The Wisdom of Solomon (or his advisor)

"It All Ends...7/15"

That's right folks.  The night that many of us have waited for since the very first Harry Potter movie was even optioned has come.  And passed (but we'll get to that later).  On July 15th, Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows: Part 2 was released in theatres.  It was the end of an era.  If you're connected to anything resembling a social network like Facebook or Twitter (The verdict is still out on Google Plus...or + if you prefer), then you undoubtedly know what people's opinions of the franchise are.  If you're a fan (read: most of you born between 1985 and 2002 with a few of the older generations), then you've probably welcomed this occurrence with lamenting joy, relishing every last frame on screen as a cherished lunch date with a close friend moving away.  Sure you can e-mail them, call them, and revisit the memories, but there will never again be an encounter like this one.  If you're a dirty, filthy muggle (if you don't get it...it means you), then you're probably glad it's all coming to an end.  And you've probably been very vocal about this fact all over the Googleverse (the internet's new name a la Google's inevitable takeover).
Some people cried when it was over.  Some people sat in silent disbelief, just realizing the inevitability that had never occurred to them prior.  For me, it was a special moment.  Not quite as special as when I finished reading the books, a whole month's work of reading and a life goal realized, but it was still special.  I even managed to slip a finger up and whisper, softly under my breath, "Mischief managed," just like a truly devoted and mildly emotional fanboy.
It seems rare that we get to experience such a powerful conclusion all as one unified body.  The fans of Harry Potter have all shared this journey from the beginning to the end, and though we have all realized our internalized feelings in a different way, we have all experienced this incredible and fitting conclusion (except for one annoying and unnecessary change right at the end, but that's another matter entirely) together.
And I think that makes it more powerful.  Let's look at it this way.  I can only think of three book series that I have read start to finish, those being Harry Potter, Percy Jackson, and the Hunger Games series.  Now these are all three fairly popular, but I only know a few other people that have read the last two with me (TLN, holla...again!).  But since neither of the other two were as widely known as Harry Potter, the endings still seemed less permanent.  They seemed less important.  Now fans, don't get me wrong.  I loved the conclusions of each (although the Percy Jackson series is far from over, really, since Riordan has started two more series, and Hunger Games will be getting the film treatment soon), but none of them seemed as powerful, just because it was much less of a shared experience.
And let's be honest here.  That's part of where the power comes from.  So many of us are experiencing this same conclusion that we have a very palpable understanding of what is happening.  This is 10 years (or more) of our childhoods' gone.  A fact that has been real and impending for so long is now invalid.  There will be no more Harry Potter, aside from the rather fetishist realm of fan-fiction (which I do not encourage you to explore, folks).
It's times like this that make us really understand just how visceral and illuminating the end of things can be.  And so often, we just let them pass by without a real commemoration.  I mean, our lives aren't like movies, are they?  How many of you graduated from high school or college just to see everything fade to black over a touching musical number by Matchbox 20 or Train?  None of us.  It just happened.  Then we moved on.  Some of us went to graduation parties.  When I graduated from college (the first time), I just went to dinner with my family, took some pictures under the Arch (NOT ARCHES!), and went about rearranging the furniture in the East Campus apartment I would now have all to myself for summer classes (TLN-less, holla?).  Sure, I thought about it, and I even performed a few symbolic gestures like the turning of the tassel and, again, walking under the Arch for the first time.  But then life continued.  It seemed like the next day really kept me from dwelling on the importance of the one before.
But is that a good thing or a bad thing?  I mean, sure.  Every day the sun sets.  And every day, the sun rises.  That's the way it is.  We experience things like this all the time.  But do we ever stop to really think about what it means?  Or more importantly, do we ever stop to think about the end when we begin?
