Therapy is like that: you think it’s over, but there is always the chance of another beginning. I like my therapy conclusions all to be cadences that clearly feel like endings and yet are not final. Let’s be happy about life going on. Therapy is eternal and takes many forms. Remember the glass vessel, and be gentle with your good-byes.

In general, Hillman defined memory as a form of imagination. As you remember what life was like as a child, you are reimagining your past life and returning to a child’s way of seeing the world. The child is always present but comes to the surface at the appropriate times.

This is mother recognition from the other side. Not only have all beings been our mothers but we are also mothers to all beings: the womb of compassion is there within us waiting to be rediscovered. When we realize how readily we have misconstrued ourselves, when we stop clinging to our falsely conceived constructs of how limited, isolated, and alone we are, when we touch the ground of being, we come home.

The failure to let go of a past identity manifests itself in a variety of ways, none of them positive. Some leaders bring all the accoutrements of their prior office to their new one, causing people to disdainfully view their new digs as a mausoleum.

Endings are tougher and take longer than we think. No matter how unhappy we may be in a job, most of us continue to revisit the possibility of making it work because the present role is necessarily tied to a possible self—an image, outdated though it may be, of whom we once wanted to become. June’s academic identity, for example, kept reasserting itself throughout the entire transition period, even after she had handed in her resignation. “My department was family, a dysfunctional one,” June says, “but one I was an intimate part of, one I joined at age seventeen when I went to college.” For her, leaving academia meant not just giving up a long-term career objective but also an image of who she should become that important people in her life, including her mentor, harbored. The emotions she felt when she found the pile of draft articles that would have assured her professorial future show just how much giving up a possible self—even one that has become a burden or lost its appeal—marks a real loss.