Carol Orsborn: The End of the Story

Dispatch from the Land of Old Souls

So, I’m the kind of person who likes to skip to the end of the book. There are many readers willing to wait for the story to play out. But at this age and stage of my life, I’m grateful for any closure—however premature it may be.

And recently, there have been many stories that have played themselves out not just on the written page but in my book of  life. The orderly narratives that I expected to sustain through the very end have rarely proven to be the final word. Instead, there are plot twists and turns, denouements and the big reveal.

Some of the friends I thought were besties for life ghosted me. Colleagues I was sure were aiming to take me down turned out to be selfless supporters. Family who draped themselves in the arrogance of superior health, died suddenly. Others who planned their funerals years ago are outliving us all.

I’m sad when I realize I’ve been tolerated rather than loved, thrilled when I come to understand that something I dreaded had always been based on false evidence. It is closure, too, when I realize there is something for which I will never be forgiven and something else that will never make sense. I should be in shock, but the gratification in finally learning that the truth about things trumps wishful thinking, even if it’s almost more than I can bear.

Even those of us aging spiritually may have preferred simple happiness, but when it comes to fulfilling the human potential, it’s complicated. Bittersweet sadness, righteous indignation, unexpected delight, miracles and above all acceptance. Now that so much has been made apparent, and despite multiple close calls, I’m still here, I find closure in reality, however difficult it may be.

I’ve had a lot of practice, skipping to the end of the book then going back and savoring every page, now seeing the truth that had been hidden in plain sight all along. Nine times out of ten, I choose reality over illusion—and the tenth time I’ll save for this last book, which I’m for once not eager to finish.

Looking forward, what gives me courage is having come to realize that my greatest successes never mattered half as much as the failures overcome. And none of it, success or failure, has ever come close to the joy of taking my dog for a walk or eating a fresh croissant. I don’t really know the end to every story, but I do know this: It’s going to be okay.