Hard Truths, Day 4: Things End

Ever poked a dead hamster? I’m talking about a rock hard, dead-as-your-ex-whatever’s-soul hamster.

When I was a kid, my brother and I had rodents. He preferred gerbils and I went with hamsters. I remember coming home from church one day (long before I’d bought my condo in hell and started decorating) and finding it curious that my little hamster-wamster wasn’t up yet. So I opened up the cage and gave him a poke.

Which turned out to be more like a boink on account of him having pulled an Elvis and left the mortal building sometime during the night. Dead. Hard as a rock little ball of fur.

Today’s hard truth is that things end.

And I think it’s odd how I spent so many years knowing that but denying it altogether. Today, I’m writing this on the eve of an appointment that will determine not if, but how soon I have to put one of my sweet kitty cats to sleep. He has cancer. He’s 16. He’s had a wonderful life and he and his brother joined me for their journey while I lived in Japan back in 1999 (which is probably why I can’t understand a fucking thing either of them says). They were two pounds each when I adopted them and they’ve lived everywhere: Japan, San Diego, Los Angeles, Las Vegas, Denver, Boulder, and now Chicago.

And my sweetest little Peter Cat — who hops like a bunny because he’s always had this nerve thing in his back leg — is hurting.

So, let’s talk about things ending.

Everything we dare to begin in this life has the potential to end. And that includes business for those who still believe that living and business are two separate things. This journey we’ve all endeavored upon — life — isn’t it better referred to as the business of living?

Yes. The business of living. I’m undercaffeinated, so bear with me. *tips hat*

The list of things we lose in this lifetime is seemingly endless.

Car keys.

Grandparents.

Our minds.

$1500 you lent to someone even though you know you shouldn’t have.

Pets.

Clients.

Sales.

Virginity.

Your favorite water bottle.

Youth.

Hearts.

Homes.

Children.

Brothers.

Sisters.

Friends.

Soul Mates.

Opportunities.

Bids.

Chances.

Our Give-A-Fucks.

Just in that list alone, there’s a lot to lose.

So, here’s what I’ve learned in the past 41 years about things ending.

There’s a wicked dichotomy between beginnings and ends. It’s the red light saber versus the blue light saber in an epic battle for good to win out over evil, yet here’s the challenge I’ve faced:

For the better part of my life, I didn’t know whether beginning or end was on the blue side of the fight.

When I did my TEDx talk back in 2012, I got an inordinate amount of shit for this part:

In 39 years, the one thing I’ve figured out is that not everyone is meant to be my friend, employee, colleague, customer, or client. In fact, most people who come through my life aren’t meant to stay there for the long term. They’re weigh stations. And they come through, they drop off what they’re supposed to give me, and then they clean-out leave and head to someone else’s life — which is exactly where they belong.

Things end.

After Jason died, I’d have argued that endings were anything but a steaming pile of shit with you for nearly two years, as I couldn’t see anything resembling hope through my grief.

But today, both beginnings and ends are the blue end of the light saber.

For every client earned, one will leave. And I will have learned from both.

For every love I’ve fallen into, more have left me plummeting down an open elevator shaft and slamming to the ground. And I will mend and climb back up and dare to love again and with a heart different than the one I loved with before.

For every bite of corned beef hash my grandmother served at the lunch table, I’ll never forget the day she died. The look on my mom’s face. The weight of her heart as she went about doing what needed to be done with my grandfather and aunt. But I’ll get to learn from every story she tells me and think on occasion: What would grandma do here?

For each audition I earn, it’s a win whether or not I get the role. The roles I win will be a delight because they’re hiring ME. And when they hire someone else, it’s not a loss because I could never be the actor they hired.

Things end.

And my life got better when I made both the beginning and end of anything blue light sabers. They Guy in the White Hat. The Katniss. The Batman. The Academy Award. The standing ovation.

Because if there’s one thing I’ve figured out, we’re only built to carry so much weight. And if we kept everything with us and for all time, we’d become paralyzed.

Things end because they are supposed to, and it has nothing to do with whether we like it or not.

It has everything to do with that things have always ended and are designed to end. And maybe you’re not on board with the belief that there’s something beyond our present state of being, but I do.

I believe that, if were lucky, we get to live again. Come back. Try another suit on and have another experience. And we wouldn’t have that opportunity if we got stuck right here for all of eternity.

Things end. And as I look back over my 41 years, I can laugh about all of the endings when I see that they all were the start of something beautiful, even if I couldn’t see it at the time.

And while I might hate it when I come to the end of a gorgeous piece of chocolate cake or find a client I was looking forward to working with isn’t going to sign on…

There will be more cake.

There will always be another client.

There will always be another love.

And while it’s not THAT cake or THAT client or THAT love…they’ll be something that THAT could never be.

Different. And a life lived with a vast collection of differents is, to me, what makes this journey worthwhile.

Things end. And for this, I am glad.

And while today, I am not glad about a very difficult decision I will have to make about my Peter Cat (and soon), I’m grateful that one day back in 1999, he and his brother gave me a wonderful beginning as I held them — one in each hand — so scared to break them and ready to love them.

I’ll remember laughing because of Peter Cat’s taste for chewing on electrical cords and finding a little puddle of pee next to one well-chewed cord (and thinking, I guess you can scare the piss out of something). I’ll remember putting him underneath a baseball cap and watching the hat move around the living room floor like a remote controlled car. And I’ll remember he and his brother always sleeping in a ying/yang position. And I’ll remember that kitty brothers can be very glad to see one another, because this is what Peter Cat did to his brother Moto when he came home from his cancer surgery six months ago.