I have to thank my dearly departed grandfather for my first lesson in the power of goodbye. He was the typical Italian Nonno in that his garden was a Noah’s ark of plant life. Since I was obsessed with plants and trees, I followed him around, helping him tend to the garden. I especially loved the grape vines. They grew so quickly, the twisting tendrils wrapping around anything within reach, and the vines smothering every inch of surface they could cover. By late summer, we had a thick, lush green canopy that sheltered us from the hot afternoon sun and where we’d take cover from rain storms. In the fall, it yielded succulent grapes that were used to make wine.
But in the fall, Nonno took huge sheers and drastically cut the lengthy vines to sad little nubs. Little Mikey was incensed: “Why are you killing it and cutting off these perfectly good vines?!” I cried. In Nonno’s typical stoicism he replied “you have to remove what’s good to allow even better to grow.”
I didn’t understand at the time but with the benefit of time and experience, I’ve learned the lesson: sometimes we have to say goodbye to things- even if they are good- to allow greatness to enter. This is the power of goodbye.
My personal goodbye
So if that’s the case, why do I have such a hard time with goodbyes? My most recent goodbye came in the form of a relationship ending. I still have moments where pain and loss come over me like unrelenting waves of the ocean. There is a giant void in my life that used to be occupied by the person who was the source of so much happiness and joy. Now he’s gone and my abandonment wounds are triggered en masse, bringing with it the usual suspects of grief, loneliness, and vulnerability. So where is Nonno’s lesson in this? Why don’t I just shrug it off and say “I’m making room for something better”?
Endings = Beginnings
While it is true that lopping off a vine branch is not the same as breaking up with a long-term partner, I believe that the lesson is universal: in every ending there is a new beginning.
It seems that the source of my suffering is the fact that my focus has been more on the ending and not the beginning. Like the little boy who was more saddened by the giant pile of cut branches than excited for the prospects of a more fulsome vine next spring, my attention is on the wrong side of the coin.
I’m not saying that there shouldn’t be a mourning period or that we shouldn’t process the natural and valid feelings that arise after a break up or loss. In fact, it is vital to our growth that we honour those feelings. As I’m writing this, I’m realizing that I’m still in that transition period and maybe I need to cut myself some slack. Soon enough my focus will need to shift more to the possibilities and opportunities of what lies ahead rather than mourning what lies in my wake.
Polarity
There are two important spiritual laws at play here. The first is the Law of Polarity that reminds us that there are two sides to everything, identical in nature but different in degree. Beginnings and endings are one such example. Since they are two sides of the same coin, we need one to experience the other. Without the sadness that comes with loss, how will I appreciate the feeling of excitement that comes with new beginnings? One is needed to experience the other.
Rhythm
The Law of Rhythm is the other relevant universal law at play here. Everything has its season, then it goes, then something new emerges, it grows, and so on. Each phase has its own unique purpose and function, and together they form the full picture. I’m currently in the season of goodbye and letting go which serves a purpose in our relationship as a couple, and my journey overall. Nothing is permanent; energy is always in motion so my work is to just breathe and trust in the rhythm. The tide always turns, sunset turns to sunrise, and winter turns to spring.
Final thoughts
Goodbyes are understandably difficult because we lose something or someone important to us. The pain that comes with goodbyes should be respected and processed in a healthy way. However, when we focus too much on the loss, we don’t make space for what is trying to emerge into our lives. This causes us to feel stuck in the grief and that stagnation is what prevents us from growth and expansion.
If Nonno were here today, I like to think he’d remind me that like the grape vines, new and beautiful growth cannot occur without saying goodbye. In his infinite wisdom, he would tell me that I can be grateful for the time we had together, but that our season had reached it’s natural ending and now I must have the courage to focus more on the possibility of tomorrow rather than the happenings of yesterday.
