive untidy, unresolved, heavy with words we wish we hadn’t spoken and silences we wish we had filled. They can feel like a betrayal of everything that came before; however, it is at this point that we must remember that the final chapter, albeit important, cannot rewrite the whole story.

I recently resigned from work, and while I was serving my notice period, a lot, as usual, was going on personally. The sale of my house, car, and other logistics began to encroach upon my transition period. Naturally, a lot was going on at work as well, and it felt like something had to give. When things weren’t working out the way I wished them to, I began to believe that the friction, the distance, and the unravelling were the truest version of what was. When something closes, it is the ending somehow that shouts the loudest, obliterating all the music from the days gone by. 

My husband unabashedly provided me with his perspective. A chapter of work, he said, cannot be defined by their last moments any more than a sunset defines the whole day. He asked me to consider how my workplace had supported me in my hours of need.

He asked me to remember the beginnings; the hope; and also the middle, the time where effort felt worthwhile, where meaning quietly rooted itself into ordinary days. This conversation reminded me of days when showing up to work didn’t feel like a question.

Those days were real. They mattered. They still do. I learnt that to remember only the ending is to flatten something that was once full and alive. It is tempting to assign blame, to categorise it as a failure, but there is a quiet strength in choosing otherwise. When you leave a job, you can choose to remember not just the exhaustion or the final tension, but also the skills you built, the people who supported you, and the version of yourself that learned to rise to challenges. 

So when you find yourself standing at an ending, heart heavy, thoughts tangled, resist the urge to let it define everything. Look back; gather the good like scattered light and then, gently, let the ending be just that: a closing note in a much richer song.