Skip to the End

My wife and I have a collection of DVDs that we fall back upon when other sources of entertainment run dry. One of my favorites is “Accidental Tourist”. I love all parts of the movie except for the scenes with Kathleen Turner. She plays Sarah, a woman torn by grief. She believes Macon, her husband, blocks any hope for her recovery. She finds fault with him no matter how hard he tries to comfort and please her. They separate and prepare to divorce.

Macon stumbles into a relationship with Muriel, a woman who genuinely cares for him. Then he allows Sarah to pull him back into another attempt at their marriage. Their relationship eventually grinds to a halt after it becomes obvious to Macon and Sarah that their deepest connections have been permanently severed. Macon reconciles with Muriel in a beautiful scene. They look at each other with tenderness and acceptance.

I know that the difficult passages about depression, estrangement, and conflict set up the sweet intensity of the final scene, but I sometimes wish that I could get there by an easier route. I want to skip to the end.

I sometimes want to skip to the end when hard times arrive at my doorstep. Movie plots run along predictable lines, but the course of a life doesn’t. Part of the difficulty of enduring harsh interludes is not knowing how the story will end. Or whether there’s any point to making an effort or to being brave. Will holding my temper while dealing with a persistently annoying relative ultimately pay off? Or will that relative just take advantage of my forbearance until I reach a point of exhaustion? Will opening myself up to grief lead to peace and solace? Or will I sink into chronic depression? If I could watch the final reel, then I could make better choices now.

But striving to find certainty is a fool’s errand. Life seldom sticks to predictable paths. Even those leading conventional lives often encounter unexpected difficulties. Begging the gods for mercy seldom works.

What’s left to do?

When I make full use of a moment, good or bad, painful or joyful, I become awake. But when I ponder about what could be or could have been, I dream fitful dreams. When I stop worrying about the end of a story in order to actually participate in the story, I am wholly and purposefully engaged. But when I fret about the future, I stop moving forward. When I accept whatever comes my way, then I am at peace. But when I put buffers between me and reality, I begin to die.