Leavers Days and the Sense and Significance of an Ending

In a very simple experiment, University of Michigan psychologists O’Brien and Ellsworth asked participants to taste and rate a number of chocolates on a 0-to-10 scale. After four chocolates, the experiment forked into two cases:

• Half the participants were told, “Here is your next chocolate.” 
• Half the participants were told, “Here is your last chocolate.” 

When they were told it was their last chocolate:

• Participants rated the fifth chocolate 30% higher
• Three times as many participants rated the fifth chocolate as their favourite 

O’Brien and Ellsworth write Participants who knew they were eating the final chocolate of a taste test enjoyed it more, preferred it to other chocolates, and rated the overall experience as more enjoyable than other participants who thought they were just eating one more chocolate in a series. 

This might seem very odd – after all the chocolates are exactly the same in both cases – but on reflection perhaps there’s nothing so surprising here. Four hundred years ago Shakespeare wrote there’s nothing either good or bad, but thinking makes it so, and these days we are acutely aware of the cognitive quirks that mean our behaviours are complex and subtle. Having just had our wonderful leaver’s day celebrations, this was especially obvious this week – many of the familiar elements were especially poignant for the class of ‘23; and it wasn’t just that the events themselves were such fun; it was that our graduating class knew that they were experiencing them for the last time, and some of our leaving teachers also told me the same thing.

There are ways to take advantage of the sense of occasions during endings, which add to the emotional impact and intensity.

Firstly, we can build significance into endings, because at these points people are receptive in ways beyond the everyday . I know when I give graduation addresses, I can reach for things, allude to ideas and stances to the world in ways that simply wouldn’t work at other times – precisely because it’s the last time I will ever address the graduating class. And it’s not always simply a feel good message either; endings are more powerful when they are not simple, happy ones.

Writing in When, Dan Pink observes that often the best endings in movies don’t only have the protagonist getting everything they want, or some situation resolving with love, justice, freedom or respect. Often they also deliver a rush of unexpected insight that comes when the main character finally understands an emotionally complex truth. It seems Pixar are masters of this more sophisticated form of elevation, and in award-winning films like Up, Cars and Toy Story, the lead characters Carl, Lightning McQueen and Woody all get what they want, only to realise it’s not what they need, or what will make them happy. It’s this adjustment of the protagonist’s value structure, as they come to see more clearly what is important in life, and come to be willing to act on it, that provides the complexity that is central to the most elevated endings.

And that’s the key on Leavers’ Days and Graduations, really, and why they can be so poignant. The small component of sadness – that this is the final time the group will ever be together – elevates the otherwise happy moment rather than diminishes it. The rich appreciation of classmates – sometimes for the first time – and the realisation that the long anticipated day is upon us, and is fleeting, makes possible a re-evaluation of the value and significance of school days from a new, more adult perspective. It’s not so different from the movies. Similarly, there is something special about last words – a final flourish made all the more beautiful because we know there’s no more to come. There is, after all, a reason why the tears of joy are bittersweet.

So building significance into endings is sound advice. But as moments like graduation are necessarily infrequent, there may also be a second and perhaps more fruitful way to harness the knowledge of the power of ending; and that is to be more conscious of the smaller endings that happen more frequently. Or at least, to raise the awareness of the possibilities of ending. After all, most of us, most of the time, are just getting through each day, totally absorbed by minor events, with no sense of a starting or an ending. So we can find ways to build in endings. Stoic philosopher Marcus Aurelius (121 -181) used to have an evening routine to end each day, to reflect on what went well that day, and what could have been better. A small thing perhaps, but it’s not hard to see how that would give significance to mundane days (a wise and older friend once told me, when I was complaining about changing my kids’ nappies ‘there’s only a finite number of nappies, each moment will never come back, so just try to enjoy them’. 

Ridiculous as it sounds, I have passed that particular gem on many times). Perhaps more dramatically, another Stoic philosopher Epictetus told his students that when they kiss their child goodnight, they should remind themselves that their child could die tomorrow (note, by the way, how this is almost the opposite of the many of the various ‘feel good’ movements that are around). Even though extremely unlikely, it’s a reminder of the preciousness of children, the fleeting moments of childhood. Generalised, it’s about the potential of each moment to be significant. 

Taken to its extreme, this second approach is transformative. If every moment is an ending, then every moment is significant. The challenge then becomes to see this not as an unbearable weight, but as a joyful revelation.