On Last Words

After a series of missed opportunities and conversations, I began to wonder: if you had one last chance to say anything and everything, what would you say, and who would you say it to?

Don't wait. Your words will be heard and welcomed with open arms.

I asked a dear friend for his opinion, and his response summed it up: "If we discovered that we only had five minutes left to say all that we wanted to say, every telephone booth would be occupied by people calling other people to hammer that they loved them."

But it got me thinking, what would you say?

For that matter, what would I say?

I like to think of myself as a writer. As prolific as I like to think I am, I don't think my words ever amount to much. My Facebook timeline is a series of shared quotes that encapsulate the things I dream of saying better than I could ever say it. I only have momentary epiphanies of clarity. I can't find the words to articulate the overwhelming array of emotions I feel at such extreme extents.

I lay awake at night and think of conversations that won't exist. I think of witty and philosophical things to say. I imagine how you would respond. I replay old conversations and think of how I should have handled them differently. The conversations go on and on until I eventually just pass out. Then I dream of usually the negative version of the conversation I just imagined.  Then I wake up the next morning unable to find new words.

Then I wonder about opportunities. We all have things we want to say, but will we ever have the chance to say them?

Perhaps you'll get that chance. But in the moment, how will you respond?

The problem with having last words is they are often spontaneous, but the emotions behind them are so varied that in the moment, it is unknown what will come out. Will you express anger? Heartbreak? Gratitude? Sorrow? Happiness?

When you can't plan your last words, what of your emotions will take over you, and what will you choose to express?

For the sake of this conversation, we will just imagine that we can all plan.

So here you go, you get to plan.

Me? What would I say? Well, that's irrelevant. So, I'll just give you my thoughts and you can keep yours, and together we'll work something out. Alright?

I would probably change my mind about forty-seven different times and still be unsatisfied with the final result. I would meditate on it for days and think hard, but I don't know that it would ever come to me.

But I know this much is true. (Also, a book by Wally Lamb, which is a must read)

I have last words. The last words have to be as much about you as they are about me. We both need a catharsis. But I've learned that as awful as life is, it is a waste of time to be angry. You can hold on all you want, but you can't change anything. So if my last words can't be anger, and they have to be a catharsis, then what's next?

Expressing genuine emotion, for one. Catharsis means admitting to your feelings and where you are. You are on a journey. You are on the first step of many. But you can't move forward without acknowledging where you are. And sometimes, that means facing the brutal truth: you are broken, sad, decimated, and struggling to face the world and move on.

But to get to where you are, you had to come part way on this journey to be at this step to continue. Thus, there's a level of gratitude. Thank you for where you brought me, and thank you for getting me here so I can go forward. Thank you for teaching me a lesson, whether good or bad.

And that's where you're at. Genuine emotion and gratitude.

Your last words may be different than mine. Truly, I hypothesize, but I don't know what mine will be in the moment. I don't even know what mine will be in the event I get to plan them.

But I know this: your last words are not meant to be something that is feared. To be able to write or say your thoughts is to be revered. Don't hide away your beautiful words.

So here's what I'll leave you with. Go grab a few pieces of paper and a pen. Think of the person who has made an impact on you recently. Think of what you want to say to them. Go full out Freudian stream of consciousness and write. Write through the tears, the hand cramps, the writer's block, the messed up paragraph order, the missing words and poor sentence structure. Write until your heart finally releases everything you've pent up. Write until you get the catharsis you deserve. I promise that just getting it on paper will help.

Because you deserve the world. You deserve closure and moving on. You deserve a second chance to start over. But that won't come if you're holding on to the words you wish you would have said or wish you could say now that the situation has changed.

Share your words. They're meant to be heard. YOU are meant to be heard. You may never get a response, but there's nothing to say you can't say them anyways.

But if you're going to do this, drop the laptop (well, put it down gently). Put the phone on airplane mode. This isn't meant for a text, an email, a Facebook message, a snapchat, or anything else. (Yes, I realize the irony of that statement as I sit here blogging on my laptop. Moving on.)

It's meant for pen and paper. For conversation. For honesty and vulnerability.

You can make the opportunity for words. You can make the opportunity to be heard. Because being stuck in the past with your words is not a kind of misery that anyone deserves to feel.

Say the words. Set them free. They'll do what they will. What will happen will happen.

But before it can happen, you have to put the world in motion. Say it.

Go ahead, write. Have your catharsis. I'll be here.

"Let go of the outcome, and let the universe rest."