My mother has been a teacher or administrator in the Gwinnett County Public School system for over 30 years.  Or should I say, "had been."  This past week, she realized a dream her whole life time in the making.  Her career, which includes no fewer than 10,000 people's lives directly, a Teacher of the Year acknowledgement for her time at Dacula Middle School, the creation of an entire department at the Middle School (even if it was careers and everyone hated it...sorry), and countless other honors and accolades and achievements, finally culminated in her well deserved retirement.  I was with her on Thursday afternoon as we finished packing up 30 years of history and acquirement.  I don't mean to embarrass the lady, but she cried a little.  There were some special moments for her and for me.  She told me stories of the past that were no doubt brought on by the things she packed away in undeserving corrugated cardboard.  I can't imagine what this moment was like for her.  Retirement of any kind is an important step, especially when it involves leaving a job that has been so fulfilling and rewarding for so long.
But I was the last one out her door.  I jokingly commented at the time how I had accidentally taken her symbolic moment, but I felt bad about it.  I couldn't help but think back to Mr. Feeney walking out the door on Boy Meets World all those years ago, with a dolorous and joyful, "Class dismissed."  And I had taken that opportunity from her.  In my mind, I pictured this moment as her walking out, turning out the lights, her silhouette turning back to admire the office that embodied her final position as an educator, and closing the door one last time.  It was to be the symbolic moment of a lifetime.  It was an action that she had performed hundreds, maybe thousands of times, with little or no thought.  But this one last time, this was her symbolic moment.
My more regular and astute readers will remember an anecdote I shared from my student teaching experiences.  I was sitting in Chad Mozley's room at Grayson High School during pre-planning for the second semester when another teacher came in.  This lady had been Chad's mentor teacher during his student teaching, and she had also been his inspiration to become a teacher as she was his English teacher in HS.  They had a beautiful relationship that I greatly envied and marveled at.  This was, sadly, to be her last day at Grayson.  She had been asked to retire and did so, leaving the school short one irreplaceable English teacher first thing January.  On her last moment in Chad's room, she came to bring him some of her old things that he could have.  Their final exchange as colleagues, which I was unbelievably blessed to witness, went like this:
Chad: "Thank you."
Mrs. W: "Bye."
That was it.  Three words total.  But behind these three words, and if you were there you'd have no problem seeing it, was the summation of an entire career, and a friendship.  It wasn't just a picture or two that Chad was thanking her for, but all the lessons that he had been taught about books, literature, words,  teaching, and blessed life altogether.  And it wasn't the usual goodbye that she offered him, walking out the door to her car to go home for the evening, but it was the goodbye that you'd give someone if you had to put every experience you'd ever shared into a single word.  That was one ending that I couldn't help but to admire, to envy, and even to mourn.
What is the point in all of this?  And what's the point in that little title you see up above (quick, go take a moment to check it out)?  One more story...
The famous King Solomon, as the non-canonical (read: made-up) story goes, asked one of his advisors for a ring bearing an inscription that would fit in all scenarios and situations, whether promising or lean.  When the tide of the battle was in your favor, it would fit.  When the plagues of Egypt stood at your door, it would fit.  The advisor went and thought, presumably hating his life since he was supposed to come up with something so incredibly wise and impressive that not even the borderline oracle Solomon could come up with it.  He returned a while later, probably just coming off of his caffeine high or whatever stimulant the ancient Hebrews used to "be wise" and pull all-nighters, with a ring that simply said: "This, too, shall pass."  Solomon, they say, was so impressed that he granted this man the privilege of hosting his own reality show (Hey, it's non-canonical, so...).
The fact of the matter is that there is nothing under the Sun that will last forever.  In fact, that includes the Sun.  It is an unavoidable fact that all things will end, eternity aside, but we're not going to give any time to that one catch-all exception.
What do we do with this?  For what reason have I forced you to do all of this reading?  Well that answer is two-fold.  The easy answer is that I am in fact a blow-hard who considers himself a writer, thus I get a real kick out of making you read what I have to say.  The harder answer is that I really wanted to drive home the reality of this fact using some touching and true to life examples (okay, so 2 out of 3 isn't bad).
