Last week I concluded a two-part series about the value of stories and how they shape our humanity. This week I thought I’d do something different, something I’ve not done in a while, and relay the message of this blog in song form.
A few days ago my wife and I watched the last few episodes of the final season of This Is Us. I’ve written about the show previously, and you might already be familiar with it, but in case you’re not aware, This Is Us centres around the lives and interwoven stories of the members of an extended family through the years. As we watched the penultimate episode, knowing we had just one more to go before the end of the series, I felt sad that the show was coming to an end. It was such a beautiful experience watching the entire series, and we wanted to savour it all, so much so that we watched it slowly, spreading out the 6 seasons over a year. But as the expression goes, all good things…
Note: Spoiler alert coming. If you haven’t seen the end of This Is Us, or if you’d rather not read about it for some other reason, skip the next two paragraphs.
The final season explores the gradual health decline of Rebecca, one of the main characters, and it all comes to a head in the penultimate episode where she’s on her deathbed and her family members gather around to say their goodbyes. The episode is a metaphorical representation of her final moments, set on a train. We see a youthful Rebecca on said train, like something out of a vintage movie. Then comes William, another character from the show who died years earlier. William escorts her through the train carriages, where they encounter various characters through the years. She sees her children as toddlers, teenagers and adults. She sees her daughter-in-law as the teenage girl who first met her son and as the woman she’s grown into. She even sees and interacts with the doctor who delivered her triplets.
Rebecca and William arrive at the door to the final carriage and after standing in front of it for a moment, William says it’s time, time for her to walk through to the end. At that moment, Rebecca, with a forlorn expression on her face, says, "This is quite sad, isn't it? The end." William smiles and replies, "Oh, I don't know. The way I see it if something makes you sad when it ends it must have been pretty wonderful when it was happening." William goes on to explain that he’d always thought it was lazy to think of the world as sad just because a lot of it is. If we allow ourselves a wide perspective, we can appreciate just how beautiful a lot of life is.
I love this so much because it rings true on so many levels. Here was a character who was living out her final moments and sad about her life ending, but was reminded that she’d had a good run and a beautiful life, and on a meta level, there I was, not wanting such a lovely show to end because I’d enjoyed it so much. But the lesson here is that I didn’t want the show to end because I’d enjoyed it so much, but rather than focusing on how sad I felt because it was ending, I had so much to appreciate because I’d experienced it in the first place. There’s another lesson inherent in this reminder; when things are going well, when I’m enjoying a TV show, or my favourite meal, or a blissful day spent with my favourite person, the knowledge that it is all finite makes me want to appreciate it all the more, because like all good things, it’ll come to an end someday or sometime.
While this finitude and fleeting nature of life’s experiences should remind us to savour each moment, it should also serve as a reminder that just like the good times, the bad times will also pass. This inspired me to write a song a few days ago, which I’d like to leave you with this week. As I’ve written previously, I hold dear the idea that the best songs are those whose lyrics can stand alone as poetry, and through this lens, I feel empowered to leave you with the lyrics, safe in the knowledge that someday soon, you might get to hear it live (if you're in my vicinity) or enjoy a studio version when it makes its way out into the world. Until then, I give you, All In Good Time.
Someday, we’ll look back and smile At how these troubling times Have shown the stuff that we're made of All in good time Someday, in a little while We'll laugh as we stand tall and stare At the light at the end of the tunnel All in good time And though it seems, up ahead That the track is hardly clear Just know at least we’ve got each other And when we’re gripped with fear On a path fraught with dread We’ll be strong for one another Someday, not so long from now We’ll joke about today's failures And how we thought they’d ruined our future All in good time
P.S.: My debut non-fiction book, Art Is The Way, and my middle-grade novella, A Hollade Christmas, are out everywhere now. You can get them in all good bookstores and from all major online vendors.