Pullin Weeds

For the last 3 weeks or so the idea of “closure” has been cropping up like dandelions. Just like dandelions, the concept is so common that we almost buy into it as being real, like some of us still believe dandelions are just sweet smelling flowers. Neither…nor.

I must admit that I too have been participating in the Closure Ruse, which is how I came to remember that it’s some BS. The problem with it is not that it is something we all seek, it’s that we seek it in the wrong way. As we passively seek this crazy thing on a path laid of errors we are actually putting our feet in emotional concrete. Stuck much? Closure did that to you.

The word is defined as a resolution or conclusion to a work or process. In other words—The End. The reason our search for it is problematic is because usually we’re looking for the resolution to come from the other person you were originally playing the game with. When they got up & took all the cards with them, often with an insufficient explanation, you were still sitting there, mouth agape, wondering what the hell went wrong? This part makes me laugh, even at myself. We were all there for the stuff that went wrong & we still sit around for months even years waiting for that person to tell us why they dipped. & seemingly so suddenly.

This is the part where you remain at the table, running through your memories. Instead of starting with the most recent 1’s, where you’re clear where things were starting to look a little effed up & can easily pull up your annoyance with the other party, but go straight to the beginning where all things were good. You start when you were so in like & retrace your steps to when you fell so in love & hit pause. A lot of loitering happens right about here, you hang out on lampposts & wait for the other person to walk by you & catch the gleam of love in your eye. “Remember when it felt like this, Baby?” Then you get hit upside the head with a whole lot of “SO?” as they prepare to break you off some recent reality. But you miss it cuz you’re busy digging in your pockets for cotton balls to stuff in your ears to block this terrible story you’re about to get told. Rebuking reality.

So, now you’re cold lampin (for my old skewl hip hop heads), you got your cotton balls in your ears & your rose colored glasses are fresh to death. Bad combination. Goodness walks by you like 6 times & you miss it cuz the memory reel is on repeat or you’re still on PAUSE waiting for the other person to return with those positive memories. Meanwhile, the other person has moved on, & dandelions begin to grow about your feet. What usually happens? You get tired of waiting, realize that you’ve been lapped by forward motion & start to realize just how bad things were. Progress? Hell no. What comes next is taking residence on the other person’s front stoop, waiting for them to come out of the house, so you can ask them how things got so bad? You could just move on if you only knew how you got there, right? HA!

You should know the rest of the process. We’ve all lived it. You find out some crap you already knew, beat yourself up for wasting so much time trying to find Waldo in a sea of Waldos, & then waste a little more time trying to get over yourself.

The point? Closure is from within. As a friend of mine told me yeeeeeeears ago, the person who cut you cannot apply the bandaid. Or something to that effect. Ultimately, closure is nothing more than hoping/wishing the other person is hurting as much as you are. If they are, there’s hope, it makes you feel like you were a part of the same dynamic. If they aren’t it makes you wonder what relationship you’ve just been walking in holding your own hand all that time, thinking it was theirs. It’s concluded the moment you decide it’s no longer important. Does that mean that person has no place in your heart anymore? Nope. Not. At. All. It does mean that they have no control over your ability to move on. So…put the yellow tape up, draw a chalk outline around it, & put a tag on its toe. It’s dead. Free yourself & move on.

I am.

Watch me move.