On Beginning at the End
14 Jul 2010 1 Comment
by Marian in games, magic, personal essays, stories
With each surprise, the past reveals a new beginning in itself. Inasmuch as the future is always surprising, the past is always changing. — James Carse
Most people like to end their stories end at the end, but I like to end my stories at the beginning. “And they all lived happily ever after” or “And each one got exactly what they secretly desired” or “So it really depends on how you look at it.” It puts my mind at ease to know that everything is going to turn out alright. If I know that it is going to turn out alright, if I know there is a safe place to come back to, it doesn’t matter how uncomfortable things get in the middle, because resolution is inevitable. The suspense, the curiosity that draws me forward, is derived from the mystery of the middle.
I like to think of endings without their beginnings and middles, complete and whole in themselves. In a way, they are the entirety of the picture — the finished snapshot. Sometimes I just sit around and think of endings. One day I was playing with a deck of storytelling cards that had one-line endings for fairy tales. While I was playing with them, I was thinking about the stories that we tell, and I was thinking that it would be fun to incorporate some of these endings into the stories that I tell. It occurred to me to start carrying them around with me — at least the ones that I like, and start making up places in my life where they would fit. It would be fun to have props in this 3D choose-your-own-adventure that I like to call my life. It would be even more fun if I noticed that one of my ending cards came up, and showed them to the people who are participating in the story with me, so that they can trip out with me on my trippy little games. “And for all I know, they may be dancing still.” or “Her sorrow came to an end and her joy began”, or “And so the object was returned to it’s rightful owner,” which seemed like a particularly auspicious ending. I slipped it into the little plastic sheath where I kept my bus pass.
One day I was shopping for groceries with my friend, Walter, who is, I am sorry to say, a little bit of a stick in the mud. I headed out the door in a rush, and didn’t have a purse at the time, and was wearing a skirt, and anyway I stuck my bus pass in my waistband which probably wasn’t the smartest place in the world to put it. And sure enough, it and I did part ways somewhere as I imagine in retrospect, in the zucchinis.
I told Walter, just a little bit of a whisper in his ear, that I was looking for my bus pass but that he didn’t have to worry about it, just keep his eye out for it. What I did not expect him to do was start freaking out. He said “where did you last see it?!” “Well, I don’t know, somewhere around here… you know, it’s really not such a big deal, either it is or it isn’t here, and either one is ok.” “No it’s not OK!” he said. “It’s like $45 that you have to spend again.” “Yeah, I don’t know how I will ever recover.” I said sardonically. “It’s a big deal! I don’t know how you can be so casual about it!” “I don’t know why you go so easily into panic mode!” I said. “If it is here, then good. And if it is not here, how does worrying help anything? If it doesn’t matter to me at all, why should it matter to you?” Walter didn’t have a good answer, but he clearly thought that I was super flaky and he didn’t understand… never mind the bus pass, he didn’t understand how I hadn’t been hit by a bus or something after 25 years of being the way that I am.
Oh, the miracle of life!
At the counter, I asked the cashier if anyone had found a bus pass. She promptly handed it to me, and I pulled it out of the plastic sheath. One of the cards said “and then the object was returned to its rightful owner.” I showed it to Walter. “Read it and weep!” I laughed. “You don’t seriously think that it came back to you because of that silly card, do you?” “Why does it matter ‘why’ it came back to me? How can we ever know? I personally think my story is charming, but I am not going to try to make you ‘believe’ it. Your truth is whatever seems good to you.” (I personally think it’s a little nutty to think that putting such an overt message out to the universe has no meaning. Maybe I lost it just so that I could find it again.)
It’s hard to talk to the Walters of the World, because people who think that life is random and meaningless have a meaningless experience. There is space for magic in my reality, but not in theirs. Walter seemed angry that (against my strong advice) he had expended so much emotional energy on my situation. So, he grumped off, thinking that I was completely crazy to rely on fluffy things like fairy tale endings, and I laughed and proceeded to cast a spell on my wallet as well.
It has been returned to me, content in tact, several times since then.
Sometimes I wonder if my “return to me” spells encourage my things to leave in the first place so that they can return. I have since then discontinued the “return to me” spell and started casting a “stay safe” or “stay with me” spell. I have not lost my wallet since then, which is much better, because losing it is stressful and annoying, even if there are no Walters to stomp around and panic.
A few weeks ago, some kids stole three solar lights out of our front garden. My landlord was pretty tweaked. “I can’t afford to keep on buying lights if they’re just going to get taken away! It’s like we can’t have nice things in the front yard.” She wasn’t beginning at the end (which is, of course, totally arbitrary). I said “well, I agree with you, but that story doesn’t feel good to me. Instead, the story I am going to tell is “whenever people take lights out of the front yard, the universe gives us even more.” Last night, my friend who is moving out of town called to say that he knew I probably didn’t need more lights, but did I want them? He had eleven to give away and he thought he would ask me first.
Most people like to begin their stories at the beginning, but I like to begin my stories at the end. Because every beginning makes a space for a new end, and every end makes a space for a new beginning.
