Farewell (But Not Really): An Essay on Letting Go

By Haven Duddy

This essay explores the kind of farewell that doesn't fully leave - the soft letting go that lingers in memory, meaning, and emotional truth. Some endings start with us because they're not really endings at all.

When I said "farewell,"

I didn't actually mean goodbye.

I meant it the way people used to say it on a stage -

a courtesy.

A little bow.

A soft curtain close.

The kind of farewell where you half expect applause for something you can't even describe.

That's actually what I imagined this whole time.

Me walking out,

standing center stage,

giving a tiny nod,

and everyone just saying:

"Well done."

"Good job."

"We don't totally know what you did........

but you did something."

"Bravo."

Because isn't that what we all want, deep down?

To be seen.

To be understood.

To be applauded not because we were perfect, but because we tried.

To have someone say:

"We saw the effort."

"We saw the heart."

We saw how impossible it looked from the outside and we're proud of you anyway."

That's what I wanted.

Not a standing ovation -

just recognition

for the impossible thing I pulled off.

Just listen......

I am the MOST surprised person in this whole story.

No one is more stunned by what I've done than me.

But if I'm being completely honest......

there were clues.

I always knew I was a good writer.

I said it.

I said it quietly, nervously,

half apologizing my way through it.

And someone -

someone who later turned out to not be very nice -

said something to be once that I will never forget.

When she read the first chapter of my book,

she looked at me and said:

"It was better than I expected."

And you know what?

I laughed.

Because that is possibly the worst great compliment in the history of compliments.

But it was honest.

And I took it.

And I smiled.

And I thought:

"That might be the best compliment I ever get from her."

And I was right -

but it still made me feel something.

It made me believe in myself

just one inch more than before.

Sometimes that's all you need -

one inch.

So no, this isn't a farewell.

It's a bow.

A moment.

A tiny curtsy at the end of Act 1.

You don't have to clap -

but if you want to,

I'll take it.

Because I did something.

I don't know how,

I don't know why,

but I did something.

And that alone

feels like enough.