Full Circle

It’s funny how when you reach the end, it looks a lot like the beginning, but then not. Things have happened that have changed you, people have stepped into your life that can never really step back out of it, and you are left with either the indiscernible rubble or organized chaos of a beautiful mess of consequences. We live and we die cyclically, and it’s safe to say that everything works that way – is there really ever a beginning and an end? The two are one and the same – eternally bound together by the head and tail ends of ever-repeating sequences of events. We see the same people over and over again in our lives, just in different settings, and we inevitably bump into that someone that somehow reminds us of that other someone. We can only be so much of somebody we are not, before we realize how much of a somebody we actually already were. In full circle, all we have are ourselves. At the beginning of it all, we were a portrait of self, and in the end, we are still that portrait, though we have changed, grown, transformed, morphed, and lived between any distinguishable beginnings and ends. Everything comes back round on itself, and life looks awfully familiar in retrospect. It’s the starts and finishes that define us, as much as the in-betweens morph and shape us. Everything is cyclical, and everything leads up to something. We end how we begin, and start where we leave off, only this time with experience and life trailing behind to hold us up. We have come full circle.