LAST WEEK'S BREAKTHROUGHS In last week's newsletter, I asked you to write a "thank you" note to an ending. Joe wrote a letter to his "former partner of ten years and wife of two years": "Dear [ ], our life together was beautiful, fun, and full of love and care. Part of me wishes I had known when we met that our age, personality, temperament, values and needs gaps would ultimately cut our lives together short before we could form a family. But then I realize that I probably did know that, and needed to learn something from you that I couldn't learn on my own, anyway. You taught me that most people are good, I am worthy of love, and that life is basically safe. You taught me to be calm when things seem scary, and that non-judgmental love and care can outlast almost any sense of scarcity and fear. You taught me that life can be uncertain and spontaneous without being bad. You made me a better person, and for that I owe you the world. I think we would have made amazing human-parents together, or at least we did our beloved dog. So even though our gaps ultimately made our relationship unsustainable, I am grateful for our time together and will always love you. I hope that one day we can talk again, maybe when the pain has fully (or mostly) subsided. I am rooting for you and your happiness, joy, and success, and I hope you are rooting for mine." Claire thanked the ending of a cherished life: "My thank you note is for my Dad and his ending. The ending is that he died this year on 28th May. I'm grateful for this ending. In hospital, yes, but relatively quick and a relief from a life of pain that he had begun to dislike—a life of dependence with a lack of autonomy and dependence on my Mum who could barely cope with the caring any longer. He died just before he needed to get outside care, before the caring wore my Mum down, before he had to leave his home (which he would have steadfastly refused to do so), before he became too confused with his life to make it really difficult for all, including him, before he was unable to speak to me on the phone, before many things that would have been unbearable for him and for us, who love him, while he could still enjoy a glass of whisky and an exciting sports event on TV and a good (or bad) joke. I thank this ending and him for letting go when he had to, when the pain was too much, in peace, with my Mum by his side to be able to say her goodbye. To be honest, I'm grateful for this ending that I wasn't there for, as it was so quick I didn't have time to take a plane to be by his side. I need to have the memory of him laughing and being his dynamic, difficult, stubborn and hilarious self, not in a hospital dying. This causes me guilt but also relief and gratitude. I'm also grateful it happened at a time I could take time off and go see my Mum immediately afterwards. It was a good ending because he didn't want a funeral or service of any sort so we avoided the inevitable, traumatic public family meltdown that would definitely have happened. This has also made it a longer, drawn-out ending for me, more gentle with time to reflect every day and remember and grieve for him in my own time, and privately. I'd already expressed my gratitude to him over the years and some years ago wrote him a letter to thank him for everything he had done for me in my life. It's not the sort of thing he'd want me to say to his face but he read it. He knew I loved him. I'm glad the ending came when we were at peace together and he was proud of what I'd made of my life. I'm sad about this ending but I'm grateful for his long, well-lived life. What have I learned? Humility and discretion in death is sometimes a good thing for those who love you. The big party and the public weeping and wailing at the end is not always the best way to be remembered. It's hard letting go, the death of a parent is a horrible ending, but I've learned also that it's an ending I'm surviving." Finally, not a letter per se, but here's how Ken from our community shows his gratitude to the people and things in his life: "I hug my son every morning after asking how he slept, same with my wife. I hug my son every evening and say 'sleep well young man, see you for breakfast in the morning.' I do the same with my wife but don't call her young man. ;P I greet Dottie our cat every morning and say goodbye every time I go out of the house. 'See you later Dottie, I will be back, enjoy your nap.' I speak to my parents on the phone once per week, usually on Monday or Tuesday morning for about an hour. I call or text people I know at random just for fun. This may sound weird to some but oh well. I actually talk to trees, even hug them sometimes, I talk to rabbits in the yard, I talk to plants and even the soil in the garden on a regular basis. They give back more than a person might think. We wouldn't be here without them so I show my gratitude by giving them my attention. I greet everyone I walk past on the way to school drop off and pickup, kids, teachers, monitors. The same is true with all the places I buy stuff at. I still read nearly every post in this community and respond and often reply. It's part of my daily routine. What I have really noticed is that feeling connected is a choice. Simply acknowledging what is around me and having an appreciation for those things, people, nature. I'm not always in that mode but I am much more now since joining this community." If you'd like to join our Solved Membership community and receive encouragement from members like Ken, plus daily action prompts, to solve the problems holding you back in life, we'll be thrilled to have you. Maybe it's finding a way to live that feels true to who you are, better managing your emotions, overcoming procrastination, or simply making friends as an adult—we tackle all this and more. Get to know The Solved Membership in one click here. As always, send your breakthroughs by simply replying to this email. Let me know if you'd prefer to remain anonymous. Until next week, Mark Manson #1 New York Times Bestselling Author
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