So, take advantage!  How different would we act in any given situation if we considered the ending?  In the earth-shattering, paradigm-shifting book, 7 Habits of Highly Effective People, Mr. Covey tells us to "Begin with the end in mind."  As Nicolas Cage would say in that movie where they're on Alcatraz, "simple but elegant." (Albeit, this is much less deadly than a string-of-pearls configuration of VX nerve gas, so take it for what it's worth)
How different would we act in any given situation if we consciously thought of how that moment would end in the future?  Would we enjoy each conversation more?  Would we speak more kindly to those around us?  Would we spend less time wishing that the moment would just pass?  How does this effect our perception of the bad in life? the good in life?  And we can't just begin with the end in mind.  What if every moment, we considered the ending?  I don't mean for us to wallow in self-pity when we consider that none of the joys of this life are permanent, nor do I suggest that we forget to grieve just because the pain will pass.
There is such a precarious balance at work between considering the end and considering the moment.  But we must find it.  I'm on vacation with my family right now.  On the one hand, I can't wait to get home and see Ivey again.  On the other, I am enjoying my time at the beach and at the pool with family.  In a few days, this trip will be over.  So I should enjoy it.  At the same time, in a few days, I will get to spend time with Ivey again.  So I shouldn't wish away the time I have here, because this too shall pass.  But when I walk out the door of this place, I will turn around and give the condo a glance, tasting one last time the essence of vacation.  As we drive over the bridge over the Intercoastal Waterway, I will take a moment to look back at the condo and smile.  I will enjoy my symbolic moment, because I can, even if that means fabricating one.
Now I can't be the only person that these symbolic moments matter to, but if I am, I encourage you to give them a try.  If nothing else, it might help you keep the end in mind.  If you have this watershed action to look forward to, then you'll consider the time when the end will come.  And it will give you something to look forward to at the end.
For those of you who know the Harry Potter series (and I'm going to try and avoid any spoilers here, so read without fear if you're not familiar), you know that Harry has a pretty heavy symbolic moment towards the end of the movie, a moment that he's been preparing for his whole life, a moment that he had been quite literally living for.  For those of you who don't know the series...it's a pretty big deal and pretty well illustrates the idea I'm getting at here.  So you're just plain out of luck.  Sorry.
Again I tell you, embrace these symbolic moments.  Cherish them, plan them even.  Whatever it takes for us to consider the ending we are headed for, in any given situation, I say we grab onto it with a voracious vice-grip, unyielding to the desire to act purely on impulse.  Cling to the undying truth, this one truth that is also subject to itself, that this too shall pass.  Arm yourself with this knowledge, and when you reach that end, take a moment to consider what is behind.  Although you may never get it back, look forward with joy at what is ahead.  But don't spend too long looking ahead, or you just might miss it.  And don't spend too long on your symbolic moments.  Because this too, even this, shall pass.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Adam Wynn is author of the as-of-yet-unpublished internet novel Will Baker is Dead.  When he is not busy being somewhat melodramatic, unnecessarily symbolic, and speaking in third person, Adam enjoys whittling tribal spears of the Amazon and watching movies.  These two are, in fact, not mutually exclusive activities.  He also spends time on the Twitterverse (@42Cobras) and is printed all over the Facebook (Adam Wynn...duh).  He enjoys Georgia Football (and other sports, but mostly football) and Gladiators Hockey (stupid Winnipeg).  He also has plans to blog somewhat more frequently in the future, although that promise is unlikely to come to fruition, just as all the other times he promised to blog more (namely this almost passed summer).  He is unmarried and has no children, but that you probably already knew.  One of Adam's favorite hobbies is inserting parenthetical jokes into his work (like this one, except generally more humorous).  He also really loves it when people comment on his work, as Adam has a fragile ego and really thrives on compliments.  Conversely, he dies a little inside with anything resembling a critique, so unless you have murderous tendencies, please leave those out.  Starting in August, he will be the intern for Georgia State's Baptist Collegiate Ministries.  He looks forward to your visits.  Unless you don't bring food.