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The Ending Doesn't Matter
by Alan Cohen
Billy Elliot is the brilliant cinematic saga of an 11-year-old
British boy who wants to become a classical ballet dancer. Billy’s plight is
especially challenging because he lives in a very macho home and town where men
are expected to be manly men, and his family wants him to be a boxer. Billy’s
father and older brother, both manly men, find his dance aspirations utterly
abhorrent, for they equate them with being a sissy or homosexual. As a result,
they do everything they can to squash Billy’s vision and turn him into a "real
boy".
But Billy’s ambitions are stronger than his family’s
objections, and he pursues his dream in spite of their opposition. Eventually
Billy gains a shot at being accepted to a prestigious dance academy, which would
offer him a hope of turning his dream into a real career. At first Billy’s
family dismisses the notion as utterly preposterous, but over time they realize
that he is sincere, and they grow to support him in his quest. In the process,
his father and brother come to heal their deep-seated animosity toward each
other. Ultimately, after a great deal of conflict and torment, the family is
united in their efforts to get Billy into the dance program.
The drama leads to a crucial scene in which Billy receives
the long-awaited letter from the dance academy, informing him as to whether or
not he has been accepted. The movie’s director does a remarkable job building
and milking the tension around opening the letter; I was on the edge of my seat,
nearly biting my fingernails waiting to find out if Billy had gotten in.
So as not to spoil the movie for you, I will not tell you
the ending. But I will tell you what I felt as I waited to learn what the letter
said: it didn’t matter. Whether or not Billy was accepted to the dance
school was less important than what had happened to him and his family in the
process of his application. As he held fast to his ideals in the face of massive
resistance, he developed immense soul strength. At the same time, his family
experienced the healing of a lifetime as they learned to support him and resolve
the deep differences they had etched over many years. The invaluable life
lessons they all learned, far outshined whether or not he was accepted to the
academy. No matter what the letter said, they all triumphed, and a happy ending
was assured.
It is easy to be seduced by the idea that how things turn
out is more important than what happens in the process. Manifestations, as
desirable as they are, are by-products of the soul qualities that are developed
in quest of the goal. The real question is not "How did it turn out?" The
question is, "What happened to your spirit as you journeyed?"
I studied with a healer who told me that two of his most
profound healings occurred with people who passed on soon afterward. "How could
that be?" I asked him. He explained, "These people experienced a spiritual
healing; their souls came to peace before they passed. Yes, it is important to
try to heal the body, but it is more important to heal the spirit."
In my seminars I often work with people who are struggling
with having been divorced. Many talk about the "failure" of their marriage. I
asked one fellow, "How long were you married?"
"Twenty years," he answered.
"And were you happy most of that time?" I asked.
"Yes, we had a good marriage for many of those years. It
was just during the last few years that our relationship unraveled."
"Then why discount the gifts of those good years just
because it didn’t last forever?" I asked him.
Just because a marriage (or anything) ends, doesn’t mean
it failed. Ideally, of course, we would like a marriage to last for a lifetime.
But when it doesn’t, we dishonor the relationship by casting an aura of failure
over all of it. If you loved, learned, and grew during the time you were
together, there was real success. The relationship is a failure only if you
learned nothing and you go on to repeat the same mistakes. And even if you do,
all of your experience is contributing to ultimate learning, so it is all part
of your soul’s growth.
I find it interesting that, in contrast to other life
adventures, we make separate rules of judgment about marriage and relationships.
If you stay in a job or a home or a friendship for 10 or 20 years, and then you
resign, move, or grow apart, you don’t say, "My job (or home or friendship)
failed." You acknowledge that the experience served an important purpose during
the time you were in it. Then, when it no longer is a source of life and joy,
you acknowledge that you have grown, changed, or moved on, you appreciate its
gifts, and release it with love. When it comes to marriage, however, we are
taught that we have failed unless we have stayed together for a lifetime. This
seems rather harsh to me.
Let’s begin to celebrate our lives as an adventure in
dynamic unfoldment. Of course we want it to turn out in the way we would like,
but when it doesn’t, there are many other gifts available, gifts often far more
meaningful than grabbing the brass ring. The real brass ring is the joy of the
journey. Just ask Billy.
Previous columns
& articles by Alan Cohen.
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