“It’s almost over now, it’s almost over now.” ~ N.E.R.D.
Or, as defined by my dictionary
Over (adj): finished, no longer in progress
Like many, I am mourning the end of London 2012 (encompassing the Olympics and the Paralympics). I believe it is fair to say that by being such a massive success it has exceeded many expectations. But even though there will be other Games, maybe in the future another London Games, there will never be another London 2012.
However, as a wise soul pointed out to me, all things come to end and that cannot be changed. In fact, for me, it would be wrong to ever change that. Life is an ongoing process of evolution; the world doesn’t stop turning, as much as we may sometimes want it to, and we have to turn with it.
I’ve written about Loss before. Things ending is a lot of what loss is about. Someone no longer being in your life, amazingly bodied athletes no longer performing equally amazing acts, even the end of a tv series; these all create a void. A void which, depending on personality and circumstances, people try to fill in different ways. Drink, chocolate, taking up extreme (or even perfectly normal) sports, pretty much anything goes. An old friend of mine split up with his girlfriend then spent every day, lunch or evening, in the gym for 3 months. Then, one day, he came to the pub, had a few beers, and relaxed back into his normal, training every other day, routine. As a process for dealing with what had happened, it was pretty clear what was going on. It was intense but it worked for him.
But the other temptation with things being over is to look back, to do the compulsive digging over the past or replaying events. Like picking again and again at a scab, those endless “do you remember when?” actions can leave more of a scar than the loss of the thing in the first place. The world is still turning; no matter how desperately you want it to go scrambling backwards, that will never happen. Sooner or later we all need to pick back up with our lives, sink those few beers in the pub as it were, and carry on. Living in the past didn’t really work out too well for Miss Havisham, after all.
I could have gone back onto the Olympic Park after my volunteering there had ended but I didn’t. I finished with the Velodrome. Sad though it was to have it come to an end, I walked off that Park feeling proud, with my head held high, and a bluebird perched on my right shoulder. It was over, for me. And I was walking away; smiling but walking away.
It’s all you can do when things are over, really.