All's well that ends well

I finally had my leaving ‘do’, eighteen months after walking away from my gainful employer of over twenty years. It wasn’t the fanfare I still foolishly hoped for. It was never going to be, and that’s fine. It was an ending of sorts and a way to bring that chapter of my life to a close. My dad’s Covid story eclipses mine, with over thirty years as a professor at the Royal Academy of Music and still not so much as a nod, wink or glass of bubbles; sadly it’s all part of the Covid Zeitgeist many are coming to know all too well.

I’m not particularly adept at endings, and yet theoretically, I do understand their importance. Endings should, in general, be more consciously acknowledged and better handled than they are. So I wonder, what might I say here that could, in some small way, contribute to moving the needle? To a greater acknowledgement of the importance of endings. Perhaps it’s best to start by sharing.

I remember not attending the funeral of a dear friend’s mother. On reflection, I know I should have been there. Not that it’s a necessary requirement, but it would have been appreciated. There would have been value in my presence, but I didn’t go. I’m sure I convinced myself rationally at the time that this was the right thing to do, but in truth, I simply didn’t want to experience the discomfort of the situation. I’ve since made a point of going bravely into such situations, so in my own small way perhaps I’m righting that wrong over time. Endings are important. Closure matters. There’s something deeply human about our need for it. Tuckman didn’t choose to plop ‘Adjourning’ onto the end of his forming, storming, norming and performing model. Clearly not. I mean, it doesn’t even rhyme properly, so he must have had a bloody good cause to create the addendum.

Interestingly, endings, or resolution, or the absence thereof, is an essential component of music and how we understand harmony, beautifully explored by Jacob Collier and Herbie Hancock in this short video clip. Music usually tries to resolve itself through harmony; taking you on a journey and then bringing you back home. Except of course when it doesn’t, deliberately playing with your emotions to leave you feeling, well, rather lost and all at sea. Pop music rarely ever does this. It’s almost certainly a fundamental criteria of successful pop songs that they resolve (even if that resolution is accompanied by a lazy slow fade). It’s also a get-out to suggest that Opera is a candidate for dumping you curbside. You can only really say that when you listen to an aria in isolation, like "Non siate ritrosi" from Cosi fan tutte. That piece is meant to be a mid-story cliff-hanger, but it’s just one chapter of a larger narrative that does of course come to a conclusion, provided you listen to the whole opera.

So, I ploughed through Spotify searching for popular music that deliberately doesn’t bring you home. The best I can offer (please do propose more!) is Daft Punk’s ‘Touch’ on Random Access Memories, which ends really uncomfortably on a diminished E flat chord (I acknowledge I’m pushing the pop song definition a little). As I sit with this idea for a while, listening to that track, I really get a sense of just how deeply human it is for us to yearn for endings; to need closure. Surely that need is something that unites us, but I also know that we’re all barking mad in our own unique ways, and as much as we might be united by this, we all experience the need for closure differently, distorted through our own views of the world. Perhaps the way we feel this need is itself influenced by the endings or losses that we’ve experienced to date. For those who’ve truly felt the kind of transformational loss that scars, yet haven’t been able to process that loss, they tend to avoid endings like the plague. For others, where the resolution itself has been transformative, they invariably end up seeking out proper endings, hoping to experience that same transformation, over and over.

we all experience the need for closure differently, distorted through our own views of the world.

I reference music here because I think it helps us appreciate both facts; that we need to acknowledge endings, and that we experience that need differently. Indeed, there’s more to gain from the metaphor (isn’t that so often the case with music?) It’s not like the feelings created by the penultimate minor 7th are forgotten. More often than not, the memory lingers. So too with endings. In our fabulously action-oriented, future-focused world, we finish one project and then move on to the next, yet the memories of the past linger, only to influence how we see the future. If we’re lucky, there may be a moment to recognise the ending (and hopefully the success of the project and a magnum of champagne - more of those please!), but rarely is there discussion or deep reflection. I’m not talking about a ‘lessons learned review’ that aims to use the exercise as a learning cycle, capturing lessons for future, more refined activities. They’re wonderful and necessary, I acknowledge, but no, I’m talking about actual, icky, emotional feelings (stick with me now, please).

Rarely do we ask, ‘how do we all feel now that this is over?’ and ‘Do we fully understand what we’ve gained, and what have we lost? How do we feel about both?’ We’re far too busy thinking about the next project we need to kick-off. Indeed, it’s that other inherently human condition of procrastination that puts an emphasis on more thinking (unproductively) at the start, often with the unconscious intent to delay the inevitable. Actually, the most powerful place to reflect is not at the start (it often simply gets in the way) but at the end, yet we usually either avoid or undermine that key moment for reflection. Why? For some, the pressure to move forward is just too great to take the time. For others, it’s simply too painful or uncomfortable, though we won’t admit this and rationalise the avoidance in different, more professional terms. The truth is that we’ve often invested a lot of ourselves in it. Perhaps even too much, and the ending is, in a way, a form of loss that we really aren’t ready to acknowledge.

This is all highly emotive language, and deliberately so. With so much emotion and unfinished business (a central ‘Gestalt’ term that seems rather apt when talking about the workplace) it’s a struggle to think straight, yet that’s where our best work is done; when we’re thinking at our best. If we start by acknowledging that we are harbouring emotions about the initiative that is drawing to a close, then perhaps we can go on to process those emotions together. It might be celebratory. There could be rejoicing. There might also be tears. Regardless, if we work through them, our minds will be all the clearer when we move on to the next big thing. It’s a wise investment of time. We’ll do better thinking and better work. We shouldn’t of course expect closure. Sometimes it’s just not an option, but if we can at least acknowledge our feelings at the end, we create a huge amount of space for thinking clearly and creatively thereafter.

So when you’re listening to a piece of music that fails to resolve, sit with the emotions it stirs up for you in the moment. Sit with that uncertainty. It could be exactly the reminder you need to recognise why bringing things to a close properly can often ultimately prove to be so immensely powerful and enlightening. Before you move on, show the work that has been done, and the people that did it, the respect they deserve.

Want to help your team grow through better thinking? Book a free 30-minute zoom session today.